Homeless. Not war or violence but drought, dying poppies,
dust. Always the choking dust. Her husband gone and
children starving in the shamal winds of a tent city, she’s
sold her red-haired Akila, only 6, for 200,000 afghanis
to a man named Najmuddin. As a bride, so he said, for
his 10 year old son. My Akila, says the woman who has
other mouths to feed, does not know I have sold her. In tears
she will go. But she’s a child, and I have no other choice.
Najmuddin, who’s paid only 5,000 thus far, says, Ah. . .
this was an act of charity. Says, Listen. . .these things do
happen. Even an old man marries a young girl, it happens.
And the woman, what does she say then?
She says, Who would ever ever sell a piece of her heart if she
didn’t have to do so. . .
