Kabul, Afghanistan — In Lebanon they were stacked six-high, a metallic patchwork quilt dividing Moslem West Beirut from the Christian-controlled east. Rival Somali factions still use them to provide protection from neighboring gangs. And in Sarajevo, they were maneuvered into position to provide cover from deadly sniper fire.

When countries fall apart, the number of shipping containers lying around seems to multiply. Those corrugated metal boxes usually seen stacked on the piers, or loaded on the flatbed in front of you, are a strange feature of modern warfare.

Afghanistan must surely rank as the biggest container graveyard on earth; they are everywhere, in all colors and sizes. Hundreds litter the war-torn landscape of the Shomali plain north of Kabul where Taliban front lines were overrun last November by the U.S.- backed Northern Alliance.

Some are half-buried gun positions, others form obstacle courses designed to slow traffic at checkpoints. Where fighting was heaviest, containers have been peppered by so much small-arms fire they resemble sieves.

Haji Mohammed Amin buys and sells secondhand containers. His office, naturally enough, is a chopped-down container.

Sometimes their use has been lethal. There are several reports from reliable sources describing how both the Taliban and the factions who opposed them massacred prisoners simply by locking them into containers to die from blistering heat, exposure or starvation. As recently as last Dec. 11., the International Red Cross said it was investigating reports that dozens of Taliban captives suffocated in shipping containers while being taken to prison in northern Afghanistan following the fall of Kunduz.

I was fascinated by the sheer number of containers in Kabul – in some areas they outnumber all other mud-brick or concrete structures. I set out to discover how they ended up in Afghanistan.

Like postage stamps in a collection, or old books at the second-hand store, each container has a set of unique identifying marks that tell something of its origins and history. I started on a street in the Shahre-Naw section of Kabul. The street is lined with containers on both sides for well over a mile, a low-rent strip mall. Afghans are friendly, hospitable and glad of an unusual diversion, even if it's only a foreigner with a notebook interested in their containers, and I was given the grand tour.

Green tea was being served inside a warm, smoky, chopped-down container from the U.S. Complete 40-footers from Turkey were stacked with animal feed for sale. Chinese-built containers, customized with windows and sun awnings, housed barbers and bicycle repair businesses.

My first question was always, "Where did your container come from?", and the answer was always the same, "Russia." Fazel Rahmon, an Afghan friend who had agreed to drive me around on this bright but cold morning, explained.

"Before the Russian invasion in '79, a container was a rare sight in Afghanistan," said Fazel. "The invaders trucked in everything by container. Then, when the Russians fled, Afghans who had worked for them were all thrown out of work, some of these people got their hands on containers and turned them into shops. That's how it all began, and that's why everyone thinks all containers are Russian."

In some cases they're right. I spot one box labeled "CCCP" [Russian alphabet for USSR] and belonging to the old Soviet shipping conglomerate "Morflot." Another has been spray-painted with the directions, "To Kabul via Termez," a crossing point on Afghanistan's northern border with Tadjikistan, which still counts as "Russia" around here.

I am introduced to Ibrahim, who has a business reconditioning shock absorbers in half a standard 40-foot container still bearing its "G.E. Capital" logo. Ibrahim is adamant it came from Russia, and I feign agreement. He tells me how he bought it four years ago in partnership with a friend who took the other half. They paid a dealer 35,000 Pakistani Rupees, about $580 at current rates, plus delivery.

The container isn't level and when Ibrahim's young apprentice drops part of a socket wrench, it rolls into a corner. Ibrahim likes the container because it got him into business quickly, he doesn't have a landlord and it locks up securely at night. On this January morning it's obvious he has trouble keeping the place warm, and he agrees it's a real sweat box in summer. Fazel remembers there is a modern Afghani saying – if you buy a cheap coat or jacket, people say it's like a container, it'll never keep you warm.

Russian or American, I assumed the containers end up in Afghanistan because trade with this central Asian country is largely a one-way affair. Kabuli merchants import container-loads of dry goods from Iran, China, Pakistan and farther afield, but Afghanistan's only high-value exports are semi-precious stones and raw opium – not exactly bulk commodities. Nobody in the shipping industry likes to move around empty containers, so Afghanistan is the end of the line. A global scrap heap.

We drive off to find a man I can test this theory on. After a few wrong turns and mile after mile of container-lined roads we arrive at the premises of Haji Mohammed Amin, used containers bought and sold, no unreasonable offer refused. Haji Amin (Haji indicates one who has made a pilgrimage to Mecca, and is used as one would use Dr. or Mr.) is a quiet man in his early 50s with a shy smile. He's well dressed with a neat beard and gold watch, but I'm disappointed he doesn't come across like a hustler. I'd rather imagined trading containers might be on a par with selling second-hand cars or time-share resorts.

His lot is surrounded by a fence made of chopped up containers and the dust is ankle deep. His sole item of inventory is a 10-foot section (with one set of doors) of a "Transamerica Corp." box that looks like it was originally a refrigeration unit.

Over green tea, Haji Amin explains everything I ever wanted to know about the container game in Afghanistan. He used to be a communist and during the Russian occupation he had a good job in the interior ministry. When the Russians were booted out he lost his job, then saw how containers were going to be the next big thing. He began traveling to the border crossing at the Khyber Pass to negotiate the sale of the big steel boxes after they had been unloaded at their final destination.

Haji Amin tells me he's been in business for eight years but thinks the good times are behind him. The market was weak during the last years of the Taliban regime and, since Sept. 11, his trade has dipped by two-thirds. Freight traffic has been severely disrupted by the U.S. bombing campaign. No new containers are coming into the country, hence his almost empty yard.

As if on cue, two smartly dressed men driving a car with foreign plates arrive in front of his sales office. They are looking for a 40-foot container in good condition. Haji Amin shrugs and gestures to the only thing he has for sale, they thank him and drive off. I note most owners believe their containers come from Russia: what does he think?

"Some do," he replies, "Or at least they get trucked in from there, but I like to look at the markings and see where they've been. I've had stuff from all over the world, France, America, Germany, Dubai and places I've never heard of."

Haji Amin explains there are two types of consignment, transit and disposal. Containers in transit are supposed to be returned to sender or moved out of Afghanistan to another destination after they've been emptied. Disposable containers have been paid for by the merchant importing the contents. The merchant then sells the empty containers to middlemen like Haji Amin.

What sort of money are we talking about? A standard 40-foot container loaded on a truck at the Afghan-Pakistan border costs Haji Amin $716. Once he's emptied its contents, Haji Amin can sell it in Kabul with an $80 mark-up – a fair margin, but it works only if the shipper agrees to deliver right onto his lot. The real money is in selling part containers – two chopped-up halves of the same 40-footer have a sticker price of $530 each. The relatively high cost of a half-container, (or deep discount for a whole one, depending on your position in the market) is partly the result of greater demand, but also because shortened sections are easier and cheaper to move around.

How does he chop them up I ask, with a blowtorch?

"You must be joking," he says, "The gas is much too expensive." He gestures to four young men sitting by his ancient Russian crane. "See those boys over there? They cut a container in half using hammers and chisels, and it takes less than one hour." I'm impressed but aghast – they must all be stone deaf by now.

Are container buyers ever looking or a particular color? "No." Does he accept trade-ins? "No." Are model-year and country of build important? "Listen," he says, "they're only containers."

With so many containers littering the Afghan landscape, and not all of them being put to use, perhaps there's some money to be made in the recycling business. Gregory L. Crawford at the Steel Recycling Institute in Pittsburgh helped me with the math.

"Currently in the USA, according to American Metal Market, the average steel scrap price now is about $65 per ton," he says. "The average weight of a 40-foot steel container is 8,000 lbs. which would yield, at best, $260 on the scrap market."

Crawford also points out this price would have to cover the cost of collecting, processing, and transporting the scrap to the steel mill, a non-existent industry in Afghanistan.

"In today's greatly depressed scrap market," says Crawford, "the venture would likely not be profitable, even when the scrap is shipped to regional mills, say in India or Turkey."

So at $796 per unit, Haji Amin is getting over two-and-a-half times the scrap value for a 40-footer. After his minimum-wage wrecking crew has spent an hour with hammer and chisel, he can sell two halves and better the scrap price by over $800. Given the sizable infrastructure problems at hand, continuing to adapt containers as all kinds of temporary shelters in Afghanistan could be their best and most suitable use at present.