BAGHDAD (AP) – From the outside, the building looks just one of many in the center of Baghdad that is falling apart from years of abuse – quiet, closed windows.
After 18:00, one knocks on its steel-covered doors and a portal is opened to another world that is rarely found in the capital of Iraq.
Bodyguards check bags for weapons. Names are checked on a list. Muffled sounds of club beats resound and each level gets louder in a step. Upstairs, a bartender skillfully works behind a lighted counter. Above him, shelves of liquor glow like jewels under a neon sign with the name of the bar.
Ask for a menu, and he responds coolly, “I’m the menu,” and delivers a cocktail with the confidence of a magician.
The bar manager Alaa, a Syrian citizen who has been scarce in Iraq for one year, has a vision for the place: a secret institution that can serve as a refuge for his hand-picked customers who drink the stigma of alcohol in a conservative Muslim majority want to evade. society. But a bartender is a dangerous trade in Iraq, where liquor stores are regularly targeted by disapproving militias.
“This place is not for everyone,” he said. ‘We live in fear, especially in this place … but I have to put up with it. This is my job. The workers here, I have to protect them. My clients too. ”
Posters from the British crime series Peaky Blinders are framed on the walls. The show, which follows the exploitation 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.
Alaa was only open a few weeks and could not have chosen a worse time to open a bar. Bombings on shops selling alcohol are on the rise in the Iraqi capital. Alaa’s supplier was among those affected. On Tuesday alone, two roadside bombs exploded near two different stores, causing property damage. It was the fourth attack in a week.
Baghdad’s bar scene is muted and limited to a handful of restaurants that also serve alcohol. Even this has uncertain future and is closed periodically. Their mistake, according to Alaa, was to be open to the general public. Absolutely, the survival of Alaa’s bar depends on keeping customers to a minimum.
The opening of the bar also comes as Iraq, which exports crude, is grappling with the 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 I still find customers. Here are many people who have money. Legal, illegal does not matter. “Don’t make a difference to me,” Alaa said.
Grabbed by fear, he watches the arrival day and night and goes on the cameras. He asked that The Associated Press refer to him only on his first name and withhold the name and location of the bar to avoid retaliation from armed groups.
He also has other rules: word of mouth is the only form of advertising he accepts, every prospective patron should text him directly for a booking, they may not be too loud indoors. Alaa knows each customer by name.
Those who break the rules or ‘make trouble’ are placed on an ever-growing blacklist.
It’s not the scariest thing he’s ever been.
Witnessing Iraq’s shaky rule of law is just the latest chapter in its life path, which began with the war that devastated its native Syria in 2011. He recalls the bomber planes flying overhead while completing exams at the University of Damascus. At one point, his village in southern Syria was surrounded by militants from the Islamic State group and Jabhat al-Nusra, who is linked to al-Qaeda. Next came Lebanon, where for years it spanned one crisis after another.
“I have been through all the crises in the region – Syria, Lebanon, Iraq,” he said. Of those, he learned only one lesson: “Earn before you spend.”
At every stage, he looked for work to do the one thing he knew best. The nightlife, according to him, is in his blood.
His CV reads like a Beirut weekend crow. His mixed talents have graced numerous pubs along Beirut’s famous party street Gemmayze and Mar Mikhael. In 2017, he was unable to return from a trip to Syria to Lebanon, after authorities refused to renew his right of residence, a policy that affected many Syrian workers at the time.
He returned to his native Sweida, a predominantly Druze village in southern Syria, where he tried to start a car trading business. A cousin told him that money had to be earned in Baghdad, where many Syrians found work in hospitality.
It was late in 2019 and Alaa had a choice: earn money in Baghdad, where security is unsafe, or risk a dangerous voyage to seek asylum in Europe. “I would never accept that I am a refugee and can lead a life without dignity and freedom,” he said.
Creating the custom was a blessing in disguise.
The Iraqi owner was about to sell the building when Alaa walked in and offered to renovate the place and split the profits. The bar shows $ 5,000 a week and almost always capacity on weekends, and it shows early signs of success. The news of its opening has spread like wildfire on social media, including closed Facebook groups run by Iraqi lawyers, doctors and engineers – the kind of patron 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 Iraq’s underground drinking ground.
“The other is to put food on the table at home,” he said.