BAGHDAD (AP) – From the outside, the building looks like just one of many in the center of Baghdad that have been in decline for years of misuse: silent, with the windows closed.
After six in the afternoon, it is knocked on its veneered doors and a portal opens to a different world that is rarely found in the Iraqi capital.
Bodyguards check suitcases for weapons. The names are compared to a list. Weak sounds of stick rhythms resonate, rising at each level down a cascading staircase. Upstairs, a waiter works deftly behind a lighted counter. Above it, liquor shelves glow like jewels under a neon sign with the name of the bar.
He asks for a menu and he calmly replies, “I’m the menu” and produces a cocktail with the confidence of a magician.
The manager of the bar, Alaa, a Syrian national barely a year old in Iraq, has a vision of the place: a clandestine establishment that can serve as a refuge for his hand-picked clientele who want to evade the stigma of drinking alcohol in a majority Muslim conservative society. But being a bartender is a dangerous trade in Iraq, where liquor stores are frequently attacked by disapproving militias.
“This place is not for everyone,” he said. “We live in fear, especially in this place … but I have to tolerate it. It’s my job. I have to protect the workers here. My customers too “.
Posters from the British police series Peaky Blinders are framed on the walls. The show, which follows the exploits of a Birmingham band, was Alaa’s main inspiration for the bar’s decor. “Unfortunately, it looks a lot like this place (Baghdad),” he said.
Open for just a few weeks, Alaa couldn’t have chosen a worse time to open a bar. Bombings of shops selling alcohol are on the rise in the Iraqi capital. Alaa’s provider was one of those affected. Just Tuesday, two roadside bombs exploded near two different shops, causing property damage. It was the fourth such attack in a week.
The Baghdad bar scene is dull and limited to a handful of restaurants that also serve alcohol. Even these have an uncertain future and close periodically. His mistake, Alaa said, was to open up to the wider public. Absurdly, the survival of the Alaa bar depends on keeping customers to a minimum.
The opening of the bar also comes as Iraq, an exporter of crude oil, faces a coronavirus pandemic and a parallel economic crisis caused by low oil prices last year. In response to the severe liquidity crisis, the Ministry of Finance recently devalued the Iraqi dinar, which is pegged to the dollar, by more than 20%.
“These things have effects on business, but I keep finding customers. There are a lot of people here who have money. Legal, illegal doesn’t matter. It doesn’t make a difference to me, “said Alaa.
Caught in fear, he watches the comings and goings of the surveillance cameras day and night. He demanded that The Associated Press refer to him only by his name and retain the name and location of the bar to prevent retaliation from armed groups.
It also has other rules: word of mouth is the only form of advertising you accept, all possible patrons should send it directly to send a reservation and they should not be too strong inside. Alaa knows all customers by name.
Those who break the rules or “make trouble” are blacklisted.
It’s not the scariest thing he’s ever had.
Witnessing the hesitation of Iraq’s rule of law is just the last chapter of the odyssey of his life, which began with the war that ravaged his native Syria in 2011. Remember the planes bombers flying overhead while completing exams at Damascus University. At one point, his people in southern Syria were surrounded by militants from the Islamic State group and al-Qaeda-affiliated Jabhat al-Nusra. Then came Lebanon, where he spent years preparing for one crisis after another.
“I have experienced all the crises in the region: Syria, Lebanon and Iraq,” he said. Of these, he learned only one lesson: “Earn before you spend.”
At each stage, he looked for work doing what he knew best. He said nightlife is in the blood.
His resume reads like a whimsical Beirut. His mixed talent has given many bars the famous festive streets of Beirut, Gemmayze and Mar Mikhael. In 2017, he was unable to return to Lebanon from a trip to Syria after authorities refused to renew his residence, a policy that affected many Syrian workers at the time.
He returned to his hometown of Sweida, a predominantly Druze village in southern Syria, where he tried (and failed) to launch a vehicle trading business. A cousin told him that money would be made in Baghdad, where many Syrians have found work in the hospitality industry.
It was late 2019 and Alaa had a choice: make a living in Baghdad, where security is precarious, or risk a dangerous sea voyage to seek asylum in Europe. “I could never accept being a refugee and living a life without dignity and freedom,” he said.
Creating the bar was lucky.
The Iraqi owner was about to sell the building when Alaa intervened and offered to renovate the site and split the profits. Bringing in $ 5,000 a week and almost always capacity on weekends, the bar shows first signs of success. The news of its opening spread like wildfire on social media, including closed Facebook groups run by Iraqi lawyers, doctors and engineers, the kind of boss Alaa is looking for.
The success of your business is inextricably linked to the well-being of your family at home.
Her mother and sister still live in Sweida, where most residents take home only $ 30 a month in salary. The bar has a dual purpose. On the one hand, it meets the growing demands of the Iraqi underground alcoholism scene.
“The other is to put food on the table back home,” he said.