Spy Mania:
Few weeks ago as I arrived at the immigration at Batumi, Georgia. Was taken aside, made to sit in a room, a large one with a large dark brown (shiny) table, with five officers sitting in different corners, flapping my passport in the air, passing it on to one another, as if its a cryptograph that boggles them, or a rare map of a world that holds a big secret, I mean what I am trying to say is they appeared foolish — totally exposed that they couldn’t tell a good document from bad after spending all that buck on security machines. Loud whispers in Georgian and Russian to each other, rushing sentences, talking over one another, a few eyeing me at all times, as if trying to catch me if I notice a word from either languages. Paranoia on all sides.
Then I am taken to a smaller room, a dark one, with old furniture, the sofa squeaked — what a downgrade I thought, I was no good for the big guys anymore. This time I am with only one man, a fat one, a bald one, a suited booted soldier equipped with weapons stands by his side. The fat one, the bald one, interrogates me for about 45 minutes or more — offers me no tea, no water. When everything was clear, the fat man finally decided to make peace with a bit of humor. ‘You know we are careful because of the spies, we have enemies.’ The rusting old Russian paranoia. blah blah blah! The part when I start yawning because it’s all the same, at immigration points almost everywhere in the world, whether its the post soviet terrain, or post Sinaloa or the wild mess of the middle east. They are all bad at their jobs, they all get nasty, they are all vulnerable, and they are all paranoid.
Finally, the important instructions came: ‘Don’t mention any of this in your writing.’ with a smile. ‘Welcome to Georgia! Would you like some tea?’
I wanted to say fuck-off, but I also felt the air finally come through my wind pipe, so I accepted the tea and we chatted about stuff, He advised me where to get the great Georgian wine I should try and a bit about his wife.
Disclaimer: Border interrogations happen all the time with me. Sometimes because of the countries I have travelled to that are linked with security concerns, and at times because I am brown so that is obviously a red flag (sarcastic note), but mostly due to the combination of both.
