As dawn breaks, hundreds of men gather at a dusty square in Chaghcharan, the capital of Ghor province in Afghanistan. They line the roadside with weary faces, hoping someone will come along offering any work. It will determine whether their families eat that day. The likelihood of success, however, is low.
Juma Khan, 45, has found just three days of work in the past six weeks that paid between 150 to 200 Afghani ($2.35-$3.13). My children went to bed hungry three nights in a row. My wife was crying, so were my children. So I begged a neighbour for some money to buy flour, he says. I live in fear that my children will die of hunger.
In Afghanistan today, a staggering three in four people cannot meet their basic needs, according to the United Nations. Unemployment is rife, healthcare is struggling, and the aid that once provided the basics for millions has dwindled significantly.
The country is facing record levels of hunger, with 4.7 million people estimated to be one step away from famine. Ghor is one of the worst-affected provinces.
The men here are desperate. I got a call saying my children hadn't eaten for two days, says Rabani, his voice choking up. I felt like I should kill myself. But then I thought how will that help my family? So here I am looking for work.
Labourers gather early to find the little work that exists. When a local bakery opens, the owner distributes stale bread among the crowd, and men rush to grab the precious pieces. When a man on a motorcycle arrives wanting to hire a labourer, dozens throw themselves at him, desperate for any job.
Abdul Rashid Azimi holds his seven-year-old twin daughters, Roqia and Rohila, close as he explains his unbearable choices. I'm willing to sell my daughters, he weeps. I'm poor, in debt, and helpless. I come home from work with parched lips, hungry, thirsty, distressed and confused. My children come to me saying 'Baba, give us some bread'. But what can I give? Where is the work?
Abdul believes selling one daughter could provide food for the rest of his family for at least four years. He hugs Rohila, kissing her as he cries. It breaks my heart, but it's the only way.
Saeed Ahmad has already sold his five-year-old daughter, Shaiqa, after she fell ill and he could not afford her medical treatment. If I had money, I would never have taken this decision, he laments. The Taliban’s restrictions on girls’ education further complicate these dire situations, cementing the notion that daughters can be sold for marriage or domestic work as survival strategies.
Families are increasingly being forced to make these heart-wrenching decisions as aid diminishes and food scarcity increases. With no support from the Taliban government and harsh economic realities, many fathers are pushed to the brink, and the impact of this crisis is reflected in rising child mortality rates, often attributed to malnutrition and lack of medical care.
The ongoing humanitarian crisis continues to grip the nation, leaving families to navigate unimaginable hardships as they fight for survival.
Juma Khan, 45, has found just three days of work in the past six weeks that paid between 150 to 200 Afghani ($2.35-$3.13). My children went to bed hungry three nights in a row. My wife was crying, so were my children. So I begged a neighbour for some money to buy flour, he says. I live in fear that my children will die of hunger.
In Afghanistan today, a staggering three in four people cannot meet their basic needs, according to the United Nations. Unemployment is rife, healthcare is struggling, and the aid that once provided the basics for millions has dwindled significantly.
The country is facing record levels of hunger, with 4.7 million people estimated to be one step away from famine. Ghor is one of the worst-affected provinces.
The men here are desperate. I got a call saying my children hadn't eaten for two days, says Rabani, his voice choking up. I felt like I should kill myself. But then I thought how will that help my family? So here I am looking for work.
Labourers gather early to find the little work that exists. When a local bakery opens, the owner distributes stale bread among the crowd, and men rush to grab the precious pieces. When a man on a motorcycle arrives wanting to hire a labourer, dozens throw themselves at him, desperate for any job.
Abdul Rashid Azimi holds his seven-year-old twin daughters, Roqia and Rohila, close as he explains his unbearable choices. I'm willing to sell my daughters, he weeps. I'm poor, in debt, and helpless. I come home from work with parched lips, hungry, thirsty, distressed and confused. My children come to me saying 'Baba, give us some bread'. But what can I give? Where is the work?
Abdul believes selling one daughter could provide food for the rest of his family for at least four years. He hugs Rohila, kissing her as he cries. It breaks my heart, but it's the only way.
Saeed Ahmad has already sold his five-year-old daughter, Shaiqa, after she fell ill and he could not afford her medical treatment. If I had money, I would never have taken this decision, he laments. The Taliban’s restrictions on girls’ education further complicate these dire situations, cementing the notion that daughters can be sold for marriage or domestic work as survival strategies.
Families are increasingly being forced to make these heart-wrenching decisions as aid diminishes and food scarcity increases. With no support from the Taliban government and harsh economic realities, many fathers are pushed to the brink, and the impact of this crisis is reflected in rising child mortality rates, often attributed to malnutrition and lack of medical care.
The ongoing humanitarian crisis continues to grip the nation, leaving families to navigate unimaginable hardships as they fight for survival.
