Children at the Bazaar in Afghanistan. Treated almost as slaves, as a hook to get tourists and Soldiers to by the merchandise for more than itís worth out of petty. This young merchants live each day with the dream of one day going to UK, France, America or any place Soldiers tell them live is better, with the hope of getting sponsored by one of this Soldiers to go study at Oxford or Harvard or even Virginia Tech. Saturday after Saturday they are at the Bazaar with the same story, with the same innocent face, luring Soldiers in and getting exploited by the very same person that is expected to take care of them and protect them, By their Father or Mother or that older Brother.
Every Saturday you see the same boys at the bazaar, and you see them in the streets of Afghanistan getting blown to shreds by the same IED that took the life of your fellow Soldier, the same IED that someone that promised to drive the infidel out of their land, the same one that pledged to protect them, planted in the road turn just meters away from their village. You see the same children come into our ER and see the Docs fighting for their lifeís and then when you return them to their families as ordered, you seat there in disbelieve, immobile, full of rage, and impotent when you can only watch as their father takes a gone to their head while the rest of the family prays to Ala to take him into heaven. All because an infidel saved his life and in the attempt the kit lost his leg or arm. That is their sign that saving his life was not Alaís will.
Photos taken at the Kandahar Bazaar.
Tags: Photo journalism
Portraits and people
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