CLOTHING MAKES, ER, SAVES THE MAN VIGNETTE
I was working as an international advisor on a US-sponsored counter-narcotics project in 2007-08 over in Helmand Province in the southern part of the country, where half the world’s opium is grown.
I got up to Kabul a few times. Naturally I had to go souvenir hunting for friends and family. The only place to do that was a drag called “Chicken Street”. (I assumed that sold nothing but chickens there at some point, just like in medieval Europe and some Asian countries where all the vendors selling the same goods congregate on one street.) It is the hard-core touristy area, selling all manner of trinkets, doodads, gee-gongs, antiques (real and otherwise), and especially Afghanistan’s most famous export (no, not opium), but lapis lazuli.
On one brief trip to Kabul, I went down there one fine afternoon in May 2007. Big mistake. Dressed as an expat, I was immediately surrounded by a mob of people, all shouting and hounding me for my spare change, donations, cash handouts, monetary assets, and whatever was in my pocket. Some people tried to shove their written requests for help into my hand. Finally, my bodyguard managed to shoo them away. I vowed never to go down there again dressed as an expat.
The next trip a few months later I was back in Kabul. This time I was disguised as a Pasto elder. Sporting a gray beard, a traditional long sleeve white shirt and matching pants, a wrap-around heat scarf, leather slip-on loafers and black vest. I was ready to rock-and-roll. My driver, interpreter, bodyguard, and I all moved out. We went down to Chicken Street to shop-until-we-dropped. No one even batted an eyelash in my direction, I was totally ignored. A perfect disguise.
That summer, down in Helmand Province, the US Agency for International Development (USAID) representative announced that in an effort to wean the opium farmers away from growing opium poppies they would sponsor an agricultural fair that August. There was an agricultural fairground outside of the city to the west. All except it was deep inside Taliban country. A one-day truce was declared, everyone was supposed to leave their weapons at the checkroom. Our counter-narcotics team was invited to attend.
I said I would attend the ag fair, but I was going disguised as a Taliban. The local tailor was summoned. A suitable costume was prepared a few days later. When the tailor handed the package, I had someone assist me to don the costume. All the Afghan staffers were literally rolling around on the ground laughing. They said I was a perfect Deputy Senior Taliban Commander. The day of the ag fair we went. I was a sensation. All the locals ran away from me, my interpreter said all the Taliban troops were asking each other: “Who’s the new commander?” and the Afghan Army Intelligent Sergeants were furiously snapping my photo.
Eventually the story made it into TIME Magazine.
