One of the challenges of heading to Russia was getting an entry visa. Mansour was still waiting for his “official” Danish passport, known for its color as the red beet, traveling under a blue, temporary one. This alone made it difficult to get a visa. Moreover, per Russian requirements you need an invitation from a hotel, and a reason for your visit.

Two longhaired broke guys and an Afghan refugee didn’t,  it seem, make for optimal tourists. However, through our stint working as teachers with immigrants and refugees, we were able to claim it a study trip and obtain the visas.

With no money it was through the good grace of our parents that David and I mustered the last bits to afford tickets for all three of us. With tickets in hand and entry guaranteed, sights were set.  

Next worry on the list was to secure Ali’s journey to Moscow, a journey fraught with peril. One thing is being a stateless person living amongst thousands of your fellow “kin” in the south, it is another thing altogether to head towards a city offering no such protection, and where people of Ali’s status often disappear.

Ali now working at a bazaar, we were able to arrange for him to head on a bus for the 24-hour ride with other Afghans under the guise of picking up supplies in Moscow. Ali was terrified, but determined.

This being before the inspiration for Refugees United took hold, our initial idea was to record the entire journey, highlighting to the world the difficulties refugees had to endure to find missing family, vicariously experienced through the eyes of these young Afghan brothers. Obviously, bringing the kind of equipment we were used to with us was a no-go. We relied on a Sony handycam and its “stealth” mode to bring images to the surface.

As the day of departure neared, jitters rose in Mansour as he anticipated 6 years of silence crashing into him on the shores of an unknown city.   

Best,

David and Christopher