As millions of us tucked into Christmas dinners, people in Afghanistan were barely aware half the world was celebrating a festive holiday.
The country has been plunged into crisis following the withdrawal of Western troops in August, as outside aid dries up and winter hits hard.
Charities say more than eight million people are on the brink of famine with 500,000 children at risk of dying from malnutrition in the next three months.
Very few aid workers are left on the ground due to safety concerns, but UNICEF Afghanistan’s chief of communications Sam Mort is still visiting clinics and hospitals to help starving kids.
Sam, of Aviemore, Scotland, kept a diary of what she witnessed in November, writing whenever she got time.
She today begs Brits not to forget the unfolding crisis in the country.
Sam said: “While many around the world are enjoying family time and holidays, the people of Afghanistan, especially women and children, are facing devastating poverty.
"As temperatures plummet, disease spreads and unemployment rises, families are struggling to feed their loved ones and keep them warm.
“UNICEF is on the ground in Afghanistan, in urban centres and rural areas, vaccinating infants, treating children with severe acute malnutrition, and providing water for drought-stricken communities. Please help us to help the children most in need.”
Here Sam explains the horror facing young children in the country.
At 5.45am I open the window; the fresh, icy chill catches my breath. Winter is here and it’s bad news for the people of Afghanistan who find themselves in a fast-unravelling humanitarian disaster.
Today, I’m flying from Kabul to Herat in the west of the country for the first time since the Taliban take-over on August 15.
I plan to meet up with our UNICEF team and visit health clinics to better understand the challenges the medical staff are facing as the malnutrition crisis deepens.
Afghanistan has long been one of the most aid-dependent countries in the world. Now, the majority of that aid is frozen.
That means critical services for children, such as health and education, are collapsing. Teachers and health workers have gone months without a wage.
Desperate families are marrying their daughters off and exchanging their children in return for a dowry. People are suffering.
When I reach Herat, white Taliban flags line the roadside and merchants are out selling seasonal fruit.
Primary school children – including girls – are walking to school, many with UNICEF’s distinctive backpacks which always make me smile.
Since the Taliban takeover, girls in grades 7-12 of public school have not been asked to return, nor have their female teachers, but we hear they have been back in class for four days.
The fragility of this news is underlined for me when we hear, less than a week later, that the schools have shut again.
At the local health centre, I’m amazed that despite not having received their salary since August, the staff still go to work every day.
The clinic’s director shows me her records documenting malnutrition.
In the last month, she has noted a 50% increase in severe acute cases.
Half the country – 23 million people – can neither afford nor find nutritious food.
The doctor tells me about one mother who couldn’t breastfeed and was subsisting on a diet of bread dipped in black tea once a day.
This underlines the urgent need to scale up UNICEF’s direct cash transfer programmes so that families can buy the food they desperately need.
Cases of severe acute malnutrition are lingering, the doctor tells me, because mothers often share sachets of ready to use therapeutic food (RUTF) between their other children back home.
Outside in Herat it’s 1C.
We drive to another health clinic where we meet Malika, a mother of three children under six.
Her husband sells chickens when he can. Some days he sells none.
Malika has gently placed her four-year-old daughter, Parwana, on a chair by her side.
She sits still, slumped, unable to raise her head, she didn’t seem curious about the strangers in the room and wore a haunted expression.
Her cheeks were hollowed out; her skin dry, wrinkled and paper thin. Her hair was patchy and bald in places.
Malika told us Parwana won’t eat anything she prepares; she winces and cries if she eats bread.
The nutrition counsellor quickly does a raft of tests, including measuring Parwana’s upper arm which looks no thicker than a broom handle. At four years old, Parwana weighs 9.10kg. She should be double that.
Her mother is given a prescription for RUTF, the high energy peanut paste which promotes growth.
UNICEF is the sole supplier of RUTF in Afghanistan.
We currently have supplies in our warehouses but we will soon need more.
At the pharmacy, Malika collects 28 sachets of RUTF and right then and there, sits down, tears open a packet and urges her frail daughter to eat. Parwana gently takes a bite. But as she swallows, she winces in pain. Her stomach is tender.
She eats slowly and steadily. Fifteen minutes later, she sighs and needs a rest. Parwana will need four of these sachets each day for a week. Then she will return to the clinic for tests and more supplies of RUTF.
This cycle will continue until she is out of danger. She is, of course, one of the lucky ones.
UNICEF has warned that, without urgent action, 1.1 million children under the age of 5 could be at risk of dying from severe acute malnutrition. This is why we need the global community to rally and support the children of Afghanistan.
This is a make or break moment.
It’s a chilly start as I set off for Bamyan in the central highlands.
As Afghanistan spirals deeper into crisis, I’m here to better understand how malnutrition hits rural people.
Frozen waterfalls and snow-covered peaks flank us as we wind our way through the Koh-i-Baba mountains. Gazing at the arid soil, I wonder how anyone makes a living on this land.
On the rooftops of most houses there are already piles of sticks, dry bushes and dried animal manure fashioned into bricks for burning throughout winter.
With half the country – 23 million people – unable to afford a nutritious diet and with rising food prices, malnutrition rates are climbing.
At Bamyan Provincial Hospital, the director takes me to the ward where children with complicated cases of severe acute malnutrition are being treated.
Cases have increased by around 30% but, the director cautions, this is just the start of winter. It will get worse.
In the first bed, at just 60 days old, is tiny Hamid.
He stares ahead, too weak to be interested in my wiggly fingers or silly faces.
His exhausted mother, Fatima, sits by his bedside. She is malnourished and unable to produce enough breast milk. She is grateful for the hospital support but also says she cannot stay for two weeks while her son recovers. She has three other children.
Her husband, like so many in Afghanistan, used to be a day labourer for cash-in-hand.
Work has dried up and he now tries to sell vegetables on a mobile cart in Bamyan. Sometimes he makes $1 or $2 per day.
The family of five live on bread, rice and potatoes. There’s no money for eggs or lentils or meat or fruit or fuel. She looks at me,
resigned and hopeless.
Unusually in a ward for such severe cases of malnutrition, there’s a wee shriek. Someone is trying to get my attention. In the next bed, Danyal, eight months old, is the most alert of the children in the cots.
He has been here for nine days.
His father worked for a Chinese contractor, but that ended after August.
UNICEF’s ready to use therapeutic food has been a large part of Danyal’s recovery.
His mother beams with gratitude and relief and asks to take more home.
Every mother tells the same story: in the last few months, her husband has lost his job; they have no savings; their children are getting sicker.
Most upsetting is this: they have no hope that things will improve.
That is why we need governments and financial institutions to support the people of Afghanistan now, in their hour of need – for children like Hamid who are fighting for life, and for children like Danyal who, thanks to the right healthcare at the right time, is fighting back.
