The great hunger grips Afghanistan

On the road that threads across the vast plains of northern Afghanistan figures line the way - boys and old men - raising both…

On the road that threads across the vast plains of northern Afghanistan figures line the way - boys and old men - raising both hands to their mouths in a haunting ritual beseeching each car that passes by. The fields behind them are parched and devoid of the crops that in a normal year should be ripening.

Afghanistan is in the grip of a deadly drought that has already caused thousands to leave their homes in search of food. For the third year in succession the rains have failed and rural people are starting to experience a desperation they have never known before. The country, racked by continuing conflict between the ruling Taliban and the Northern Alliance opposition forces, now has at least half a million internally displaced people, with an estimated further 250,000 in Iran and Pakistan fleeing both drought and fighting.

Conditions for those affected by drought are deteriorating rapidly and signs of approaching calamity abound. Faryab province, in the remote north, used to be part of the country's breadbasket, and is situated in a wide arc of rain-fed land that extends south-west across the northern plains. This year, much of the wheat that was planted is either stunted or scorched, and ploughed fields of barren soil stand out starkly.

"All of this would be green in a normal year," says Farhana Faruqi, the United Nations Regional Coordination Officer for the northern region. "This year only 30 to 40 per cent of the cultivatable land was planted. In most cases, it was a combination of not enough seeds and not enough rain. They [the farmers] have not received the last two rains - for most of them the gamble is over," she added.

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A bus passes by in the opposite direction - the seats have been taken out and it is full of cattle. Faruqi explains that busloads of cattle are a common sight, used by traders to transport livestock which farmers have been forced to sell because they can no longer feed them and need the money for food.

By now, the road is a bumpy track across the Dasht-i-Laili, the desert of Laili, which despite its name used to provide pasturage for thousands of goats and sheep, receiving ample run-off from the snow which covered the nearby hills in winter. This spring, the nomads who lived off this area for part of the year abandoned it, leaving behind vast tracts of carefully cultivated land that yielded nothing.

In Maimana, the dusty provincial capital of Faryab, Save the Children USA opened an office in March in response to the crisis. The organisation is distributing cooking oil, pulses, beans and iodised salt to 6,000 families, in addition to emergency wheat from the World Food Programme. The UN plans to open an office there soon.

Save the Children USA has just published the findings of a survey carried out last month in the Kohistan, a district of southern Faryab accessible by car for only six months of the year. The survey assessed rates of malnutrition in children under five years of age. Although it concluded that acute malnutrition is not yet occurring on a large scale, it warned that "people's coping mechanisms are near exhaustion".

Along with its other alarming findings, the report warned that "acute malnutrition is often a very late indicator and carries a very high risk of mortality". Under-five mortality rates were already found to be "excessively high" and drought and economic insecurity were considered to be the main contributory factors. The report recommended an increase in emergency food distributions to try to prevent further displacement of the population.

In desperation, people have been selling off their land and livestock. Many have left their villages. Even the traditional marriage arrangements for daughters are being carried out at an earlier age - girls as young as 12 to 14 years old - and the price a bride commands has fallen dramatically from $1,800 to $300, sometimes forcing families to sell their daughters to distant regions.

A track into the hills north-east of Maimana leads to villages which are being abandoned. A steady procession of men on donkeys or on foot, driving cattle towards the nearest town, is an ominous sign of the tragedy unfolding.

"We are bringing this cow to the bazaar and we want to find people to help us," says Lal Mohammed. "The condition of the people is so terrible - we do not have water, and not even donkeys . . ." He falters and breaks down in tears. "Our cows and sheep finished last year. It's not my cow, this one." He was bringing the animal to market for a cattle dealer who would pay him with bread.

Another group of men making their way down the hill say only 15 out of 55 families remain in their village. "Last year, we had some animals and other things and we sold them for food. This year, we don't have anything to sell," says Khan Mohammed. He says that when he could find work he bought bread for his family, but they have also been eating a kind of grass. "Now we are on our way to hire donkeys to bring the women and children from the village," he adds.

They all tell the same story. Up to now, they had survived by gradually selling off livestock and possessions, or taking out loans. Many say the water in their villages has become salty and they have to travel hours by donkey to the nearest drinkable source. But hope is running out. "By God's mercy, until now families have animals to sell for food," says Sayed Asadullah, a father of eight. "If it continues like this, many people will die from thirst and hunger."

HALF the mud houses in the small village of Loqman Arab have been closed up and abandoned. "Those people who have the ability have gone. I cannot go anywhere," says Kul Ikhtiar, pulling up his left trouserleg to reveal an artificial limb. He is one of the thousands of victims of mines that infest the land after Afghanistan's 21 years of war. It is the poorest and most vulnerable families who remain in the village, surviving somehow on a diet of coarse yellow bread made from maize. The grass-like plant they were eating has now withered.

In the neighbouring village of Loqman Barati, its elderly mullah, Sayed Ahmad, instructs one of the villagers to get a handful of scorched wheat. He then rubs the empty ears between his fingers, reducing them to dust. "This year is so difficult for us," he says. "There were other droughts, but then it was just for one year. But now it continues for three years, so all the people have nothing left to sell for food. They are the most serious conditions I have seen."

The French medical relief agency, Medecins sans Frontieres (MSF), runs a supplementary feeding clinic in Maimana that attracts a large crowd of women and children on a Monday morning. In a small room at the back, some pitifully skinny babies are being weighed and measured by nurses. According to medical supervisor Dr Qamar, the numbers of cases of malnutrition have doubled since the clinic was opened last February. "Just yesterday, we had 17 new admissions of malnutrition, of which 15 to 20 per cent are serious," he says.

A recent survey by MSF found many cases of scurvy in the south of Faryab province and a team which has just returned found cases of oedema caused by protein deficiency. Again, villagers were reported to be eating the grass-like plant and also roots that grow in mountainous areas. Begging, which before was unheard of in rural areas, is becoming more and more widespread.

"We need more NGOs concentrating on the north," says Andrew Wilder, field office director with Save the Children USA. "We are not hearing the donors committing money to the north to fund agencies there." Logistical problems due to huge distances, poor roads and security concerns have inhibited agencies from expanding relief efforts there. Wilder would like to see more assistance given to the areas from which displaced people come. Once camps are set up, such as those in Herat, the major city further south where 120,000 Afghans are housed in emergency facilities, it is hard to come up with an "exit strategy".

"I'm really worried about the next three to six months - what's going to happen," says Wilder. "We are heading into a major calamity and it's going to get much worse - and we need to be gearing up for it."