Afghan fathers sell children as famine crisis deepens
Dawn breaks, but hundreds of men already crowd the dusty square in Chaghcharan, the capital of Ghor province in Afghanistan. Standing along the roadside, they wait for a miracle, seeking any job to feed their families for the day. However, their chances of success are slim.
Juma Khan, 45, has worked only three days in the past six weeks, earning between 150 and 200 Afghanis (approximately £1.50-£2) daily. “My children have gone three nights without food. My wife and children cry constantly,” he says. “I beg neighbours for loans to buy flour. I even beg for flour loans. I live in fear my children will starve to death.”
In Afghanistan, Juma Khan’s plight is not unique. According to UN data, three-quarters of the population cannot meet basic needs. A UN report paints a grim picture: rampant unemployment, collapsed healthcare, and dwindling humanitarian aid. The country faces its highest recorded famine levels, with 4.7 million people — over a tenth of the population — on the brink of mass starvation. Ghor is among the hardest-hit regions, where men have lost hope.
“I was called and told my children hadn’t eaten for two days,” says Rabani, his voice trembling. “I felt like killing myself, but then I thought: how would that help my family? So I’m here looking for work.”
Khwaja Ahmad’s eyes fill with tears as he speaks. “We are starving. My older children have already died, so I must work to feed the family. But I’m old; no one wants to hire me.”
Nearby, a local bakery opens its doors and distributes leftover dry bread to the crowd. Within seconds, the bread is snatched by men fighting for a scrap of sustenance. Suddenly, a motorcyclist arrives seeking a labourer to carry bricks. Dozens of men swarm him, offering their services. Over two hours of BBC monitoring, only three people secured work.
The devastating impact of high unemployment is evident in the shabby settlements scattered across arid brown hills, with snow-capped Siah Koh mountains in the background.
Abdul Rashid Azimi invites us into his home and brings out his seven-year-old twin daughters, Roqia and Rohila. Embracing them tightly, he recounts the heartbreaking decision he was forced to make. “I am willing to sell my daughters,” he says, crying. “I am poor, in debt, and powerless. I return from work with dry lips, hungry, thirsty, stressed, and confused. My children ask, ‘Baba, give us bread.’ But what can I offer? Where is the work?”
Abdul admits he must prepare to give his daughters away for marriage or domestic work. “If I sell one child, the money could support my other children for at least four years,” he explains. While tears stream down his face, he hugs and kisses Rohila deeply. “My heart is broken, but this is the only way out.”
“Our daily food is just bread and hot water — we don’t even have tea,” says mother Kayhan. Her two teenage sons make ends meet as shoe shiners in the city centre, while another child collects garbage for Kayhan to use as fuel for cooking.
Elsewhere, Saeed Ahmad shares another tragic story. He was forced to sell his five-year-old daughter Shaiqa after she was diagnosed with appendicitis and liver cysts. “I had no money for treatment, so I sold my daughter to a relative,” he says. The surgery was successful, with medical costs covered by the £1,800 received from the sale. “If I had taken all the money, she would have been taken away immediately. So I told the relative: give enough for the surgery now, and pay the rest over five years before taking her,” Saeed explains. Shaiqa clings to her father’s neck, their bond palpable, but in five years, she will have to leave home for her relative’s house. “If I had money, I would never have made this choice,” Saeed whispers. “But I thought: what if she died without surgery? At least with this…”