Peshawar – Permit to Afghanistan

Bodyguards of Afghan consulate in Peshawar

Three years ago, July 17, 2003 exactly, I was applying for the permit to pass thru Khyber Pass to go to Afghanistan. This is one of the essential procedure for foreigners to get to Afghanistan by land ‘legally’, as those areas bordering Pakistan and Afghanistan are all tribal controlled areas. I was with my travel companion, Adam from England, in the Home Department Office to apply for the permit for both of us.

The Home Department didnt allow anybody to bring camera inside the office. I guessed maybe because that the office was too filthy. At the third floor we saw that the floor was flooded by water, leaking from cooler machine apparently. The rooms were all dark, with water on the floor, thousands of papers every here and there, … But something more embarassing about the office that we experienced.

First we were directed to go to the third floor where we were supposed to get the form. The old man in charge, in white dress, white cap, and white beard, first interviewed us. First he emphasized, “You know, in this office, my signature is the most important signature. Without my signature you cannot go to Afghanistan.”
We didnt answer. He continued.
“Do you think that you are mature enough to go to Afghanistan? That’s a dangerous place”
“If you are mature enough, please show me your sign of maturity!”
It was a strange question, more closer to sexual innuendo. The next questions were even more unbelievable to be asked in interview to get a permit to tribal areas.
“Do you have boyfriend?”
“Do you like kissing with your boyfriend?”
“Do you like Pakistani guys?”
“Do you want me to kiss you?”
We kept low profile, even though I was very angry, but we know without this permit, then our Afghan visa would also be of vain.

We were asked to go to groundfloor to get another signature of another minister. When we left the room, that man gave me a gesture of kissing me. In my heart I would like to scold him, “Hey old man, what are you doing, look at your white beard!”

At that time I was still young, 21 years old, and even with much younger face that people here used to think I was 12 years or something. The officer might think it would be fun to play with young boys.

Then we arrived in ground floor. This minister signature was easy. Then we went to second floor to get another man’s signature. It was part of Pakistan bureaucracy, up and down in the same office that make even the fattest men to be slim, apparently inherited from the British colonial era. Then we met the man again in the room next to his in the third floor. The other old man, his secretary, was typing the permit. The typewriter, old manual one, was interesting. It has been long time for me not seeing typewriters like that, as it had been replaced by computers in Indonesian offices since a decade before. While the secretary was typing, the old man kept playing with me. I didnt reply him any single word. He took my cap from my head (it is humiliation for Indonesians to do so), he expected me to cry to get my cap back. I just ignored him. Later when the permit letter finished, he returned back my cap, and again when we left the room he did the kissing gesture to me.

So that was the struggle to get the Khyber Pass permit three years ago. A nightmare during the day, and it took us more than three hours here and there.

Today I had to pass this procedure again, and I had to admit, I worried that the history had to be repeated.

I was relieved that it did not. In fact the office now, still at the same place opposite the museum, was even tidier, no more water, no more broken glass and funny smell. I went to the third floor directly. The secretary with typewriter three years ago was still there, but now with computer. I was asked to fill the form immediately, he asked me to go down to ground floor to get signature from Mr Manzoor. The signature was just acquired by handing in my application and passport copy, which Mr Manzoor read thoroughly, and signed it in less than a minute. I went back again to the third floor, the secretary had the template for the permit already, that it was printed in less than half minute.

In total I just spent 15 minutes in that office, and I got my Khyber permit smoothly. No more interview, no more sexual harassments, and no more the noisy typewriter.

Or maybe I am just lucky?