'Bacha Bazi' – like a body immersed deep in water, this term surfaces repeatedly. The supposed crackdown on the sexual enslavement of young boys in Taliban-governed Afghanistan has been significant. Any commander caught engaging in 'Bacha Bazi' can face a sentence ranging from twenty years to death. Yet, this practice continues unabated. The cries of these boys, who dance with bells on their feet amidst constant abuse, echo the groans of an old bed, often heard but ignored.
After numerous attempts, we reached a family whose son was trapped in 'Bacha Bazi', missing from home for years. Now he's back, like land rendered barren after countless harvests. His face is all that remains unchanged.
Working in an opium field, I was kidnapped. Fear, beatings, exhaustion – perhaps a mix of all knocked me unconscious. When I awoke, I was under a new roof, with a new name and identity. Junaid became Gul.
Roses on my cheeks, I adorned myself like a girl to dance before people. Within a month, I had mastered my new profession's nuances. The deeper the rouge on my face and the more flexible my waist, the more favorably I was received by the master. In return, I was to endure silent abuse and dance upon command.
Were you trained to dance, or did you enjoy the work?
No special training was needed. You swayed lightly to any music playing, surrounded by the master and his guests. Often, they spoke of business deals or issues. Occasionally, their focus would turn to me.
Source: aajtak
A deeper liking could even invite cash to the dance floor, but there was a specific way to accept it. Remaining in motion, we had to pick it up with our teeth. Using hands was seen as disrespect to their stature. I made the mistake once. That night, the master beat me heavily before the abuse.
The master, or 'Aka' as they called him, had other 'Bacha Bazi'. Older and stronger than me, when not the master, they were the ones upon me, ensuring injuries on inconspicuous parts.
I soon realized the master favored me over others. My youthful face and village roots made me a natural. I could play the 'rabab', and soon I became a favorite, earning the name 'Ashna'. A word from me could get others dismissed. Old-timers began fearing me, and for years, I remained a preferred companion.
Source: aajtak
Boasting before friends, they'd flaunt my delicate face and long locks. Despite the hardships, I indulged in this lifestyle. At home, meals weren't always guaranteed. Here, I enjoyed sumptuous ones. Knowing my love for 'Mantu', it often graced my plate, alongside luxurious fragrances and soft garments.
I had become accustomed; even abuse stopped hurting. During ailments, the master showed compassion.
Does this world have no laws to ban it?
Afghanistan's penal code revised in 2018 had implemented strict penalties against it. Under the Child Protection Law's Article 99, it's outlawed. With Taliban's rise, rumor has it punishments have intensified — 20 years in prison or death. Yet, the practice persists, albeit clandestinely.
