On a scorching afternoon in July, 2013, a taxi driver in southern Turkey pledged to take me from Gaziantep Airport to Kilis, near the Syrian border, for a curiously low fee. I had travelled this route twice before and was wary of favors, but a Syrian friend had vouched for this driver and arranged the pickup. So I followed him through the airport parking lot—past U.N. vehicles, a bus filled with arriving refugees, and bandaged fighters leaning on crutches—to his small yellow Opel, where it became clear why the price had been reduced: I was not the only passenger.
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