The sailor at the entrance to Camp Echo peers through the gate as Peter and I hold up our laminated blue cards. "HC," for habeas counsel, they read. "Escort Required." He waves us through, searches our bags for recording devices, then issues safety instructions -- dial 2431 on the wall phone in the room -- in case anything should happen in our meeting with prisoner No. 1154.

The gravel crunches beneath our shoes as we follow a soldier across a dusty courtyard to a painted brown door. Before we go in, I drape the shawl I'm carrying over my head and arms. This is my first meeting with a Guantanamo Bay detainee, and I'm feeling nervous about sitting down with a man who may be a terrorist.

Ali Shah Mousovi is standing at attention at the far end of the room, his leg chained to the floor. His expression is wary, but when he sees me in my traditional embroidered shawl from Peshawar, he breaks into a smile. Later, he'll tell me that I resemble his younger sister, and that for a split second he mistook me for her.