I remember a winter evening in Alexandria-Egypt, not yet thirty years old, on my way to meet a relative who was also one of my closest friends. We had arranged to drink beer and eat dinner together at Cap d’Or, one of the oldest and most storied bars in the city, known locally, for reasons that are their own story, as Sheikh Ali.
I arrived early at the timber shop he ran with his brother. A mosque stood directly across the street. I got there just as the call to Dawn prayer sounded, rain falling hard.
“I figured you weren’t coming,” he said. “Come on, let’s knock out Dawn real quick.”
He knew perfectly well that I did not pray. He also knew I would otherwise be sitting alone in the shop, so he pushed the joke further: “Come on, Abu Lahab, nothing’s going to happen to you. Don’t be scared.” The nickname was aimed at the Quranic figure condemned by name in the Quran itself, and it was entirely in character for him.
