the_taliban_shuffle_-_kim_barker

directionless as a headless chicken. And here was Sharif, oering to nd
me a friend. Thank God the leaders of Pakistan had their priorities
straight.
“Sure. Why not?” I said.
The thought of being fixed up on a date by the former prime minister
of Pakistan, one of the most powerful men in the country and, at
certain points, the world, proved irresistible. It had true train-wreck
potential.
“What qualities are you looking for in a friend?” he asked.
“Tall. Funny. Smart.”
I envisioned a blind date at a restaurant in Lahore over kebabs and
watermelon juice with one of Sharif’s sidekicks, some man with a
mustache, Sharif lurking in the background as chaperone.
“Hmmm. Tall may be tough. You are very tall, and most Pakistanis
are not.” Sharif stood, walked past the banquet table toward the
windows, and looked out over the capital. He pondered, before turning
back toward me.
“What do you mean by smart?” he asked.
“You know. Smart. Quick. Clever.”
“Oh, clever.” He nodded, thought for a second. “But you do not want
cunning. You definitely do not want a cunning friend.”
He looked out the window. It seemed to me that he was thinking of
Bhutto’s widower, Zardari, his onetime ally and now rival, a man
universally considered cunning at business who many felt had
outsmarted Sharif in their recent political tango.
“No. Who wants cunning?”
“Anything else?” he asked. “What about his appearance?”
“I don’t really care. Not fat. Athletic.”
We shook hands, and I left. In all my strange interviews with Sharif,
that definitely was the strangest.
Pakistan’s spies soon seemed to kick up their interest in me, maybe
because I had written a few controversial stories, maybe because of
Sharif. Sitting in my living room, I complained to several friends about
a man named Qazi, a former army colonel who worked as part of
intelligence over foreigners.
“Qazi,” I said. “That guy. He always calls me and asks me what I’m
doing.”