LIKE SO MANY other compounds in Jamrud, the warehouse belonging to Ejaz Arbab (probably not his real name) boasts all the traditional amenities: 30-foot-high walls of baked mud and brick studded with broken glass, machine-gun nests mounted on squat corner towers, murder slits placed above the entrance, and a heavy steel gate complete with surly, machine-gun-toting guards. Little differentiates it from other compounds that line the dusty Khyber Road to Afghanistan. While not all the compounds are owned by criminals or slavers, most are, and Arbab is one of the wealthiest by either standard.
Entering the courtyard of Arbab’s compound is like stepping into a desert oasis. Green date palms dot the property, and a fountain of blue azulejos tiles in an intricate arabesque pattern sprays water five feet into the air. It is an unheard of luxury in this desolate, rocky land where the earth cracks in the dry air outside the compound. The building itself is a large white-stucco rectangle, and it has wooden floors.
But aside from his home’s quiet ostentation, Arbab presents as a genial old man. His olive-green lunghi (a turban-style headdress favored by the Taliban), his constantly clacking prayer beads, and his white shovel beard, which blends in with his white salwar kameez, also suggest a religious man. But he is a businessman as well, and businessmen sell things. Arbab happens to sell people.
The main structure of Arbab’s compound is dominated by a large rectangular room of about 40 by 30 feet. After walking down the steps into the main hall, buyers are guided to spots on a floor covered with dark-red geometrically patterned Afghan carpets. There is a foot-high dais in the middle of the room and a side door at the far end. Pillows serve as seats at low-slung tables dominated by hookahs (water pipes used to smoke tobacco or hashish), pots of green tea, and plates of dates and pistachios.
The guests — everyone is a buyer — gradually fill the room. Everyone knows each other, and most of the buyers appear to be related in some way — small comfort for a white Western journalist in local dress having difficulty with the language. Everyone is asked to leave weapons in the anteroom on the way into the hall, but from the way some sit, it’s clear that there are still plenty of weapons in the room by the time the auction begins.
Finally, all the guests have arrived. And as if at some unspoken cue, the conversation stops. Arbab walks up to the dais, acknowledging his more prominent guests on the way. The side door at the other end of the room opens, and a wizened older woman in black brings a small girl up to the stage. She is slight and shy, and couldn’t have been more than 14 — though few Afghans know their real ages. Her skin looks a little red, like it had been scrubbed too vigorously with a loofa, and her hair still looks damp. She’s wearing only a kameez — the knee-length tunic common in this part of the world, usually complemented by a salwar, or a pair of large baggy pants.
Mr. Arbab fingers his prayer beads as he gives a short history of the girl. Not only is she a virgin, he notes, but she is "untouched," meaning that she has not had anal sex with her previous master — a common practice. The fact that the girl is "untouched," combined with her lighter skin and blue-green eyes, makes her particularly prized.
The bidding starts quickly. About 15 minutes into the bidding, one of the buyers asks for an inspection. The elderly woman removes the girl’s tunic, fingers the child’s breasts, and then shines a flashlight into her open mouth to show that she has a good set of teeth. Bidding resumes with a certain intensity; some of the men can be seen rubbing themselves.
Of the 15 or so girls sold that evening, only four were "untouched." All were virgins, because, as Arbab said, "I only buy the best." And he makes piles of money doing it. Though his agents will buy the girls for between $80 to $100 at the borders, the price at the auction was considerably higher. The 14-year-old was sold for 165,000 Pakistani rupees, or about $2750. I heard it whispered that the girl was going to Dubai (presumably to become a member of a harem). Others were not so lucky. Another girl, a tall 18-year-old virgin with long black hair and light eyes, was sold to a prostitution ring in Lahore. Though a virgin, she had been "touched," and so sold for $2450. Although men at the auction ostensibly are paying for the right to marry the girls, few — if any — do. Most of the girls become prostitutes; the lucky become domestic help.
The case of boys is more straightforward. Since they are seen as a labor commodity, there is less mark-up involved. Most go straight from the borders to the factories. The smallest boys are sold to sheikhs in the United Arab Emirates to be used as camel jockeys. According to Arbab, the smaller boys are favored because they are light and their high-pitched screams make the camels go faster.
