At a dingy studio in the labyrinthine Kissakhani market–literally “the bazaar of the storytellers”–I sat for portraits dressed in a loose-fitting Pakistani outfit with a dupatta, or shawl, over my hair. “Don’t smile,” advised an acquaintance. “Nobody smiles in Afghanistan.” For my black-and-white portrait, the photographer dragged out an ancient wooden 2e-inch-format camera on a tripod; the device looked like something out of the British Raj. He focused burning-hot studio lights around me, then deftly removed the lens cap for a fraction of a second and replaced it. Somehow, all the exposures were spot on.
The photos were handed over to my agent, and a set of fraudulent documents ordered up. Now I was “Mariana Ali” from Bamian, where many Afghans look vaguely Chinese. One genuine Afghan passport, stolen by Northern Alliance fighters from the Kabul Interior Ministry, with my photo in it, cost $275. Backup papers included a Kabul ID card ($56), a birth certificate ($8) and a driver’s license ($9).
Then came two additional documents. One was a bright red membership card for the now defunct Afghan Communist Party, which was toppled by the mujahedin in 1992. The second was a letter from Taliban intelligence authorities summoning Ali for questioning. It demanded that she stop secretly teaching girls to speak English and that she bring all her students’ documents to the police. “These will get you asylum,” promised the agent’s go-between. He could do more, too: “Do you want us to arrange an article printed in the Pakistani papers, reporting that unidentified men have attacked you here?” The implication would be that pro-Taliban elements in Pakistan were also persecuting me. I declined.
Visas–to China, to Dubai, to Ukraine–could be obtained from other agents, for prices that had run up to $2,500 before Sept. 11 and now reach $4,000. All these travel documents would be destroyed upon arrival, when refugees ask for asylum. But for those enticed by the freedom and wealth of the West, it surely seems money well spent.
