http://online.wsj.com/news/articles/SB10001424052702304073204579169901598277172 Anthony Marra tried to keep a low profile in Chechnya, but word of his visit quickly got around By Anthony Marra Nov. 8, 2013 11:47 a.m. ET Illustration by Mágoz for The Wall Street Journal BE INCONSPICUOUS. Keep your head down. Don't tell anyone you're an American. Just some of the advice I received from family and friends last year as I prepared to travel to Chechnya, a republic on Russia's southwestern margin better known for its bids for independence and ensuing brutal wars than its tourist industry. Ever since studying in Russia as a college student, I had been in a long-distance, one-sided love affair with Chechnya's remarkable history, culture and rugged natural beauty. While looking up news from the North Caucasus on Twitter, I was linked to the sanguinely titled "Seven Wonders of Chechnya Tour" on the website of Chechnya Travel, the postwar republic's first tourism outfit, founded in 2012. The Russian version of the site was elegantly designed; when run through Google GOOG +0.80% Translate, it morphed into an ad for knockoff prescription drugs. A sober mind might have paused at this, but I was enchanted. A few months later I reached Grozny, the republic's capital, under the care of Elina Bataeva, Chechnya Travel's founder (the ad appeared to have been a Web hosting problem). For one of the first foreign tourists to visit postwar Chechnya, I was doing a decent job of keeping a low profile. Shorts aren't worn in the North Caucasus, so despite the syrup-thick July humidity, I donned dark slacks to follow Elina through the streets of Grozny, which had recently been rebuilt after the prior decade's devastation. I adopted the dour expression of Aslan, the driver who took us to pristine Lake Kezenoyam on the Chechen-Dagestani border and kept a spare flak jacket in the trunk of his car. I attempted to grow the cropped beard that seemed to be favored by men my age, only to come to the dismaying realization that my facial hair only flourishes in the neck region.
" 'You and Musa will become great friends,' he said. 'You will invite him to America to stay with you.' ”
Despite my best efforts, word that an American tourist was in town quickly made its way around Grozny. That I had come to Chechnya not for business or NGO work, but to see the sites and meet the people, was notable enough to be broadcast throughout the republic. A producer at Grozny TV, the state television channel, called Elina and summoned us to the station headquarters. The director there wanted to have a word.
Zaur, a friendly reporter for the nightly news who later interviewed me about my time in Chechnya, led me through windowless corridors to the station director's office.
" Tony Marra ?" the director asked. I wondered if he would follow it up with, "Like Tony Montana," as others had. "Scarface" is among the most popular films in Chechnya, and the (sort of) similarity between my name and that of Al Pacino's character was not lost on many.
The furniture, chairs and cabinets in the director's office all appeared to have been carved from the same block of dark-hued wood. Icons of Vladimir Putin and Chechen President Ramzan Kadyrov hung on the wall in thin frames. The director himself wore a wrinkled white polo shirt and a scruffy beard. He looked as if he'd just woken up.
"I'd like to offer you something," the director said in English reheated from his years at Cambridge. "There is a journalist here named Musa. His English is very good. You and Musa will become great friends. We will film the beginning of your friendship here in Grozny. Then you will invite him to America to stay with you. We will pay for his flight. Don't worry about that."
I would show Musa to America, he continued, taking him on a tour of the country and shooting video along the way. "We will make the home videos into a television show and people will see the beautiful friendship between you and Musa, an American and a Chechen, our two cultures becoming one," the director proclaimed. "Yes?"
I didn't know what to say. When the director said he wanted to offer me something, I'd thought he meant coffee or tea, not a television program and a new best friend. At Grozny TV the line between journalism and government propaganda is traversed as often as a Manhattan crosswalk. I was wary of ending up on the wrong side of that street. And the idea of documenting my friendship with a man I'd never met seemed absurd.
"That's an interesting idea," I said. "Maybe I should meet Musa first."
"Where is Musa?" the director called out to Zaur, who disappeared, returned, made several phone calls and finally reported that Musa was out that day.
The director gave a crestfallen sigh. I considered pointing out that he had a newsroom full of journalists whom I had never met, but there was a sense of finality in his disappointment. Only Musa, it seemed, was up to the task. There was talk of rescheduling later that week, but by then I would be back in Moscow. My career as a Chechen reality TV star died 10 minutes after it was born.
I left the studio and walked around Grozny with Zaur, who described how he had escaped the worst of the recent war by going to the Balkans to work on landmine-clearing projects. I departed a few days later.
Looking back, I like to think the director wanted me to show the real America to Musa. Or perhaps now I want to show Musa—and by extension, Chechnya—an America that is more diverse, complicated and humane than the place depicted in movies about sociopathic cocaine kingpins. Musa, meanwhile, could have introduced the Americans we met on our travels to a Chechnya abundant in culture, tradition and hospitality, a Chechnya richer and kinder than the headlines would suggest. Enlarge Image
Anthony Marra
I never did meet Musa, but he sounded like an interesting guy. Sometimes when the doorbell rings unexpectedly, I wonder if it might be him on the other side of the door, holding a suitcase in one hand and a video camera in the other, ready to see the Grand Canyon and the Statue of Liberty, and I wonder how I would introduce myself for the first time to my old friend.
—Mr. Marra's first novel, "A Constellation of Vital Phenomena," was published in May. He teaches at Stanford University.
