WAKHAN, Afghanistan — Saeed Beg and his family live in a two-room mud house with no electricity or running water, no bathroom, no kitchen, and no furniture apart from a few threadbare rugs and a couple of thin mattresses.

With his mother, wife, and five children aged from 8 months to 14 years sitting alongside, he describes life in the Sarkand valley of Afghanistan’s far northeastern Wakhan corridor as ‘‘very difficult.’’ As he talks, the face of a child laying kindling on the roof to dry appears in the pentagonal hole in the ceiling — typical of the homes of Ismaili Muslims, supported by five pillars.

Beg describes how he exchanges his sheep and goats for food — rice, cooking oil, salt — in the barter system that is the main form of financial transaction here in the shadow of the Hindu Kush.

‘‘We do it because there is no money,’’ he says. ‘‘We don’t have any income, and if we don’t do it, my kids will go hungry. We’ll all be hungry all the time.’’

The Wakhan corridor, which has been named Afghanistan’s second national park, is the country’s most — perhaps only — peaceful region. But it is so poor, even for Afghanistan, that people get food on credit or barter for it, and children go barefoot during the long, harsh winters. The Ismaili Shi’ite Muslim community here also fears being targeted by the nearby Sunni Taliban — so much that many women in Iskashim, the town at the mouth of the valley, have started to wear the all-covering burqa.

Wakhan, in Badakhshan province, is an aberration of 19th century geopolitics, split east to west in 1873 to create a buffer between the Russian and British empires. Afghanistan confirmed the new border 20 years later, and Wakhan has been mostly forgotten ever since. Ask any Afghan where it is, and they make a fist with their thumb protruding like a hitchhiker; the thumb represents a landlocked peninsula that ends at a 47-mile closed border with China, sandwiched between Tajikistan to the north and Pakistan to the south.

An unmade road cuts along the southern bank of the Amu Darya river that divides Afghanistan from Tajikistan. The valley is overlooked by perpetually snow-capped peaks that ensure punishing winds and night-time temperatures close to zero even during the short summer.

On the Afghan side, the region is home to around 17,000 Ismailis, followers of the Aga Khan, one of the world’s wealthiest men and their hereditary spiritual leader for 49 generations.

Here in Wakhan — where the largely Tajik people are known as Wakhis and speak a Pamiri dialect called Wakhi — paper money is almost useless. Villagers measure their wealth in livestock, and grow wheat for bread and oats for their animals.

The main street of Wakhan’s administrative center of Khandood is lined with shops — wooden shacks on stilts, most padlocked shut. Mohammad Ayub took over his shop from his father; it’s been in the family for 50 years, he says. He sells biscuits, cigarettes, brake fluid, 50-kilogram sacks of rice from Kazakhstan, and locally-grown red onions — or he would if he had any customers.

Even people who have jobs are not paid regularly, he says. So he gives them what they need on credit, which means he has to shop on credit too.

Fatima Roshan is conducting a basic necessities survey in 18 of the 42 villages in the Wakhan corridor for the World Conservation Society. Many men in the corridor marry, she says, ‘‘three, four, five times, one woman after another because their wives die in childbirth.’’ For their part, the women fear pregnancy, thinking they will die during or after giving birth.

The local authorities are trying to change things. Two years ago, the Kabul government named the Wakhan a national park. This month officials are traveling through the valley to convince people that the national park will attract tourists and create jobs. District governor Nasratullah Nayel concedes that with only 100 tourists a year, it will be a long time before any economic benefits start to flow.

He is hoping the Taliban-led insurgency that has reached Badakhshan does not come to the valley too. The presence of the Taliban so nearby has further isolated the valley by making the road between Ishkashim and the rest of the country impassable.

Shah Langar says an influx of foreign tourists may attract the Taliban’s attention. Sipping salted tea in his wooden house in Qazideh village, he says the Tajik government closed the border bazaars, where traders from both countries could meet for business, more than 10 months ago amid security concerns.

‘‘It generally hasn’t had a huge effect on us because the people here don’t have anything anyway, we often go without tea, rice, sugar,’’ he said. ‘‘The government never does anything for us. We are in a forgotten corner of Afghanistan.’’