Zeina Khodr enlarges on this point: ‘They need to know that you are one of them. As a human, show them that you can relate to them. I went to meet a Taliban commander. At first I was shocked when 30 or 40 men emerged from nowhere with guns. But I remembered he had invited me as a guest. They wanted to talk to me, so I should assume the best. I told them I came from a place of conflict in Lebanon. We discussed something we had in common. That way it’s not like I am coming from Paris to talk to them about fighting in the jungle.
‘As a visitor to the area, I would be regarded as a guest by the local tribal elder in Afghanistan, and he would see me as his responsibility. Those feelings are even stronger if you are a female visitor. Having a woman in the team helps.
‘Little things help to show your respect. In Afghanistan don’t look men straight in the eye at checkpoints. They are not used to that from a woman.’
Fitting in is all about knowing how to approach people so that they forget the barriers that might otherwise exist outside that room. Monique Nagelkerke, MSF head of mission, told me: ‘When dealing with UN peacekeepers or with officials, and when trying to break the ice, look at the name on their shirt pocket and address the man with his name as printed on his uniform. Often it is long and difficult to pronounce, so you can always ask what his mother or wife calls him. This always worked for me until I met a sharp officer from India, who looked me straight in the eye and answered, “My mother always calls me Sweetheart.” Oh well, it did break the ice!’
Jon Snow is the chief presenter of Channel 4 News in the UK. He is as famous for his socks and ties as his challenging interviews. He was a long way from the studio in 1982 when he had a brush with a group of fighters north of the capital of El Salvador. ‘I had my life saved by a small gesture at the right time…by a man with a packet of Marlboro. A Dutch film crew had been killed and we wanted to find out what happened. We went to the area they had been murdered and found what seemed to be the same death squad. We looked into their eyes and thought we’d had it. My Italian fixer Marcelo Zinini got out a packet of cigarettes and handed them round. They put down their weapons and never picked them up again.’
And sometimes, says one former UN worker, who prefers to go unnamed, you need to know the body language in order to avoid offence. ‘Gestures for implying “Would you like a drink?” are not universal. The hand rounded, as if holding a glass, and tilting back into your mouth can imply something quite different in different cultures. This was a lesson I learnt when working as a cocktail waitress, with limited Spanish, in Buenos Aires many moons ago. The drink gesture in that part of the world is in fact a thumb gestured towards the mouth. I did well on tips however.’
Knowing the right gesture to make at the right time could save your life. Leith Mushtaq told me: ‘I am a white-skinned Arab. I was sitting having coffee in a teashop in Kandahar and there were some men who looked like Taliban. The tea boy told me they thought I was a kaffir [non-believer]. I got up and started saying a prayer, something I knew from childhood. It worked – they came and shook my hand.’
/TEA AND COFFEE
Countries of the Middle East, Asia and the Orient each have their own obsession with tea and coffee. It varies from country to country, and even from town to town.
In the Arab world the tea might come in a tiny cup, but after hours of brewing and often ladles of sugar, it will pack a punch. The coffee is delicious, cardamom-rich stuff in some areas, and just plain strong in others. It is not usually filtered, so don’t gulp down the muddy end of the cup. They will tap it out when you are offered more…and you will be offered more, and more and more until you can barely remember what it was like not to have every half hour and meeting punctuated with the ritual of pouring. It was when I totted up eight strong, sweet coffees in a day in Iraq that I knew it had to stop.
Ian Mackinnon is a freelance journalist, now based in Bangkok, where he used to be the Guardian newspaper’s Southeast Asia correspondent. Before that he spent years earning his stripes as Jerusalem correspondent for The Times newspaper, and as a Delhi freelancer in and out of Afghanistan and Pakistan. He told me about his various tea and coffee experiences:
‘Accepting chai (in India), hot sweet tea in Afghanistan, tea with mint in the Palestinian territories, or sweet ‘mud’ coffee is an occupational hazard. You’ve no choice but to accept as it’s part of the hospitality, and to refuse would be impolite and rather militate against breaking the ice. In martyrs’ mourning tents accepting seems doubly important. Drink slowly if sweet “anything” would be your last choice because your cup will be refilled again and again. You’ll get used to it eventually and may even develop a taste for it.
‘The problem is that after the fifth or tenth interview of the day, and many more during the week, you’ll risk getting fat. Worse, in the short term you’ll be bursting for a pee, even in the heat of an Afghan or Gazan summer when you’re sweating buckets. It’s a bigger problem for women, as they’re forced to brave filthy loos. Even for men there are perils to peeing al fresco. In Afghanistan don’t be tempted to wander off the road to pee modestly under a tree. The lurking landmines might take off your foot and spoil the whole day. Standing to pee against a wall is offensive too in Afghanistan and Pakistan, and risks offending local modesty, where it’s polite to squat down. It’s no mean feat.’
/WORKING WITH THE MILITARY
There are two options when dealing with the military: blend in with them and be a legitimate target in the eyes of any opposing force, or stand out from the green or khaki crowd and potentially become a target just because you look different. You might be targeted just because you are a medic, teacher or journalist, and your injury or death is more valuable than the average soldier.
You have to find a way to remain independent while firmly hugged in the arms of the army. I always chose to wear my scruffy press uniform – an enormous shirt and sagging trousers – when I was out on the occasional foray with British forces. Another essential piece of kit was the look I perfected of sympathetic innocence any time we went through the badlands of Basra. I would try to catch the eyes of boys throwing stones and smile as they bounced off my helmet. When it came to winning the troops over, I always worked on making myself very small, almost invisible and out of the way. That is not always easy if you have a lot of kit. You are often reliant on the military for your safety. Don’t piss them off.
Tim Albone told me: ‘Nothing, I imagine, annoys the military more than a scruffy journalist. Soldiers have to wear uniform, shave daily and have their hair cut above the collar: journalists don’t. Having someone hanging around asking lots of questions must be annoying enough. When they are dressed in baggy clothes, with long hair and unshaven, like I often am, it must be worse. When I first went on an embed [an attachment to a military unit in combat] an older, much more experienced journalist told me to cut my hair, tuck my shirt in and have a shave. It was pretty good advice. The more you blend in, the more likely it is that soldiers will open up to you.’
Julius Cavendish is the Independent newspaper’s correspondent in Kabul. He spends a lot of time under canvas on embeds with the military of one sort or another. And, as he explained to me over lunch one day in London, he is learning how to adapt all the time. ‘Putting sniper tape over shiny karabiners and wearing more military-issue clothing so you blend in better with soldiers works. It’s a matter of making the people around you feel comfortable because part of your job is, like a doctor, asking them to lie down and take off their emotional clothing. Otherwise, just try to be nice, despite whatever frustrations Western armies throw at you as you try to report. Being a pushy pain is the best way to alienate people.