BAGHDAD (AP) – From the outside, the building appears to be just one of many in central Baghdad that has fallen into disrepair from years of abuse – quiet, windows closed.
After 6pm there is a knock on the steel doors and a portal is opened to another world rarely found in the capital of Iraq.
Bodyguards check bags for weapons. Names are compared against a list. Faint noises of clubbeats resound, louder each level on a cascading staircase. On the top floor, a bartender works expertly behind an illuminated counter. Above him, shelves of liquor glow like jewels beneath a neon sign bearing the bar’s name.
Ask for a menu, and he coolly responds, “I am the menu,” and makes a cocktail with the confidence of a magician.
The bar’s manager, Alaa, a Syrian who has barely been in Iraq for a year, has a vision for the place: a clandestine establishment that can serve as a sanctuary for its handpicked clientele who defy the stigma of drinking alcohol in a conservative Muslim majority wants to bypass society. But being a bartender is a dangerous business in Iraq, where alcohol shops are often the target of disapproving militias.
“This place isn’t for everyone,” he said. ‘We live in fear, especially in this place … but I have to tolerate it. Its my job. The workers here, I have to protect them. My clients too. ”
Posters from the British crime series Peaky Blinders hang on the walls. The show, which follows the exploits of a Birmingham gang, was Alaa’s main source of inspiration for the bar’s decor. “It’s a lot like this place (Baghdad), unfortunately,” he said.
Alaa was only open for a few weeks and couldn’t have picked a worse time to open a bar. In the Iraqi capital, bombings on shops selling alcohol are on the rise. Alaa’s supplier was one of the hits. On Tuesday alone, two roadside bombs exploded at 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 these have an uncertain future and are closed periodically. Their mistake, Alaa said, was to be open to the general public. It is absurd that the survival of Alaa’s bar depends on keeping customers to a minimum.
The opening of the bar also comes as crude-exporting Iraq grapples with the coronavirus pandemic and a crippling economic crisis from last year’s low oil prices. 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 affect business, but I still find customers. There are many people here who have money. Legal, illegal doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter to me, ”said Alaa.
Caught by fear, he watches the comings and goings on surveillance cameras day and night. He requested that The Associated Press refer to him only by his first name and not to mention the name and location of the bar to avoid reprisals from armed groups.
He also has different rules: word of mouth is the only form of advertising he accepts, any potential patron must text him directly for a reservation, they should not be too loud indoors. Alaa knows every customer by name.
Those who break the rules or “make problems” are put on an ever-growing blacklist.
It’s not the most scared he’s ever been.
Witnessing Iraq’s faltering rule of law is just the latest chapter in his life’s deathyssey, which began with the war that devastated his native Syria in 2011. He remembers the bombers flying overhead while taking 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 Al-Qaeda-affiliated Jabhat al-Nusra. Next came Lebanon, where he braced himself for one crisis after another for years.
“I’ve been through all the crises in the region – Syria, Lebanon, Iraq,” he said. Of those he taught only one lesson: “Earn before you spend.”
At every stage, he sought work by doing the one thing he knows best. Nightlife, he said, is in his blood.
His resume reads like a weekend rager in Beirut. His mixing talents have graced many bars in Beirut’s famous party streets 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 permit, 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 – but failed – to start a car dealership. A cousin told him 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 money in Baghdad, where security is uncertain, or risk a dangerous sea journey to seek asylum in Europe. “I could never accept as a refugee and live a life without dignity and freedom,” he said.
Creating the bar was a stroke of luck.
The Iraqi owner was about to sell the building when Alaa stepped in and offered to refurbish the property and distribute the profits. At $ 5,000 a week and almost always on weekends, the bar is showing early signs of success. News of the opening spread like wildfire on social media, including closed Facebook groups led by Iraq’s lawyers, doctors and engineers – the type 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 earn just $ 30 a month in wages. The bar has a dual purpose. On the one hand, it meets the growing demands of the underground drinking world in Iraq.
“The other is to put food on the table at home,” he said.