the_taliban_shuffle_-_kim_barker

Arabia for the feasts that marked the end of Ramadan. But they had
another goal. Afghan ocials had been hoping that the inuential
Saudi royal family would moderate negotiations between their battered
government and the resurgent militants. Sharif, in Saudi Arabia at the
time, was rumored to have been at those meetings. That made sense.
He was close to the Saudi king. He had supported the Afghan Taliban,
when the regime was in power.
I called Sharif and told him why I wanted to see him.
“Most welcome, Kim,” he said. “Anytime.”
We arranged for a lunch on a Saturday in October—I was due to y
to Kabul two days later. Samad and I decided to drive the ve hours
from Islamabad to Raiwind instead of ying. Samad showed up on
time, but I overslept, having been up late the night before. I hopped
out of bed and ried through my Islamic clothes for something suitable
because I liked to dress conservatively when interviewing Pakistani
politicians. I yanked out a red knee-length top from India that had
dancing couples embroidered on it. Potentially ridiculous, but the nicest
clean one I had. We left Islamabad.
“You’re gonna have to hurry, Samad,” I said. “Possible?”
“Kim, possible,” he said. It always cracked me up when I got him to
say that.
We made good time south, but got lost at some point on the narrow
roads to Raiwind. Sharif sent out an escort vehicle with ashing lights
to meet us. We breezed through security—we actually didn’t even slow
down—and I forced Samad to stop in the middle of the long driveway
leading up to Sharif’s palace. I had forgotten to comb my hair or put on
any makeup. I turned the rearview mirror toward me, smoothed down
my messy hair with my hands, and put on some lipstick. Twenty
seconds. “Good enough,” I pronounced my eort, and ipped the
mirror back to Samad.
We reached the imposing driveway. Sharif actually waited in front of
his massive front doors for me, wearing a blue suit, slightly snug around
his waist. He clasped his hands in front of his belt. It was clear that our
meeting was important. Sharif was surrounded by several lackeys, who
all smiled tight-lipped before looking down at the ground. I jumped
out of the car, sweaty after the ride, panicked because I was late. I
shook Nawaz’s hand—he had soft ngers, manicured nails, baby-like