I met Noa just after the midsummer sun had set behind Arthur’s Seat. He had driven the taxi beyond the pick-up point on Queen’s Drive – the blacktop that skirts the base of the extinct volcano and cuts through Holyrood Park – by a fair distance. He slammed the brakes, probably having spotted my agitated hailing in his rear-view mirror.

“Sorry about that,” he said apologetically as I jumped into the cab, “I didn’t see you.” He had an immigrant accent that was scarce in achromatic Edinburgh. “No worries, it happens,” I said, adding, in jest: “You do know that people of colour become invisible after sunset, right?”

The illiberal joke resonated with him and melted geography and time inside his small taxi in an instant. His chestnut coloured face, chiselled, and adorned with a large nose fractured near the bridge, opened up to a hearty smile. “How does one pronounce your name brother,” he asked: “Is it Amitangshu?”

Noa says he can still smell the scent of burning flesh (AFP/Getty) (AFP/Getty Images)

He was spot on, avoiding the hard T which, in the Anglo-Saxon world, cleaves my name into two unpronounceable parts. It was easy for him, he said. He was from Fiji and had many Indian friends, listing out a few – Prakash, Sunil, Rajesh – as evidence to his claim. The journey from the Rorschach inkblot of a Pacific island nation – home to perpetual summers – to a squally and grey Edinburgh was as hard for him as it was for me, though reports of a scorched Delhi were taking the sheen off my homesickness.

Almost 12 years ago, Noa had enlisted in the British army, the Royal Regiment of Fusiliers, leaving behind sunshine, family and poverty. Like the Nepali Gurkhas, Fijians too join the British Army in the hope of a better life. With every passing year, fewer young Britishers enlist for armed service, and more from the former colonies, who have poverty, and not wealth, in common.

War was employment, with benefits which included permanent resident status in the UK. To live in the promised land, the poor have to shed blood – their own and that of others. For Noa, remnants of his Pacific life started to fade in Afghanistan, the dusty hot winds slowly scrubbing away memories of chalk white beaches of Suva. “I cannot explain to you, but I wish I had not seen what I did.”

He spent two years in Afghanistan, most of it in the battle-scarred Helmand province, latticed with opium fields and pockmarked with shelled villages where the dead stalked the living.

Afghanistan war: lives of children devastated by the endless conflict Show all 20 1 /20 Afghanistan war: lives of children devastated by the endless conflict Afghanistan war: lives of children devastated by the endless conflict Andrew Quilty/Save the Children Afghanistan war: lives of children devastated by the endless conflict Nooria*, 15 in the home her family has lived in for the past two years in Mazar-i Sharif She was forced to flee her home with her family after their town was attacked by armed groups. Nooria describes a rocket hitting her neighbours home killing many inside. They fled on foot with just the clothes on their backs and she now lives in Mazari Shariff where Save the Children have enrolled her in school and provide vocational training Andrew Quilty/Save the Children Afghanistan war: lives of children devastated by the endless conflict Nooria* hopes for a future with no war; "When they attacked our village, the rocket hit our neighbour's house and they all died. Our house then caught fire and we ran away. My friends who I used to play with - I still don't know if they are alive or if they are dead.” Andrew Quilty/Save the Children Afghanistan war: lives of children devastated by the endless conflict “I'm hoping for a better future, to learn, to support my family and to get them out of this difficult life. And I'm hoping for a future where there is no war.” Andrew Quilty/Save the Children Afghanistan war: lives of children devastated by the endless conflict Naveed*, 16 at his family home in Mazar-i Sharif Naveed lost his leg when he stepped on a mine aged just 8-years-old. He was herding the family's sheep in the mountains near their home when he triggered a landmine Andrew Quilty/Save the Children Afghanistan war: lives of children devastated by the endless conflict After months of medical treatment his right leg was eventually amputated. He received physiotherapy and a prosthetic leg from the International Committee for the Red Cross in Mazar Andrew Quilty/Save the Children Afghanistan war: lives of children devastated by the endless conflict Now enrolled in school, Naveed is being given vocational training by Save the Children. “For around a year I felt and dreamt that I still had my leg. But when I woke up and saw, there was no leg. Sometimes I’d feel with my hand to check and find it wasn't there.” Andrew Quilty/Save the Children Afghanistan war: lives of children devastated by the endless conflict “If someone has loses their leg, it does not mean that they have lost their mind." Andrew Quilty/Save the Children Afghanistan war: lives of children devastated by the endless conflict "With the help of our minds we can continue to study, learn, and work to make the future of our families brighter.” Andrew Quilty/Save the Children Afghanistan war: lives of children devastated by the endless conflict Naveed and Mahboob*, 55 (Naveed's father) Several years ago Neveed's father, Mahboob, was brutally beaten with rifle butts by armed groups after, he says, he failed to provide food for them while they were stationed in the family's village. He suffered brain damage which affected the right side of his body, speech and his brain function Andrew Quilty/Save the Children Afghanistan war: lives of children devastated by the endless conflict Habiba*, 14, and Arezo*, 15 in a village outside Kabul Habiba and Arezo were injured with their mother three years ago in a suicide bombing in Kabul. Arezo is still traumatised from what she saw and has become completely withdrawn Andrew Quilty/Save the Children Afghanistan war: lives of children devastated by the endless conflict Arezo's younger sister Habiba cares for her, takes her to lessons and anywhere she wants to go. They are both in school through Save the Children's 'Steps towards Afghan girls' education success' (STAGES) programme, which helps the most marginalised girls get access to education, stay in school and learn. Andrew Quilty/Save the Children Afghanistan war: lives of children devastated by the endless conflict Habiba says: “When I woke up and I opened my eyes I saw lots of bodies and I thought I was not alive any more. It was horrible. I'll never forget that. Whenever there is a big sound she gets scared because she was traumatised by the sound she heard during the attack. I love my sister, and I help her with her lessons, I take her anywhere." Andrew Quilty/Save the Children Afghanistan war: lives of children devastated by the endless conflict "She's older than me but I feel like the older one because I support her. I hope for a better future for me and my sister.” Andrew Quilty/Save the Children Afghanistan war: lives of children devastated by the endless conflict Khalida*, 10 in a classroom in a village outside Kabul Two years ago Khalida lost her 18-year old brother when he was killed in an explosion in Kabul. She misses him every day and says the family are still carrying the grief of his loss Andrew Quilty/Save the Children Afghanistan war: lives of children devastated by the endless conflict "Two years ago, my brother was going to Kabul when an explosion happened and he lost his life. We are still carrying the grief and are crying over him. At the time we were happy, everyone was happy. Now no-one is happy in the family. When I remember him, I cry and feel so bad. I hope for peace and that war will stop, and that nobody loses their brother” Andrew Quilty/Save the Children Afghanistan war: lives of children devastated by the endless conflict “I want to get education to become a teacher. I want to teach others who have never been to school” Andrew Quilty/Save the Children Afghanistan war: lives of children devastated by the endless conflict Sema*,11 at her family home in Kabul Sema recalls coming home from her aunt's house and being told that her father had been killed in a suicide attack Andrew Quilty/Save the Children Afghanistan war: lives of children devastated by the endless conflict Sema still thinks about him every second and likes to look at his prayer beads (Tisbeh) to remember him. They hang from the curtain in the family home. She loves school and wants to become a teacher one day. Sema says she wants peace in her country to stop other children losing their fathers. “We still have lots of his belongings, like his car, his clothes, his watch, his shoes. Whenever we see them we cry. He gave us all so much love every moment and he is on our minds. I want for the powerful people around the world to stop the war and bring peace, because I don't want other children to lose their fathers.” Andrew Quilty/Save the Children Afghanistan war: lives of children devastated by the endless conflict “I want to become a teacher to serve the country and I don't want any girls to be illiterate. I want to teach all the girls, so they have access to education.” *Names have been changed to protect identities Andrew Quilty/Save the Children

“In Fiji, we would take a cow, kill it and put slabs of meat on a grill. We would sit around the grill and soak in that smell. That was the smell of a good life, you know. And then, when I was in Afghanistan, I smelt burning human flesh. I just didn’t know how to react, you know? My world was upside down. It’s been 10 years, but I can’t get that smell out of my nose”.

Noa remembers dead Taliban fighters, innocent civilians, children, and his own friends, dismembered, scorched, wounded, bleeding. The deafening silence after an air strike, followed by the piercing screams of the wounded. And then the clean-up, a macabre jigsaw puzzle of putting together dismembered body parts.

“I had to put my friends into body bags, man. It’s not easy. I am just lucky to be alive, but sometimes I wish I wasn’t. For 10 years I didn’t sleep well.”

After being discharged from the army, Noa returned to the UK in 2012 with nightmares, insomnia and a Permanent Resident card. He would wake up at odd hours, sweating, the noise of explosions, gunfire and screams ringing through his head. He would crawl under his bed and stay there for hours, till the phantom noises receded into the darkness of the night.

“Sometimes, I would just go to sleep under the bed. It will sound strange, but it was comforting”.

Only after he signed up for a postgraduate programme in psychology at a university did he work out that he had post-traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD. Like the dismembered body parts he once had to put together, Noa now pieces together fragments of his life. He married his Polish girlfriend in Edinburgh, and now has a three-year-old daughter.

“You are lucky, you know, daughters are a divine gift.”

“You telling me, bro? I tell you, I stopped going to the therapist ever since I have had her. She helped me heal more than anything else.” Ten years of living with ghosts was finally coming to an end. Except for the smell of burning flesh. That still lingers in his nostrils.

Noa can no longer eat grilled meat. It brings back memories of viscid horrors he has tried to wash off himself. Summers in Edinburgh are particularly painful. Under a crisp blue sky, and on the lime green grass of the Meadows and Bruntsfield Links, people assemble around disposable charcoal grills. A cloud of smoke rises from parks and lawns, carrying with it the scent of proteins combining with sugars, and wafts in the city air. For me, it was the smell of summer. For him, it was the smell of death.

When I was in Afghanistan, I smelt burning human flesh. I just didn’t know how to react, you know? My world was upside down. It’s been ten years, but I can’t get that smell out of my nose

“Take care brother,” I said, as we shook hands before I got off the taxi. “Don’t make it a long night.”

“You were my last trip,” he said. “Now I am heading back home to my wife and daughter.”

He turned his cab around the bend and disappeared down Montpelier Park, towards the lilac afterglow of the evening sunset.

Amitangshu Acharya is a Leverhulme Trust PhD candidate in Human Geography at the University of Edinburgh, UK