‘When we were at home we had an understanding that we could do what we wanted inside our own four walls. We didn’t cover our heads. We wore T-shirts. And if people didn’t like it, they could leave. People respected that. We had a complete ban on alcohol. There was zero tolerance on that. And if you had a tattoo, you had to keep that covered. It is an extreme culture.’
Clothes are a uniform, and every choice you make is a sartorial sign of your tribe, whether it be a teenage traveller, an off-duty security guard or a group that is friendly to the Taliban. In Pakistan a millinery mistake could get you into trouble.
Kamal Hyder advises: ‘Be aware of the signals given by your clothes. In tribal areas I often carry several different types of turbans and hats, known locally as pakols. When you cross front lines you have to know which one to wear. In some areas the other side will just shoot at you if you are wearing the wrong one.
‘Foreigners should try to blend in too. They shouldn’t feel silly. There are many European-looking people in Afghanistan and Pakistan. Once upon a time, it didn’t matter what you wore. Many of these places used to be very hospitable to foreigners wandering around in T-shirts and trousers (never shorts). But because of the “War on Terror” the attitude has changed and you have to understand that. Xenophobia has crept into what used to be the easy-going hippy trail.
‘When I first started working in the tribal areas of Pakistan I was clean-shaven. I stuck out like a sore thumb. I was an outsider. Many people asked me why I didn’t have a beard given that I was speaking their language. So I grew one and started to blend into the local population.’
Kamal is now famous for his beard. It used to have its own fan club on Facebook.
Zeina Khodr has been working in dangerous places as a journalist for nearly 20 years. She says you should be careful of trying to ‘be’ one of the locals. A nod of respect towards their culture should be the aim:
‘Your “look” is important… there is no way to look exactly like the locals. It should be a balance. You don’t want to appear as if you are trying to be one of them; you might be taken for a spy. Don’t overdo it. I usually buy something from the local market. I want to look like I am a foreigner showing respect for the local customs. So while I might use a burka to travel in disguise, I can’t work in one because that would be showing a lack of respect to their local culture.’
I have worked with Sebastian Walker my whole career in one way or another. From the Baghdad Bulletin to Reuters in Iraq through to Al Jazeera, where he is now a star reporter, flying from his base in Washington DC out to one story or another. An open and unthreatening approach has won him many friends out of potential enemies. In Iraq his wide eyes and brown hair helped him get by as a young whippersnapper swimming around in a bowlful of sharks. He describes our first encounter as follows:
‘By late 2003, with the insurgency raging, there were only two field-based Western stringers working for the wire agencies in post-invasion Iraq. One was the author of this book, in Basra, and the other was me, in Mosul. Neither of us spoke Arabic, and the day job consisted of taxi rides around two cities quickly spiralling out of control, stopping frequently to interview witnesses at the scene of car bomb explosions, riots, attacks on coalition soldiers, and so forth. I have no idea how the blue-eyed, blonde-haired, young British girl got back in one piece.
‘As for me, the strategy was to try to blend in. As ridiculous as that sounds, it was the advice I was given by an Iraqi colleague while mulling the offer of $200 a month plus expenses and a satellite phone. “If you want to survive as an ejnebi [foreigner] in Mosul for six months, start wearing clothes like mine,” he advised. So I went to Baghdad’s second-hand clothes market and purchased several nondescript nylon shirts, cheap trousers and some faux-leather shoes. As I checked into Mosul’s finest budget hotel, the manager peered over the counter and studied me carefully: “Kurdish?”
‘Over the next few months, as Iraq’s second city descended into violence, with death squads cruising the city in search of anyone collaborating with the occupation, the only occasions anyone gave me a second look was when I opened my mouth. Traipsing the streets with translator in tow, we looked like a pair of unsuccessful Iraqi businessmen. As we pushed our way through crowds thronging the scene of one of the many US military slayings I witnessed while down there, I took notes while he did the talking.
‘A low profile isn’t always going to be possible. But for a lone stringer living in a flat in Mosul and filing text reports for Reuters from Internet cafés over the winter of 2003, managing to avoid attention – at first glance at least – was the difference between being able to do my job, or ending up like Nicholas Berg, who was staying at my hotel before being kidnapped and then apparently beheaded live on the Internet. It was four months before I started being followed and had to leave town… I’ve still got those awful clothes in my wardrobe at home.’
/BODY LANGUAGE
If you want to blend in, it starts and ends with an integral understanding of the local body language, down to the smallest detail. As Tom Coghlan, defence correspondent for The Times, told me: ‘Southern Afghans don’t cross their arms, nor do they move their hands and bodies when they are talking. These they regard as a peculiar Western sort of acting. So if you are being Afghan, don’t do it either. Afghans also walk at half the pace of Europeans. Being shy and modest is quite normal, so looking at the ground is fine if you don’t want to be engaged.’
Doing what the locals do will often mean going against your instincts. James Brandon told me: ‘People in developing world war zones frequently look as if they have seen it all before. If you can mimic this quality, when necessary, it will increase your chances of staying alive. If you are walking down a street and see trouble brewing ahead, whatever you do don’t turn around, stare, run or slow down. Do what a local would do: keep your nerve and don’t panic. Trudge on past the incident, ignore everything and don’t catch anyone’s eye. You need to act as if you’ve seen everything before: after all, most locals probably have.
‘I once saw a Jordanian man kidnapped from his hotel in central Baghdad. As two men with guns fired warning shots over his head and forced him into a car, I stood at a tea stand no more than 10 yards away and calmly watched, sipping tea as this unknown man was forced into a car and driven away to his possible death. Keeping cool in such situations might save your life. By watching this incident with an Iraqi-style air of bored indifference, I escaped the attention of this particular kidnapping gang.
‘Unfortunately, after too many months of acting like this, the coldness stops being a mask: this aloofness from humanity becomes part of your character. I sometimes wonder what happened to that unknown man. Five years later I wonder if I should have intervened or somehow done something to help him.’
No matter what you look like or what presents you take, it is your body language that shows respect for the local culture. I have no fluent languages other than English, but all around the world there is a common language of humanity. You just have to learn the local dialect of body language and your message will be a lot clearer.