Kazakhstan's nuclear orphans are a distressing sight.
The first child I met in the local orphanage was lying limply in his crib. His giant, pale head was perched on his tiny shoulders, covered in bed sores, like a grotesquely painted paper-mâché mask. Peering out, a pair of tiny black eyes darted around.
It took me a few seconds to understand what I was seeing. The doctor told me he was 4 years old. Read full article »