Selling children to survive: Afghan fathers forced to make impossible choices

A Crisis of Survival

Selling children to survive – As the morning light creeps over the horizon, a gathering of men forms in the dusty square of Chaghcharan, the provincial hub of Ghor. They cluster along the road, eyes scanning for any sign of work, hoping it will be enough to keep their families from going hungry. For Juma Khan, a 45-year-old father, this daily ritual has become a grim testament to despair. In the last six weeks, he has managed only three days of employment, earning between 150 to 200 Afghani per day—a meager sum that barely covers a single meal for his family. “My children went to bed hungry three nights in a row,” he recounts, his voice trembling. “My wife was crying, so were my children. I begged a neighbour for some money to buy flour.” The fear in his eyes is palpable: “I live in terror that my children will die of hunger.”

A Nation on the Brink

The United Nations reports that nearly three-quarters of Afghans are unable to meet their most basic needs. Unemployment is rampant, healthcare systems are in disarray, and the aid that once sustained millions has been slashed to a fraction of its former scale. The result is a nationwide hunger crisis, with 4.7 million people—more than a tenth of the population—teetering on the edge of famine. Ghor province, already one of the hardest-hit regions, is now a microcosm of this dire reality. Men here are not just struggling to find work; they are fighting for survival, their desperation mirrored in the faint glimmers of hope that appear when a local bakery opens its doors.

Desperation and the Price of Bread

When the bakery’s owner distributes stale loaves to the crowd, the scene erupts in chaos. Men scramble to snatch even the smallest piece, their hands and faces streaked with dust as they guard it like treasure. Moments later, another rush ensues—a man on a motorcycle offers a single job for brick-carrying, and dozens of workers vie for the opportunity. In two hours, only three are selected. This is the daily struggle of those who have no safety net, their lives dictated by the fleeting availability of work.

Families at a Breaking Point

In the nearby hamlets, where homes are sparse and the landscape is arid, the toll of unemployment is stark. Abdul Rashid Azimi, a father of two, welcomes us into his home, his face lined with exhaustion. He pulls out his young daughters, seven-year-old twins Roqia and Rohila, and explains the impossible decisions he faces. “I’m willing to sell my daughters,” he weeps, his voice cracking. “I’m poor, in debt, and helpless.” He speaks of returning home with parched lips and empty pockets, his children pleading for bread. “My children come to me saying, ‘Baba, give us some bread,’ but what can I give?”

Trading Children for a Future

The urgency of survival has driven some fathers to barter their daughters for a better chance at life. “If I sell one daughter, I could feed the rest of my children for at least four years,” Azimi says, clutching Rohila as he sobs. The emotional weight of the decision is clear, yet the alternative is unthinkable. His wife, Kayhan, adds, “All we have to eat is bread and hot water, not even tea.” Two of her teenage sons work polishing shoes in the town center, while another collects rubbish, which she burns for warmth and cooking.

A Lifeline Lost

Saeed Ahmad’s story is a poignant reflection of the aid system’s collapse. Just two years ago, his family received food rations: flour, cooking oil, lentils, and child supplements. Now, those resources are gone, leaving him to make choices that break his heart. “I had no money for the medical expenses,” he says, describing how he sold his five-year-old daughter, Shaiqa, to a relative after she required surgery for appendicitis and a liver cyst. “If I had taken the whole sum at that time, he would have taken her away.” So he negotiated, asking for enough to cover her treatment now and promising to give the rest later. “This way at least she will be alive,” he says, holding her tiny arms around his neck.

Quotes of Grief and Resolve

“I come home with parched lips, hungry, thirsty, distressed and confused.”

Abdul Rashid Azimi’s words capture the relentless cycle of poverty. For him, the decision to sell his daughters is not a choice but a necessity. “I’m willing to sell them for marriage or domestic work,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. The memory of his children’s cries haunts him, yet he remains resolute. “It breaks my heart, but it’s the only way.”

“We are starving. My older children died, so I need to work to feed my family.”

Khwaja Ahmad, another father, echoes the same anguish. He speaks of his own vulnerability, noting that his age makes him an undesirable worker. “I’m old, so no one wants to give me work,” he says, his sobs cutting through the air. The emotional toll is immense, yet the desperation is universal.

Aid Cuts and Unemployment

The situation has worsened with the drastic reduction of international aid. The United States, once the largest donor to Afghanistan, nearly cut all assistance last year. Other key contributors, including the European Union and Pakistan, have also significantly scaled back their support. This has left millions without the lifeline they once relied on, pushing families to the edge of starvation.

Broader Implications

The crisis is not confined to Ghor. Across Afghanistan, the impact of aid cuts is felt in every corner, from urban centers to remote villages. The breadlines, the cries of children, and the weight of impossible decisions are part of a larger narrative of economic collapse. For many, selling a child is a temporary solution, but the long-term consequences are uncertain. Saeed Ahmad’s Shaiqa will eventually leave for the relative’s home, her future tied to a transaction made out of necessity.

Conclusion

The stories of these fathers are a stark reminder of how survival can demand unimaginable sacrifices. In a country where basic needs are no longer guaranteed, the line between parent and provider blurs. The UN’s warning about the scale of hunger is not just a statistic—it is a reality lived by millions. As the sun sets over the barren hills of Ghor, the men return to their homes, their minds heavy with the burden of choice. For them, the question is no longer whether they can afford to live, but whether their children will survive.