This image was taken on the road from Bagram Air Base to Kabul, Afghanistan from the Humvee that was carrying us. At first look, it was a common scene of a poor family, likely with very little to eat or drink, squating on the side of the road, hoping for some small charity to keep them alive. What struck me were the eyes of the young man standing closest. This is January in the Afghan mountains. He and his family have no shelter and no protector. This child is cold, wind burned, and likely all his mother, brothers, and sisters have left. He is the sole provider where a mother, a woman, had no ability to work or even to be seen or heard. Where was his father? Uncles, aunts, grandparents?
He was maybe twelve years old. His eyes betrayed the hope and longing of a boy but the pain and experience of a man who had already lived a difficult life. He needed a protector and had none. I couldn’t help. The column of military vehicles couldn’t help - we had orders to Kabul.
This boy haunted me from my first days in Afghanistan and still does. I questioned myself
The image has been slightly retouched as I felt that doing any more would detract from the reality of the situation. It’s dirty and raw and is seen through my eyes. It made me feel the sense of isolation and hopelessness that I imagine he’d felt. It made me feel helpless and small - my first instinct was to jump out and help this child and his family but all I could do was reach into my pockets for any scrap of food to pass up to our turret gunner to pass to him.