Many years ago, when I was young, I spent several months in a town in the province of Sistan in eastern Iran, near the Afghan border. I longed to visit Afghanistan — a country that at the time had not a single Christian missionary — and see it for myself. So I decided to go to the Helmand River, the natural border between Iran and Afghanistan, and see it up close. Early one morning, accompanied by a servant, I set out on a small donkey, and after twenty-five miles along a narrow desert track through scrub and deep sand we reached a village, where we spent the night. The next day, before sunrise, we went down to the river; and since there was no border guard to ask for my passport and permit, I took off my clothes, swam to the far side, and for a few minutes set foot on Afghan soil. A few minutes later I returned to the Iranian side, and with my companion mounted our donkeys and rode back to Sistan…
