My relationship with him began when I received a package from my colleague, Professor Abdullah Bishara. It contained a selection of English books and a business card with the sender’s name, though it did not include his formal family name.
Curious, I asked Brother Abdullah about him, as I had neither met nor heard of this Sheikh. Abdullah described him as one of the kindest and most respected men in the family, someone who preferred not to use his title.
He added that the Sheikh admired my writings, and the books were a gift he had brought for me from London, where he was residing at the time.
“As I went through the books, their titles revealed the depth of the Sheikh’s intellectual curiosity and refined taste. The first was The Return by Libyan-American writer Hisham Matar, whom I hadn’t encountered before.
The second was My Friends by the same author. There was also We Are Your Soldiers by British writer and Arabist Alex Rowell, and Wahhabism by Cole Bunzel, which delves into the history of the Wahhabi movement. These were accompanied by several other valuable books that I can’t fully detail here.
Some of these books shifted my perspectives and introduced me to new areas of knowledge. They introduced me to the wonderful work of Hisham Matar, a globally renowned novelist, whose elegant English prose has been admired by many, including President Obama.
I also thoroughly enjoyed his other books, and found in Wahhabism a wealth of information, much of which is unknown even to lifelong followers of the movement.
As for Alex Rowell’s book, it sparked a deep desire in me to translate and publish it, wanting to share with Arab readers the hidden aspects of President Nasser’s life.
However, after much effort, I discovered that the translation and publishing rights had already been acquired by a Lebanese publishing house directly from the author.
Despite my efforts, this house did not proceed with publication due to financial constraints, specifically a shortage of “dollars.”
I called the Sheikh to thank him for the books and a second gift -- a luxurious assortment of chocolates. He interrupted me, insisting I not use any titles when addressing him, nor thank him, as he valued the enjoyment he found in reading my work far more than any material gifts. When he returned from abroad, I tried to reciprocate his kindness, but he graciously declined to share his home address, repeating his gratitude and respect.
He promised that we would meet soon, once he could move more easily, as he was dealing with knee pain at the time.
Our conversations continued, albeit only by phone, with repeated promises to meet in person. In the meantime, I inquired about him through his relatives, all of whom spoke highly of his generosity and wonderful character.
My eagerness to meet him grew, but yesterday, I received a message from one of his cousins who lives with him in London:
The message read, “Dear Abu Tariq, I regret to bring you sad news. Sheikh Badr Nasser Humoud Al-Sabah passed away in London this week. He held you in the highest regard and deeply respected you, so I felt it was important to share this with you.”
As I read the letter, a strange and profound sadness washed over me. Although I never had the chance to meet the deceased, I had always felt a deep connection, as if there were countless things that would have naturally brought us together in conversation.
I was certain we would have enjoyed talking about them, had fate allowed us to meet. But as destiny would have it, that meeting never happened.
The deceased might be the only person whose passing brought me such sorrow, despite never having met him in person -- save for a few phone calls that revealed glimpses of his beautiful personality and rich intellect.
Yet he passed without ever knowing the profound positive impact he had on me. It was a brief, verbal friendship, but its end came as a surprising and deeply saddening loss.
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