For Brickmakers in Afghanistan, Debt and Servitude*

For most workers, there is no escape - for them or for their children, who are bound by their parents' contracts.

Objavljeno
25. marec 2011 11.24
Posodobljeno
25. marec 2011 11.24
Michael Kamber, New York Times
Michael Kamber, New York Times
WATA POOR, Afghanistan - The labor boss stood looking down at a man and his four sons squatting in the dirt, the boys mechanically rolling and slapping mud as they made line after line of bricks.

"See, there's a sad story," the boss, Gul Bacha, said as he pointed to the oldest son, Nick Muhammad, 18. He said the young man had twice escaped to join the Afghan Army, but when his father needed another loan from Mr. Bacha, the boss forced him to bring his son back to work. "His father came to me asking to borrow more money," Mr. Bacha said." Itold him: ‘No. You must bring your son back here. Or else bring me the money you owe me and leave the house I have provided you.'" The young Mr. Muhammad listened impassively to the tale of his unhappy return to the kiln in Nangarhar Province. "I was 7 years old when I started this work," he said later, when the boss was gone. "My family owed 10,000 rupees then. Today, we owe 150,000 rupees."

The Muhammads are indentured servants, bought and paid for by Gul Bacha, who purchased their contracts from a kiln owner in Pakistan, where they had been living as refugees. Like tens of thousands of Afghans, the Muhammads are trapped in a seemingly endless cycle of poverty that keeps them indebted to their employers. People who labor at the kilns borrow from their employers, who generally pay them pennies an hour for their grueling labor - barely enough to survive and too little to pay off debts that only grow with each passing year.

For most workers, there is no escape - for them or for their children, who are bound by their parents' contracts. Their best hope is that the boss will sell their contract to another kiln, where they might be paid more. No matter what, the loan will follow them. In some cases, children are held as their parents' collateral. At the kiln where Nick Muhammad works, his father, Zar Muhammad, 55, said he was haunted by guilt that his children would inherit his debt. His two youngest sons, Gul, 7, and Neyaz, 8, worked beside him in the mud as he spoke. Neyaz's hands fly with astonishing speed. But the boy looks worn down, exhausted by 12-hour days that start before dawn. "I don't like this job," he said. "I want to go to school and to become a doctor to serve my people and my country."

It is illegal for children younger than 15 to work long hours or do heavy labor. There are 90 kilns in the Surkhrod District alone, with an average of 150 to 200 children working in each one, according to Hajji Mirwais, director of the brick kiln union here. "These children in the kilns work in a state of near slavery," said Sarah Crowe, Unicef's regional chief of communication for South Asia. Zar Muhammad's troubles began 30 years ago when he took a loan from a kiln owner to marry. (The elaborate marriage and funeral ceremonies expected by Afghans frequently cost several years' worth of wages.)

Mr. Muhammad soon realized that his weekly earnings in the kiln left little or no money to pay down the principal. As his family grew, he - like other workers here - found himself having to borrow more money to pay for medicine for his children and other basic needs. The kiln owner pays Mr. Muhammad and his four sons about $10 for the 2,500 bricks they make in an average day. The owner can usually make $160 selling that many bricks. The kiln manager and labor boss defend their practices. "They were hostages in Pakistan,"

Mr. Bacha said. "I paid their loans and brought them back to their own country. Once they finish their loan, then they can leave." He also noted that owners provided houses, electricity, beds, blankets, water and cash for workers' family expenses, and served as a safety net with more loans when family members fell ill. The young Mr. Muhammad says he would like to get married soon. But he looks at his father, trapped in the fields of brick for 30 years. "I will have to borrow money to get married," he said. "But I am afraid if I borrow money from the kiln owner, then I will have to work here forever."