My first impression of Hatem was one of wonderment. Who was this fellow? The amazing stories that came out of his mouth seemed nothing more than sensational and, although red flags were popping up all over the place, intrigue and curiosity got the better of me. In every story, I knew, there is always an element of truth. I wanted to know the mind of this man.
I agreed to visit Hatem at his Outer Sunset studio on Twenty-third Avenue two weeks from the day he showed up at the restaurant. I really wasn't in any hurry. The stories he had offered about parts of his life had been curiously thought provoking yet questionable at best. And, to be honest, at that time, something underneath and inside my psyche seem to say that I shouldn't go to the meeting. It was a small voice – a red flag, but I knew I was going to go. Nothing else and nobody around me were telling me not to go, and, after all, I had known this man for over ten years. What could be the harm?
Hatem continued to call me daily prior to our meeting with his interesting stories that were both funny yet dubious. I laughed at most of them. I couldn't understand where or how he could have achieved three black belts. His thick black hair just didn't seem to relay an age ten years older than me. How could he have been a soldier in Egypt's six-day war? Did he really take down a band of thieves in the Mission? Who were the Black Scorpions? Was he truly the Egyptian four-star military general he said he was? What exactly was his role as a dignitary with or spy for with the Egyptian Consulate? Was he really affiliated with the Egyptian mafia?
Two weeks passed by with more stories. I was in awe! A professed doctor of psychology with a Ph.D., Hatem's compassion for the homeless and for the lessor privileged along with an ability to understand and explain the general mindset of different ethnic groups kept me listening. This was the side of him that seem true and real. It was what kept me intrigued. No one had ever presented a perspective on life to me the way he was doing. He had answers for almost everything, and for the things he didn't have an answer for, his answers were, "we will see" or "we are monitoring that".
The day finally arrived. It was clear and sunny out with a crisp breeze blowing. I climbed into my car and drove across the park headed toward his studio. I was early, so I parked a block away for the remainder of the time and checked my makeup. I didn't want to appear too anxious. At precisely 10:00 AM, I drove up to a house, parked my car, and walked across the street. I was nervous yet excited. Before I could reach the sidewalk, Hatem strolled out of the door and met me in the middle of the street. "I like that" he said with his crooked grin. "You are on time." "Of course" I answered with a smile. "Why wouldn't I be? Didn't we agree to 10:00?"
Hatem led me into the house and down a couple stairs and into the garage where I saw numerous canvasses turned away and propped up against the sides the walls. Storage containers were placed around strategically and tubes of paint lay scattered about. At one end of the area was a makeshift table that comprised of a large door-like plank that sat atop a small refrigerator at one end and a small plastic chest of drawers at the other end. The refrigerator was decorated with a felt-tip line drawing of a headless nude. Although the entire garage was painted in gray, the concrete floor held the remnants of spray paint patterns. The walls, too, saw splatters of pigment. There were two old easy chairs on one side of the garage and in the center of the floor in front of the two chairs stood a large looming wooden easel that seemed to overpower the entire area.
"Please sit down". Hatem said breaking my thoughts. I took the chair next to me, and Hatem began. "would you like some coffee first?"
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