BAGHDAD (AP) – From the outside, the building looks like one of the many in the center of Baghdad that is deteriorating from years of misuse – silent, with closed windows.
After 6 pm, he knocks on the steel-clad doors and opens a portal to a different world rarely found in the Iraqi capital.
The bodyguards check the weapons bags. The names are compared to a list. The faint sounds of club beats resound, rising louder at each level on a cascading staircase. On the top floor, a bartender skillfully works behind an illuminated counter. Above it, drink shelves glow like jewels under a neon sign with the name of the bar.
Ask for a menu, and he coldly replies, “I’m the menu,” and makes a cocktail with the confidence of a magician.
The manager of the bar, Alaa, a Syrian citizen who has only been in Iraq for a year, has a vision for this place: a clandestine unit that can serve as a refuge for his manually selected clientele, who want to evade the stigma of alcohol consumption in a Muslim majority conservative society. But being a bartender is a dangerous trade in Iraq, where liquor stores are often targeted 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. The workers here, I have to protect them. And my clients. ”
Posters from the British crime series Peaky Blinders are framed on the walls. The show, which tracks the exploits of a gang in Birmingham, was Alaa’s main inspiration for the bar’s decor. “Unfortunately, it looks a lot like this place (Baghdad),” he said.
Opened only a few weeks, Alaa could not have chosen a worse time to open a bar. Bombings of liquor stores are on the rise in the Iraqi capital. Supplier Alaa was among those affected. Only on 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 disabled and limited to a handful of restaurants that also serve alcohol. Even these have an uncertain future and are closed periodically. Their mistake, Alaa said, was to be open to the general public. Absurdly, the survival of the Alaa bar depends on keeping customers to a minimum.
The opening of the bar also comes as Iraq’s crude oil exporter faces a coronavirus pandemic and a crippling 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 an effect on business, but they still find customers. There are many people here who have money. Legal, illegal doesn’t matter. It doesn’t make a difference to me, “Alaa said.
Caught in fear, he watches the entrances and exits on surveillance cameras day and night. He demanded that The Associated Press refer to him only by his first name and retain the name and location of the bar to avoid reprisals from armed groups.
And he has other rules: Word of mouth is the only form of advertising he accepts, every potential employer must send him direct text for a reservation, he must not be too loud inside. Alaa knows each client by name.
Those who break the rules or “get in trouble” are on a growing blacklist.
It’s not the scariest thing he’s ever had.
Witnessing Iraq’s hesitant rule of law is just the latest chapter in the odyssey of his life, which began with the war that devastated his native Syria in 2011. He remembers bombers flying overhead while completing exams at the University of Damascus. . At one point, his village in southern Syria was surrounded by militants from both the Islamic State group and Jabhat al-Nusra, affiliated with al-Qaeda. Then came Lebanon, where he spent many years preparing for one crisis after another.
“We have been through all the crises in the region – Syria, Lebanon, Iraq,” he said. Of those, he learned only one lesson: “Win, before you spend.”
At every step, he sought work by doing the only thing he knew best. The nightlife, he said, is in his blood.
He reads his CV like a madman from Beirut. His mixing talents have gathered numerous bars along the famous party 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 has affected many Syrian workers since then.
He returned to his hometown of Sweida, a predominantly Druze village in southern Syria, where he tried – and failed – to launch a car dealership. A cousin told him that money would be made in Baghdad, where many Syrians had found work in hospitality.
It was late 2019 and Alaa had a choice: earn a living in Baghdad, where security is poor, or risk a dangerous voyage by sea 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 a blessing.
The Iraqi owner was about to sell the building when Alaa intervened and offered to rebuild the place and share the profits. Bringing $ 5,000 a week and almost always to capacity on weekends, the bar shows early signs of success. News of its opening spread like wildfire on social media, including closed Facebook groups led by Iraqi lawyers, doctors and engineers – the type of employer Alaa is looking for.
The success of his business is inextricably linked to the well-being of his family at home.
His mother and sister still live in Sweida, where most residents bring home only $ 30 a month in wages. The bar has a dual purpose. On the one hand, it meets the growing demands of the Iraqi underground drinking scene.
“The other is to put food on the table at home,” he said.