Alaa in Dresden
How an Arab chess girl encountered the West
This is a story about a girl named Alaa, whom I met, sixteen years ago, at a Chess Olympiad in Germany, where she was playing for the Egyptian team. It was a deeply impressive and quite moving encounter. I drafted an article around eight years ago, but never got around to publishing it. Now I am switching it on for the Medium Draft Day celebration.
Before I tell you about Alaa, let me start with Vaile, a dear friend who will get a full story of her own from me at some stage.
Vaile is a well-known musician, singer, composer of songs, and a TV actress. I sometimes use her as a “gimmick girl,” a person who accompanies me to events and inevitably draws people to us. She knows my intentions and will cooperate, doing her “beauty thing.” It attracts dignitaries and famous people to saunter over and talk to us.
I was with Vaile at the Dresden Chess Olympiad, in 2008. The event featured 257 teams from all over the world, 1,277 players in total. Everyone of name and fame, in and around chess, was there.
One stop during the Olympiad was especially interesting. Norway had set up a stand to campaign for the next Chess Olympiad, a project in which I became involved.
At the Norwegian stand was a superbly talented young lad, Magnus Carlsen, who went on to become the World Champion and one of the strongest players in the history of the game. In this picture you see the young lad in 2008 in Dresden, with his trainer and mentor grandmaster Simen Agdestein.
Also present was ace chess programmer, Vas Rajlich, who is an International Chess Master. There were tall tables with chessboards.
At some stage some girls walked by. One glanced over to us, and Vas flirtatiously played a move on the board. The girl looked puzzled, but approached and made a counter-move. And soon a game was under way.
The girl was no amateur — she stood up fairly well to the International Master. I stepped back to take a dozen pictures of the scene. Mainly of the girl, who was of quite extraordinary beauty. She was covered from head to foot, but her face was wonderfully made up. I asked Vaile what she though, and she freely confessed: “Unbelievable — I felt quite eclipsed by this gorgeous sun.”
The next day I saw the girl walking along the hallway and asked her whether it would be okay for me to publish some of the pictures I had taken. “Wait a minute,” she said, and consulted with her team captain. “Yes, it’s fine,” she then said, and even agreed to do an interview with me (I was providing live coverage of the Olympiad for my company news page).
So we became friends. I showed Alaa around and introduced her to people — in this picture it is the famous World Chess Champion Boris Spassky:
Boris has been a special friend of mine for decades — a most charming and humorous man. He has taught me so much about the world of chess that I must be eternally thankful to him. Today he is old and frail and lives in Russia.
After the encounter with Alaa in Dresden, Boris took me aside and said: “Frederic, if there is one meaningful thing you do in your lifetime, it is to bring this girl to the World Champions’ Reception tonight. It’s your sacred duty.”
So I asked Alaa whether she would like to come to the reception. She was delighted and excited: “Me, come to the Champions’ Dinner? That would be soooo great! But you must ask my captain, Frederic.”
Now I am quite experienced in this sort of thing. Alaa was under the supervision of the Egyptian team captain. Of course, I did not go to him to seek permission. Instead, I asked the (female) President of the South African delegation to do so instead. She went to the captain and told him that Alaa had been invited to the reception. Could she come?
The captain wanted to know where the reception would be held (“Oh, in our hotel?”), when, and who would be attending. In the end it looked like he would agree. But then he scanned the hall with his eyes and saw me watching from some distance. “No,” he said, “she cannot go.” It was clear that I was somehow involved, and that was suspicious. Alaa was standing next to the two, and I saw her burst into tears. But the decision was final — she could not attend.
The next day Alaa packed her suitcase and was determined to stay in the West. She had met a hundred other girls of her age and status, and seen how they lived. She did not want to return to her home country. But later that day she unpacked her suitcase and gave up the idea. Where could she go? It was too dangerous anyway.
Some months after the Olympiad I got a phone call from Alaa (I had given her my number). Could we talk? After a while I said: “This is too expensive for you. Why don’t we talk on Skype?” — “Sure,” she said, “no problem. How about this evening? By the way, how do you spell ‘Skype’?” She did not know what it was, but in the evening the call came — Alaa had found the Skype service and installed it. A generally very clever girl. After that we spoke often, usually late at night, about culture, history, religion and tradition. Our views often clashed, but she was always ready to argue and defend her thoughts and beliefs.
One day I got a call from a distraught Alaa, who was playing in the qualification tournament for the next Chess Olympiad. She was leading, and was approached by another player who said: “You have practically qualified already, you only need a draw in the final round, in which we are playing each other. If we draw, then I have a chance of joining the team. Can we make a draw?”
Alaa was shocked and told her colleague that this was unfair and illegal, but her opponent said it was perfectly normal in chess (“everyone does it”). She gave Alaa the moves of a pretend game they would play. Alaa reluctantly agreed, made the moves in their game the next day, and offered a draw. But the other girl refused! She had given Alaa a trick variation which lost! Alaa not only lost the game but also her place on the team.
“How can anyone be so evil?” she asked me. They can, dear girl, I told her. Prepare yourself for that.
We met Alaa once more, in London, where she meanwhile lived. Then I lost contact — until a few day ago, after Medium had urged me to check my Drafts folder and publish a story I had written but never got around to finishing.
Before publishing I contacted Alaa— what was she up to, these days, I wanted to know. Her answer brought me immense pleasure. Alaa is now a professor of English at the University of Riad, in Saudi Arabia. And she seems very satisfied with the course her life has taken.
