Fez, Morocco, the 1970s
His father’s stall could be found deep in the medina, squeezed between a seller of a thousand brilliant colors of thread and a dentist whose painted sign bore a smile with an improbable number of teeth. Standing outside the stall, 13-year-old Amit Madoor greeted customers from all over the world. The shop sold silver rings and bracelets, but what made the family’s fortune were the other services his father provided. These were discussed in a back room and perhaps it was the smoke and fumes from the nearby ironworkers’s stalls that brought tears to the customers’s eyes.
Did a man need a passport in another name? An entry visa? More important, sometimes, an exit visa? Permission to travel? Did a woman seek the name of a border official who could be bribed? Men pushe
