In 1985, I had the opportunity to tour as a drama student in a production of the musical Grease and Shakespeare’s Henry V, around colleges in Malmo, Sweden. I had never travelled abroad before, so this was a first. It did not cost anything to go, other than getting a passport and a stone coloured cagoule, which I thought was practical to travel in. There was a group of about 30 of us, all very excited. None of us had been to Sweden before, and there was much animated discussion. We would be staying in teachers’ homes. It was a cultural exchange of sorts, although the hosts could speak English and shared our western values.

When we arrived at Stockholm airport, I got off the plane and walked through a tunnel towards the area where passengers wait for their luggage. Once in the building, our group made our way down an escalator. I was behind them, just looking around, not really paying much attention to anything. I was just about to step off at the bottom, when suddenly two armed security staff came up to me, and asked me to go with them. The group ahead looked surprised, as if I was some kind of wanted criminal. They stood there grinning, the security men told them to carry on walking.

Initially I thought, is this some kind of prank? But I quickly realised these men were serious looking and had machine guns on them. I did not know how to respond. My first thought was, had I done something wrong on the plane? Had I been mistaken for someone else? Whatever it was, I was certainly not going to show any resistance but total compliance, this was not the time for bravado.

They escorted me to a room, where they started to ask questions. What was my business in Sweden? Where would I be staying? How long was I planning to remain? They asked for my passport, which I handed over. They looked at the photo – luckily it was a recent photo booth snap, that actually did resemble me. Someone brought in my suitcase and they asked me to open it. This all began to feel quite surreal. Whilst opening the case I stopped momentarily, praying that my stuff was still in there, and that this wasn’t me being fitted up with contraband: drugs, weapons or an exotic animal inside. I struggled with the zip, which made me feel more anxious. I wanted the proverbial hole to appear below and swallow me up, or to wake up on the plane and find this was a bad dream. What a way to introduce yourself to a new country I thought. Will this incident go against me in some way? Would I get a criminal record? What had I done wrong?

As I lifted the lid on my case I could see my clothes. One guard looked and ran his hand through my belongings. He seemed happy and so was I. There was a knock on the door, and a member of staff from the drama school appeared. Richard, I said, can you tell them what I am doing in Sweden. The security guards by now seemed less officious and were content to listen to Richard’s account. They said I was free to go.

Before leaving, I asked the guard why they had singled me out? He said because I looked Middle Eastern and they needed to check why I was here, because the risk of state terrorism was high. But by now I was not really listening. I just wanted to leave. I hadn’t done anything wrong, apart from appearing to be another nationality and wearing a stone coloured anorak. This was my first time in a foreign country – and quite a nervy experience. I have never been back to Sweden since. Nothing personal. But I do remember a lovely landscape, and that the tour was fun. The hosts and audience were really friendly.