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

Selling children to survive: Afghan fathers forced to make impossible choices Yogita LimayeSouth Asia and Afghanistan correspondentImogen Anderson/BBCAbdul Rashid Azimi says he is prepared to sell one of his daughters to feed the othersAs 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; £1.76-£2.34) per day."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."His story is in no way unique.Warning: This article contains distressing detailsIn Afghanistan today, a staggering three in four people cannot meet their basic needs, according to the United Nations. Unemployment is rife, healthcare struggling and the aid that once provided the basics for millions has dwindled to a fraction of what it once was.The BBC's Yogita Limaye speaks to Afghan fathers forced to make impossible choicesThe country is now facing record levels of hunger, with 4.7 million - more than a tenth of Afghanistan's population - 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."Imogen Anderson/BBCJuma Khan (centre), 45, has found just three days of work in the past six weeksKhwaja Ahmad barely gets out a few words before he starts sobbing."We are starving. My older children died, so I need to work to feed my family. But I'm old, so no one wants to give me work," he says.When a local bakery near the square opens up, the owner distributes stale bread among the crowd.

Within seconds, the loaves have been pulled apart, half a dozen men clutching onto precious pieces.Suddenly another scrum occurs. A man on a motorcycle comes by wanting to hire one labourer to carry bricks. Dozens of men throw themselves at him.In the two hours we were there, only three men got hired.In the communities nearby - bare homes scattered over barren, brown hills, set against the snowy peaks of the Siah Koh mountain range - the devastating impact of unemployment is clear.Abdul Rashid Azimi takes us into his home and brings out two of his children – seven-year-old twins Roqia and Rohila.

He holds them close, eager to explain why he's making 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'. Where is the work?"Abdul tells us he is willing to sell his girls for marriage, or for domestic work. "If I sell one daughter, I could feed the rest of my children for at least four years," he says.He hugs Rohila, kissing her as he cries.