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Microsoft has hired British-Syrian Mustafa Suleyman to head its AI business, cementing his role in the industry.
Mustafa Suleyman , a highly respected British-Syrian AI expert, has been named as Microsoft’s artificial intelligence business head, as the company cements its position in this booming field.
Suleyman co-founded DeepMind , which Google purchased in 2014, before starting up Inflection.ai in 2022 with LinkedIn co-founder Reid Hoffman, to guide AI away from racist, sexist or violent behaviour. It has also been named a rival to Microsoft in the field of AI.
He also co-wrote ‘The Coming Wave’, a highly influential book in the tech industry that examines the potential and pitfalls of AI.
Microsoft said in a post on LinkedIn on Monday named Sulyaman as CEO of Microsoft AI, leading all of its consumer products and research, including its generative AI service Copilot as well as its Bing search engine and Edge browser.
He will report directly to Microsoft CEO Satya Nadella , who welcomed his appointment in a blog post.
“This infusion of new talent will enable us to accelerate our pace yet again,” Nadella wrote.
The hiring is likely to bolster Microsoft’s lead position in the booming AI industry, as big tech companies battle for positions to capitalise on the demand for AI services.
Microsoft has teamed up with ChatGPT maker OpenAI, investing billions of dollars into the San Francisco company, and recently partnered with France’s Mistral , a hot AI startup.
Suleyman is the son of a Syrian taxi driver and English nurse and grew up in North London. He dropped out of Oxford University aged 19, before founding the Muslim Youth Hotline, which became one of the biggest counseling services for Muslims in the UK.
His appointment to the top Microsoft position has been welcomed by British Arabs and Syrians worldwide, who have commended him for his journey from relatively humble beginnings to one of the leading positions in the IT industry.
He was named in The New Arab‘s ‘The notable British Arabs making a difference’ list in 2021 .
source/content: newarab.com (headline edited)
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Sulayman is one of the most influential people in the field of AI [Getty]
For the Palestinian-born Arab International Women’s Forum founder, the laws of economics mean each woman must be heard.
Haifa Al Kaylani moves through the Carlton Tower Jumeriah looking as effortlessly elegant as the recently renovated decor of the landmark hotel in the heart of Knightsbridge, London.
Her hair is coiffed, make-up flawless, and a string of pearls and turquoise brooch accessorise a classic cropped bouclé jacket from a Swiss fashion house.
But she walks straight past the diners socialising over salads or the afternoon tea being served all day in the lounge, and gets down to business at a table in a nearby meeting room.
“I’ve never been one of those ladies who lunch,” the development economist and president of the Arab International Women’s Forum (AIWF) tells The National.
As Al Kaylani talks about her remarkable career, in which she has hosted Queen Rania of Jordan and been honoured herself at a reception by Sarah Brown, wife of former UK prime minister Gordon Brown, at No 10 Downing Street, it’s hard to believe there has ever been time for a midday meal.
On the global stage, she is known as a “high-impact change agent” in every area, from leadership, youth empowerment and diversity to education, sustainability and the environment.
The AIWF was founded in 2001 on two key principles dear to her heart: that no economic, political or social development is possible anywhere without optimising the 50 per cent of the population who are female; and that women from the richly diverse 22 Arab countries need to establish bridges between each other and their counterparts everywhere.
“We broke ground wherever we went,” she says. “We were the first women’s organisation to be hosted by the League of Arab States, the first hosted at the European Parliament, the first invited by the World Bank, the first conference in Madrid between Arab, Spanish and Latin American women, [the then French Minister of the Economy] Madame Lagarde chaired the forum’s annual conference in 2009 in Paris, we were the first to host a conference for business women at the Dubai International Financial Centre.
“And we had key, succinct issues on the table. It was not just about the gatherings, though they were important. Breaking the stereotypes, building knowledge and understanding were very important but we also wanted to ensure we could empower and effect change on the ground … so we walk the walk.’’
In person, Al Kaylani is reserved but warm, overcoming a natural modesty to highlight various successes in the hope of giving them renewed impetus. A story of doing good, she insists, must be told.
Her own is certainly that – a peripatetic life, first as a Lebanese of Palestinian origin and then as the wife of a Jordanian diplomat, fuelled her desire to empower women as “engines of economic growth” to foster development and prosperity in Arab countries.
Both her father, Badr Said Fahoum, the district governor of Acre in Mandatory Palestine whom she credits for her business mind, and mother, Alia Zubi, came from prominent families in Nazareth.
Nakba toddler
They moved, as did hundreds of thousands of others, to Beirut in 1948 during the Nakba when Haifa was a toddler, initially intending to stay only until it was safe to return.
“Nobody knew that they were going to spend the rest of their lives there. They left everything behind.’’
Relatives and friends continued to trickle out of Palestine, some bringing objects from the Fahoum house while those who remained sent letters and news of the events unfolding.
The family was given Lebanese citizenship at the time. An estimated 210,000 Palestinians remain stateless in the country even today, yet Al Kaylani points to how much Beirut owes to these exiled families.
“They made it their home and contributed to the economy, society, culture,” she says.
Haifa’s mother, Alia, was highly educated but took on the responsibility of raising her five daughters. She fostered an appreciation of the siblings’ heritage through stories of their ancestral home before the partition of borders but was keen, too, to ensure that they made the most of life, friends and schooling in Beirut.
Mother’s learning
Apart from her love and devotion as a homemaker, Al Kaylani recalls Alia creating a cultural cocoon full of classical music and literature such as the Abbasid-era poetry of Al-Mutanabbi that she recited by heart.
“She was an avid reader. We would go to the mountains every summer, and before we packed our clothes, we used to pack boxes of books because the vacations were supposed to be spent reading and learning, and on sports and outdoor life.’’
After being a pupil at the British Lebanese Evangelical School for Girls in Beirut, fifteen-year-old Al Kaylani was sent to board at Sherborne School for Girls in Dorset to pursue her English education.
“I loved it,’’ she says, and quotes from her end-of-term reports as testament. “They would say: ‘Haifa’s settled in as if she’s one of us.’ I think this is one of my good traits. I’m adaptable and I’m flexible.’’
The timing of her arrival made it easier not to pine for home despite the pupils having to go out for runs in snow up to their waists. As she explains, the 1962-63 academic year was one “like no other’’, and the pupils eagerly kept up with events on the BBC’s weekly news programme Panorama.
“It was number one, the year of the Big Freeze, the Beatles [with their first hit single Love Me Do], James Bond [Dr No in Sean Connery’s MI6 cinematic debut], the Profumo Affair, the Cuban Missile Crisis, the Vatican Council. I learnt a lot and enjoyed it all,’’ she says.
Al Kaylani chose to study economics at her father’s alma mater, the American University of Beirut, which she calls “that beautiful campus by the sea”, before regrouping with Sherborne friends at Oxford to read the new diploma in development economics.
Next was 12 months as a junior economist at the United Nations Economic and Social Council in Beirut, which enabled her to meet the second of two non-negotiable conditions set for the girls by Badr and Alia.
“We weren’t to get married or focus on a family until first having at least a Bachelor of Arts, if not a Master’s, and we had to work for one year. When you think about it, they are golden rules. So I’m very glad.
“If we had been five boys, our parents would not have done more in terms of empowerment and providing opportunities. Tashji’ [encouragement] non-stop.’’
She set up home in Amman after marrying Wajih Al Kaylani, who used to regale her with vivid tales of walking all over Palestine’s mountains, down hills and into valleys as a boy scout. “This is how you see the place, and get an affinity with the people in the villages,’’ Al Kaylani says.
While giving birth in hospital to her son, Sirri, she heard an announcement on the radio that Wajih had been appointed ambassador to Tunisia by King Hussein of Jordan, “which was a great honour but we asked permission to stay a few more months to allow the baby to grow”.
They immersed themselves in their roles in Tunis and then Delhi where her husband was ambassador to India, Sri Lanka, Nepal and Thailand. “I found myself on another planet. Especially in the evenings, the sounds, the smells were different,” she says, recalling the aroma of firewood burning outside their diplomatic residence.
The couple visited every state in India at the invitation of the governors, and the deep insights gained from travelling as an Arab ambassador’s wife compelled her to take up an MPhil part-time at Jawaharlal Nehru University.
‘I wanted to read more, and Indian economists were the best in economic development at the time.’’
Al Kaylani left the country “with tears in my eyes’’ when Wajih retired from the diplomatic service in a return to the private sector, and London became their base.
After Sirri set off to board at Stowe School in Buckinghamshire, she turned to playing tennis, learning Spanish and Italian, enrolled at London Business School, and began volunteering for Arab and British women’s charitable organisations.
Help was needed for Palestinian refugees, and for Lebanon, which had entered a 15-year civil war. In the 1990s, she was part of a committee raising funds for Iraqi children and recalled the complexities of delivering aid in spite of the UN-led embargo after Saddam Hussein’s invasion of Kuwait. “It was very hard and serious work,” she says.
Among her biggest achievements was raising £250,000 ($318,050) for the Queen Alia Fund for Social Development, with Princess Basma as key speaker at an event in 1994.
Al Kaylani recalls a magical evening that transformed The Dorchester’s ballroom into a showcase of Jordanian culture through a fashion parade of “out of this world” Arab costumes, handicrafts and local produce on the tables, and floral arrangements of emblematic black irises and native herbs.
“It was something that London had not seen – neither before nor after,” she says.
“I’m a good fund-raiser. Why? Because I only commit my time and myself if I really believe in the cause, and believe that I can help the cause.
“I learnt a good lesson early in fund-raising, from an English friend. She told me: ‘You must be able to convince me why I should part with my funds for this cause rather than that one.’ So you need to prepare well.’’
Rebuilding the Balkans
She sat on the committee of a charity supporting Bosnian women during the war that was chaired by former UK Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher of whom she was a great admirer. “She revitalised the British economy and put it on track. She brought prosperity back.”
A few years later, Al Kaylani founded the AIWF with the aim of connecting Arab women from all walks of life as “part and parcel’’ of the international community politically, socially and economically.
As the forum has evolved from initially helping with the set-up of businesses to becoming much broader in scope, her intention has been to approach each project not as a feminist but as an economist first and foremost.
London Climate Week
In January 2017, Al Kaylani was chosen as one of 46 global leaders to become a Fellow of the Advanced Leadership Initiative at Harvard University. The key outcome of her fellowship has been an agriculture project being piloted in Jordan for which she secured World Bank funding.
“Following my pivotal year at Harvard, we have been pursuing a sustainability agenda,” she says.
Recently, the AIWF teamed up with Masdar’s global initiative Women in Sustainability, Environment and Renewable Energy, known as WiSER, to produce a report for Cop28 in Dubai, and will host the forum’s second conference on the same themes in June at London Climate Week.
Asked how she has maintained such motivation for so many decades, Al Kaylani says: “First, I enjoy what I do – otherwise I would not be doing it. This is the key because then it is from your heart, coming from inside, you’re committed. Most of my work is pro bonoand totally voluntary.
“Second, the energy … you need to read, to keep educating yourself. I’m a great believer in lifelong learning. That’s why I went to Harvard. I enjoy my own time like everybody but I love meeting people, and working, learning and connecting with others.”
Arguably the pinnacle of the numerous accolades garnered so far is being appointed an Officer of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire in King Charles’s New Year’s 2024 Honours List in recognition of services to women, young people and cultural relations between the UK and the countries of the Middle East.
She is thrilled and humbled by the thought of next month’s investiture but says none of it would have been possible without her parents – “I have to pay tribute to them” – and husband Wajih, whose face would beam every time he saw her achieve another milestone.
“My late husband was the best partner in life I could ever have had. Encouraging, loving, empowering. Without him, I promise, I could neither have started nor given so much time to the AIWF to attain what it has and continues to attain now. He was with me every step of the way.”
Al Kaylani goes on to speak of the friends and members from the wider AIWF family, who have all provided invaluable contributions, but soon returns to the source of her own personal impetus.
“Your roots sustain and empower you, those who see you when you are up and down. You know,’’ she says with a small shrug, “all of us are human after all.”
Haifa Al Kaylani OBE, pictured at the Carlton Jumeirah London, is known as a change-maker in areas from leadership and youth empowerment to sustainability and the environment. Photo: Mark Chilvers
Rahman was one of the first women to be paid to play football in Europe – and set a host of records!
Deena Rahman owns five Guinness World Records
She was one of the players who got contracts when Fulham became professional in 2000
Rahman represented Bahrain in 40 matches, and scored 23 goals
In 2000, almost a decade before the English Football Association awarded the first central contracts to women, Fulham Ladies, at the insistence of club chairman Mohamed Al-Fayed, turned fully professional. It was a watershed moment in the history of women’s football. One of the 16 players paid to play professional football, a first in Europe, was Deena Rahman.
Deena Rahman’s career has since become one of football’s enduring legacies. She has played for the England women’s age group teams, then Bahrain national team. A midfielder during her playing days, the 39-year-old now works to promote gender equality in football while also creating a host of world records. The former Fulham midfielder currently holds five Guinness World Records!
Born to an Egyptian father, Deena Rahman rose through Fulham’s youth ranks, then joined the Arsenal Academy. But she returned to Fulham, and became a member of the team which completed a treble of Premier League National Division, FA Cup and League Cup in 2003. The club became semi-professional soon enough, after three years.
At 15, Rahman made her England U-18 debut. She also represented the country of her birth in two UEFA Women’s Under-19 Championships. However, she retired as a Bahraini player, having scored 23 goals in 40 matches after making her debut in 2011. She is regarded as one of the greatest to have played for the Reds, the nickname for the team from the small Western Asian kingdom.
In her journey – from Fulham to Manama with a brief stoppage in Cairo – Deena Rahman has witnessed a whole gamut of human experience. As a prodigious talent in England, she was a regular at the all-conquering Fulham. But injury and the disbandment of the Cottagers in 2006 forced her to move to Egypt, where she played for Wadi Degla for a brief spell. Another injury sidelined her, and she was back in England.
Then Bahrain came calling, thanks to her association with Arsenal. In 2010, Rahman arrived in the Gulf to work as a coach at Arsenal Soccer School at Soccer City in Janabiya. After five years there, she and her husband Paul Shipwright established their own academy, Tekkers Academy.
Meanwhile, Rahman was also busy creating her own legacy. In 2017, she, along with 32 women from 20 countries, set the Guinness World Record for the highest game of football ever played. And the setting was 18,760 feet above sea level, atop Mount Kilimanjaro in Tanzania – the highest mountain in Africa.
The following year, Deena Rahman played her part in setting another Guinness World Record, this time for a game of football at the lowest point in the world, the Dead Sea in the Jordan Rift Valley, at 1,412 ft below sea level.
In 2019, Rahman clocked two more Guinness World Records by taking part in a match featuring 822 players during the biggest five-a-side game at Olympic Lyonnaise Training Academy in Meyzieu, Lyon. Then in an exhibition match on the sidelines of the 2019 FIFA Women’s World Cup in France, she got her fourth Guinness World Record as a part of the match with the most nationalities – 114 participants, representing 53 nationalities. In 2020, Rahman secured her fifth record by hammering 7,876 penalties in 24 hours at the Kick Off Academy in Saar.
After years lost in an educational wilderness, the Egyptian-British designer found his niche as a world authority on Islamic art and architecture with noble patrons such as King Charles III.
The Chelsea Flower Show was just some annual event that happened in London as far as Khaled Azzam was concerned, until the day he answered a call from the heir to the throne.
Prince Charles , inspired by two antique Turkish rugs at his residence in Gloucestershire, was on the phone with an unusual brief: “I want you to work with me to design a garden.”
“I thought it was fabulous,” Azzam tells The National. “I’d never designed a garden before in my life so I went to see him at Highgrove House. He’s long been fascinated with Islamic art and architecture, and, because that’s what I practise, we always spoke about such things.
“He said, ‘All these carpets that I live with and love are interpretations of gardens, but I would like to design and build a garden that is an interpretation of carpets. I want to flip it around’.”
So it was that in 2001, among the usual avant-garde displays and emerging trends at the horticultural showcase, the first entry ever submitted by a member of the British royal family instead dug deep into the past.
The classic Islamic charbagh representing the four gardens of Paradise in the Quran was a crowd-drawing triumph yet, when it won a coveted silver-gilt medal, Azzam remembers thinking: “Whoa, that’s crazy.”
In situ ever since at the Highgrove estate, The Carpet Garden is the living incarnation of the two men’s long combined efforts to bring forth new shoots from ancient artistic roots.
Now, more than 20 years on, Azzam presides as director of the Prince’s School of Traditional Arts that is regarded as a centre for excellence in teaching the geometries held to be the common thread between age-old skills all but abandoned in much of the modern world.
The aim is to nurture patterning techniques such as the kind of inlaid stone workmanship used to create the Cosmati Pavement, the 13th-century mosaic floor on which, fittingly, the throne will be placed during the coronation ceremony for King Charles III inside Westminster Abbey on Saturday.
An extensive network of PSTA outreach programmes has spread across the globe from the core educational base in London to regenerate the cultural heritage of different regions and communities, from Jamaica to the UAE to China.
But, from the outset, the school’s ethos often evoked incomprehension, ridicule and, at times, undisguised animosity from some within the art establishment.
“There were moments that I was very, very worried, saying, ‘if this dies, it dies with us’,” Azzam recalls. “What His Majesty was saying that architecture, cities and education should be about, and how we should deal with the environment, was not commonplace. All those things were seen to be interesting and quaint. We never saw ourselves as being alternative. We were part of what we used to call ‘essential thinking’.
“Very early on, we had this strong bond; we understood exactly what we had to do. Then, I had to understand something. He was a prince, now he’s a king. We’ve had visionaries, we’ve had patrons all throughout history, that is the role of a prince. But my role is to make it happen.”
If the mission was to accumulate centuries of precious creative knowledge for alumni to reinvigorate and, in turn, hand to the next generation then there was one significant impediment.
“There weren’t any masters to teach us,” Azzam says.
The disconcerting discovery came when he went to set up a regional centre in his birthplace in 2005 with the Egyptian Ministry of Culture, Art Jameel and local artisans from whom he had hoped to gain a deeper understanding of tradition.
Instead, Azzam had a moment of transformational thinking that “not everything old is beautiful” — the craftsmen and women, in spite of their evident skills, had for generations been learning by rote.
“I really respect them and their role in the community but some of it was quite shoddy workmanship. They would start telling me, ‘Ah, but you don’t know, I am an eighth-generation carpenter and I learnt this from my grandfather’.
“But, because we came from an academic background and could analyse this stuff, I said, ‘your grandfather made a mistake three generations ago and you’re just repeating that mistake’.”
Most saddening for Azzam, however, was that the artists were stuck perpetually reproducing the same designs over and over again. Without much grasp of the underlying mathematical principles, they were incapable of extending the lineage of their traditional arts and crafts by creating anything new.
“It opened my eyes to the limitations of simply teaching young people through copying the forms of the past. We had to go back to the origin, to deconstruct buildings and understand how they were built. We had to look at certain principles to see what they were about. In a way, it was a voyage backwards.
“Then there was a moment where we started turning around, and now we feel that there is enough of a contemporary heritage to call it a living tradition and move into the future.
“If we’ve been successful in one thing, it’s in really delivering the philosophy into practice. It’s not just talk, it’s about making things, creating this process from the origin to the manifestation.”
That their son would end up running any school, let alone a prestigious art institution for the Prince’s Foundation, would once have been inconceivable for Azzam’s parents, Laila and Omar, who long kept quiet their fears over his prospects.
Young Khaled, despite being widely read and full of curiosity about what was happening in the world, was nonetheless lost within the four walls of a classroom.
“I was always last in the class because I just didn’t understand what was going on at all.
“Although my parents never let on, they admitted it much later, saying, ‘You know, we didn’t think you’d even make it into university’.
“And the fact that I not just got into university but then got a PhD and became involved in education … my brother says it’s a sign of the end of the world,” he says, smiling affectionately at the long-running joke.
It pops up again when we’re discussing Azzam’s receipt of the Lieutenant of the Royal Victorian Order, a knighthood granted by Queen Elizabeth II in 2009, and his speech before Pope Benedict XVI as representative of Muslims at an interfaith forum the following year.
“I don’t know why until this day that I was chosen,” he says. “It’s another sign of the end of the world, according to my brother.”
Azzam puts being such “a terrible student” down to a childhood disrupted by frequent geographical moves but doesn’t rule out an undiagnosed learning difficulty. “In our day, you were just stupid if you didn’t get it,” he says.
Education eventually took its place as the most important part of his working life once he began to understand that the Latin root, educere, means “to draw out of” not “to put into”.
As a consequence of his own difficulties, he feels an enormous responsibility towards those unable to cope with school systems intent on treating students like empty vessels that need filling with facts and figures.
“I became very, very interested in the journey you take a student through to bring what’s in them out to the surface,” he says.
Though born in Egypt, where his mother “always returned to have her babies”, the family lived abroad because of his father’s job as a senior urban planner for the UN.
After a stint in Saudi Arabia, there was a relatively settled period of 10 years in Lebanon until civil war broke out. They struggled on for almost a year until Omar, working in Paris at the time, suggested that the rest of the family join him temporarily: “Just come over for Christmas,” was the gist, “things will die down.”
“We managed to get on a flight one day very, very quickly — just packed a hand bag each and ran off to the airport. We left everything behind, all our books, our toys, our belongings, our clothes and just never went back because the war never ended. We had to rebuild our life. Then England became my home and I’m very grateful.”
This is not quite how his younger self felt when first pitching up late one Autumn afternoon in what was then the “very, very small town” of Cambridge.
“There was nothing to do. In those days, everything shut at five o’clock. It was foggy, cold and damp, and I’d just spent two years in the South of France. I was trying to figure out what I had done wrong.”
The posse of four siblings received a hospitable welcome from the locals and quickly grew to love their adopted home and the architecture lining the cobbled streets.
There was a particularly memorable encounter, surrounded by fluted limestone columns, medieval stained-glass windows and Tudor symbols in King’s College Chapel that would later inform much of Azzam’s work.
Beneath the celebrated fan-vaulted ceiling of the 500-year-old Gothic landmark built by a succession of English monarchs, the teenager made an unexpected discovery: he found himself.
“Physically, I had nothing to do with that place. Culturally, I was an Egyptian who came to England. I wasn’t even an architect yet. I was doing my O-Levels and A-Levels.
“But there was something in me that completely understood that building; the message, the beauty of it.
“I felt I belonged there, that it was part of me. It was a very profound experience that changed my life somehow.”
Arriving at what he says all the great civilisations of the world had known, however, came only with time and experience.
It has been a constant journey of learning with two particular guiding lights along the way. The first was Abdel Wahed El Wakil, the foremost authority in Islamic architecture with whom Azzam subjected himself completely for eight intense years at a “hothouse” of an office in London.
“We had a difficult relationship because he was very demanding but he was my master who taught me everything I know about architecture,” he says. “I just totally understood that this idea of apprenticeship is to give yourself to somebody, and if you find that person, you’re very, very lucky.”
Through El Wakil, he met Keith Critchlow, the renowned geometer and founder of the Visual and Traditional Arts Department at the Prince’s Institute of Architecture, and developed a deep fascination with the properties underpinning the order of nature.
He talks of the intricate chambers of the nautilus shell and the honeycomb built in hives by bees or the movement of planets over time across the night sky, but perhaps his favourite example is the delicate, six-fold symmetry of a single ice crystal.
“All snowflakes are hexagonal because the molecular structure of water is hexagonal yet — and this blows my mind every time I say it — no two snowflakes that fall on the ground are the same.
“There is a principle of unity manifesting variety. All snowflakes start from the same origin but their final form is the record of their journey down to Earth. In a way, that’s us as human beings as well.
“If you look at a DNA structure, the very basic thing that binds us all together, it’s a beautiful spiral that has a certain proportional system and yet we’re all different.”
The firm belief that we all have the same origin is fundamental not only to his work at the school but also as principal of Khaled Azzam Associates, the “little practice” he started in 1991.
It is hard, he agrees, not to lose count of the many architectural projects he has been involved in over the years: mosques like that commissioned by King Abdallah II to commemorate his father, the late King Hussein, in Amman; royal residences, commercial buildings, offices and schools across the Middle East; and, most recently, the master plan launched by Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman to sustainably develop the historic Al Ula site in Saudi Arabia where he is headed a few days after our interview.
“I’ve been running two careers, that’s why the number of projects looks bigger than it is,” Azzam, now 62, says modestly.
When it’s pointed out that there doesn’t seem to be much spare time weighing on his hands, Azzam concedes that he wouldn’t know what to do with it if he had any. He works all day, never tiring because, well, he doesn’t see it as work.
“I am blessed in my life because I do things I love. I think very, very early on in my career, I just said: I want work to be part of my identity, part of my character — it all has to be one.
“The school has always been somewhere that I found a great sense of nourishment and fulfilment. And it’s very much part of my life. My wife, Mona, complains that they’re my family more than my family at home.”
Home proper is Clapham in south London, where Mona has laid the unshakeable foundation that has made “all this possible”, Azzam acknowledges. Everything is taken care of so that he never has to worry: the house, the well-being of their children, Issam, 24, and Nadia, 19, and the bills “that she knows I won’t pay”.
A few hours before the rest of the family wakes each day, he is already at his desk with a cup of coffee, drawing while looking out across one of London’s largest parks.
“It’s very quiet,” he says. “There’s nobody there, and then you see one person, then two people, and then you see life coming through, and you start having a funny relationship with it. It’s beautiful.”
From his perch, Azzam envies the super fit elderly man who runs around Clapham Common each day, and often wonders with a glint of amusement what the dogs make of their owners diligently picking up after them.
He watches the latest exercise trends come and go with the seasons — the boxing or tai chi or, as with a few years back, “everybody standing on their heads”.
No surprises, though, that after a lifetime eschewing fleeting fashions, he isn’t inclined to join them.
Khaled Azzam concedes that he wouldn’t know what to do with spare time if he had any away from work. ‘I am blessed in my life because I do things I love,’ he says. Photo: Mark Chilvers
The 87-year-old was recently appointed honorary chancellor of the British University in Egypt and his foundation will soon open heart centres in Cairo and Kigali, Rwanda.
Renowned Egyptian-British heart surgeon Sir Magdi Yacoub, 87, made his mark a long time ago.
In 1980, he established what was to become one of the world’s largest and most successful heart transplant units, at Harefield Hospital in west London; in 1983, he performed the UK’s first combined heart and lung transplant; in 1992, he was knighted; and in 2014, he was awarded the Order of Merit by Queen Elizabeth II.
But that is just the shortlist and most recently he became honorary chancellor of the British University in Egypt (BUE).
As a professor of cardiothoracic surgery at Imperial College London for 20 years, Prof Yacoub was also lecturing, researching, publishing and mentoring.
He has founded several charities, starting with Chain of Hope in 1995, which treats children in developing countries who have life-threatening heart conditions. The Magdi Yacoub Heart Foundation’s Aswan centre has earned him an affectionate nickname, Egypt’s King of Hearts.
“Now … I’m like a butterfly, who flies in between all of these things”, Prof Yacoub tells The National.
“I almost work harder, although obviously, my energy is not the same. I used to not sleep for two or three nights and read all the journals and come back in the morning. But I still sleep four hours or so and wake up in the night,” he says.
He says he still wants to address healthcare inequality, chase a cure for heart failure and pass on the baton to the next generation in every way he can.
The BUE is a private institution that was formally inaugurated in 2006 by King Charles, who was Prince of Wales at the time, and Egypt’s former first lady, Suzanne Mubarak.
“I was there at its birth,” says Prof Yacoub, who is also a member of the university’s board of trustees. “I accepted [the role] because I identify with what they’re doing for young people, for the country, for the world … but also university life and its values are very important to me.”
The enthusiasm with which Prof Yacoub mentors young people stems from an appreciation of the influence of his own mentors, starting with his surgeon father, Habib Yacoub.
Prof Yacoub was born in 1935 in Bilbeis, a town in the Nile Delta about 60km north-east of Cairo, to a Coptic Christian family. He spent his childhood moving around Egypt due to his father’s profession.
Both his father and the death of his aunt from uncorrected mitral stenosis (a narrowing of the heart valve) inspired him to study medicine and cardiology.
After graduating in medicine from Cairo University in 1957, in the early 1960s he moved to the UK for further training.
He worked under the late British chest and heart surgeon Lord Russell Brock, one of the pioneers of modern open-heart surgery.
“I knew of him before I ever came to the UK and I targeted him as a young boy,” Prof Yacoub says. “I learnt so much from him on how to think, how to be a better cardiologist than anybody, how to make decisions for yourself.”
Prof Yacoub’s early work includes repairing heart valves with the late South African-born British cardiothoracic surgeon Donald Ross. He adapted the Ross Procedure, where the diseased aortic valve is replaced with the person’s own pulmonary valve.
A job rejection from the Royal Brompton Hospital prompted him to move to the US in 1968, where he became an assistant professor at the University of Chicago for a year. He was “extremely disappointed and upset” at the time, but “in the long run, it was the best thing that happened to me”, Prof Yacoub says.
“Although I was bent on having the job at the Royal Brompton, which was a huge hospital, it was actually so much better for me to come back to a peripheral hospital because I was allowed to do what I wanted and I was more creative,” he says.
He became a consultant cardiothoracic surgeon at Harefield Hospital in Uxbridge in 1969 and immediately shook up the place.
“When I was appointed as the only heart surgeon there and they were doing one case every week, sometimes one open-heart every two weeks, I said, ‘no, no, we’re going to do nine to 13 every week’,” Prof Yacoub says. “They said, ‘you’re not serious.’ I said ‘I am serious’.”
He went on to become the founder and director at Harefield’s Heart Science Centre, and was also a consultant cardiothoracic surgeon at Royal Brompton from 1986 until his retirement from National Health Services practice in 2001 at the age of 65.
Over the course of his career, Prof Yacoub has performed more than 40,000 open heart surgeries and conducted more than 2,000 heart transplants.
From 1986 to 2006, he held the position of British Heart Foundation professor of cardiothoracic surgery at Imperial College, where he supervised more than 20 higher-degree students.
He credits other mentors along his journey as well, such as the late Sir Peter Medawar, the half-British, half-Lebanese, Brazilian-born immunologist who won the Nobel Prize in 1960.
“He is regarded as the father of transplantation and he has saved so many people around the world,” Prof Yacoub says. “I was very lucky to meet him in Chicago first when I was there and then when he came back to the UK at Oxford.”
The next two centres on the horizon are the Magdi Yacoub Global Heart Centre in Cairo, which is scheduled to be completed in 2024, and the Rwanda Heart Care and Research Foundation in Kigali.
Funded by Dubai-based charity foundation Mohammed bin Rashid Global Initiatives, the 22,000-square-metre, 300-bed Cairo centre will be the largest specialised facility for cardiovascular treatment and research in the Mena region.
Once completed, it will conduct 12,000 heart surgeries a year, of which 60 per cent will target children.
All of Prof Yacoub’s centres focus on three pillars of medical care, research and training: to serve, learn and teach.
“I’m very proud to see that [the new generation is] surging ahead and carrying the message, which I care about most, which is serving humanity, serving science, in the best way and advancing medicine,” he says.
There is one thing, however, that has so far eluded Prof Yacoub: finding a cure for heart failure.
“There are now tools, which are just becoming available to reverse heart failure at the genetic level, biochemical level and metabolic level,” he says. “So we do have tools, but are we going to achieve it within my lifetime? I don’t think so. But we have to keep trying.”
LONDON, UNITED KINGDOM – NOVEMBER 24: King Charles III talks with Professor Magdi Yacoub during a luncheon for Members of the Order of Merit at Buckingham Palace on November 24, 2022 in London, England. (Photo by Aaron Chown – WPA Pool / Getty Images)
Egyptian businessman said Rishi Sunak had shown himself to be ‘very capable’.
The Conservative party has received its largest donation in more than two decades from an Egyptian-born, British-based billionaire.
Mohamed Mansour has given the party £5 million ($6.2 million) and thrown his backing behind Prime Minister Rishi Sunak, saying he understands “how growth is generated in the modern economy”.
Writing in The Telegraph on Monday, Mr Mansour, who previously spoke to The National for an Arab Showcase feature, said Mr Sunak had shown himself “to be very capable”.
He wrote: “He gets the importance of technology and innovation. He can make the modern economy work for all UK citizens.”
The £5 million donation is the second largest individual gift on record to a political party, after Lord Sainsbury of Turville gave £8 million to the Liberal Democrats in 2019.
And it matches the £5 million donation to the Conservative Party by Sir Paul Getty in 2001. Mr Mansour’s gift has contributed to one of the party’s most successful first quarters of donations in recent years.
“I believe that this country has a very capable Prime Minister,” he wrote.
“My confidence in the Prime Minister is why I was proud to become a senior treasurer of the Conservative Party last December. I want to give him the best chance of having a full five-year term and so have donated £5 million to the party’s election fighting fund. I look at what he has achieved in his first months in office and think what he could do in five years.”
‘I had to do something in my life’
Mr Mansour has overseen the expansion of his family’s company, which has grown from its early beginnings as a cotton exporter to the global conglomerate it is today, with revenue of more than $7.5 billion.
He told The National in 2021 about how a period of convalescence aged 10 gave him the impetus he needed to go on to succeed in life.
Week after week he lay in plaster recuperating from horrific injuries after a car hit him as he was crossing the street.
The doctors had wanted to amputate his leg, but the headstrong boy refused, vowing to stick it out as long as necessary. It took three years.
Mr Mansour looks back on the episode as a part of his life when his father taught him how to be a good entrepreneur and an honourable man.
“That’s when I developed in me that I had to do something in my life,” he told The National.
The billionaire learnt as a boy the importance of a strong work focus, determination, vision and priorities, but also trust, understanding, empathy and loyalty that goes both ways.
“People who love and respect you will do anything for you, I find, and vice versa,” Mr Mansour said.
They are the qualities he credits for his successful leadership at the helm of the Mansour Group, which has a presence in 100 countries and 60,000 employees.
The Egyptian cotton trading company was founded in 1952 and run by his father, Loutfy Mansour.
“My father always told me: ‘Mohamed, you’re a very special young man because of the strength you showed when everybody was saying that we have to amputate the leg. You’re telling the doctors, ‘No.’
“I said, ‘No’,” Mr Mansour recalls, with an edge to his voice, “and I meant it.”
Family’s home seized
The fortune that his father amassed as a textiles trader was lost in 1963 when the business was nationalised by the Egyptian government.
Mr Mansour’s childhood home, with its 40 rooms and 30 staff was confiscated, and his father went from feted capitalist to persona non grata on a state income of $75 a month.
He explains how his life changed overnight, with his family unable to support him while at university in the US, forcing him to trade in his car and work as a waiter.
Back in Egypt, his father was left trying to support the family on a meagre salary, which left Mr Mansour with a lifelong belief in the importance of political stability, property rights and the rule of law.
Mr Mansour joined the company in 1973 and took it in a new direction, forming a strategic partnership first with the automotive multinational General Motors and then with the construction equipment manufacturer Caterpillar. Other leading brands, such as Philip Morris, Peugeot, MG and McDonald’s would follow.
Mr Mansour and his two brothers continued to steer the company to success after their father’s death in 1976.
In 2005 Mr Mansour stepped back from his business to serve in the Egyptian government, spending almost four years trying to modernise the country’s transport infrastructure.
In the article on Monday he says: “But when I had finished that period of service, I knew there was one country where I wanted to base my business. A place where the rule of law is paramount, property rights are respected and with an enviable record of political stability. This country: the United Kingdom.”
He says he loves and respects the country, which has welcomed himself and his family so warmly.
“It has a proud history and noble traditions. I believe that it has great days ahead of it. I want to do what I can to help this country – the place where I am watching my grandchildren grow up – achieve its great potential,” he adds.
Trailblazing Jordanian-British research fellow reveals that her prescription for success requires dispensing – but only with tradition.
Most Damascene moments are dramatic by definition but few occur, as Atheer Awad’s did, on an actual road that leads to the Syrian capital.
Her own turning point came when the vehicle she was travelling in with her family to register for university in Amman blew a tyre, hit an electricity pole and flipped several times.
The accident meant that Awad ended up in hospital and missed the window to sign up to study medicine. By the time she was discharged, the only degree option still open to her was pharmacy.
Though bitterly disappointed at the time, she has come to believe that there were greater forces at work on the day of the crash on Jordan Street.
“Let’s just say we put our car to the test,” Awad tells The National. “It was a complete wreck. We are lucky to be alive.
“But it wasn’t meant to be that I should study medicine. I took the car accident as a sign that the future held better things for me.”
As a result, she was steered into an unexpected career in which the eventualresearch fellow at University College London would amass numerous accolades: the Journal of Clinical Medicine‘s 2021 PhD Thesis award; an appearance on the Forbes 30 Under 30 list for Europe; reaching the finals in the Women of the Future awards 2022 in the science category; named as an International Pharmaceutical Federation FIPWise Rising Star for 2022 as well as one of the top 15 outstanding innovators under the age of 35 by the MIT Technology Review.
Her groundbreaking research is paving the way towards the creation of personalised medication that can be 3D-printed in patients’ homes via smartphone — a potentially transformative innovation for those who find it hard to gain access to health care or don’t suit a one-size-fits-all service.
Born in Abu Dhabi and raised in Dubai by Jordanian parents, her hand was always first in the air in class when volunteers were sought to dissect animals at Al Mawakeb School in Garhoud.
It was an early display of Awad’s enthusiasm for the sciences, particularly biology, and a prelude to her ambition of becoming a heart surgeon.
“I was so determined to make a difference and medicine is one of those industries that has a greater impact when it comes to changing people’s lives,” she says.
“There is never a boring day with science because every day is a new learning experience.
“You come across things that you haven’t discovered before or create new stuff by just playing around with things in the lab and mixing them together. It’s that sort of curiosity that motivates me.”
Back then, holidays were regularly spent visiting Jordan — trips that Awad still makes annually to catch up with extended family, go to weddings and indulge a soft spot for the local food.
“I love those traditional connections,” she says, “and still follow as many of these practices as I can, wherever I am.
“My faith helps a lot. But it isn’t easy trying to keep a balance between sticking to faith and being able to live in a foreign country.”
Moving to England wasn’t as daunting as it might have been without the unwavering support of her parents and four older siblings — a pharmacist, a consultant with whom she lived until recently, an IT specialist and a doctor.
“It is rare for all of us to be in the same country at the same time,” she says, laughing. “We travel between the three countries and there is always at least one of us living in each of the three. That makes it interesting for my parents, who get to travel everywhere.”
Awad herself, now 29, is a keen traveller and has put on her bucket list the wish to visit every country in Europe before turning her sights to other continents.
She fell in love with Turkey after a trip to Cappadocia, the semi-arid central region known for its “fairy chimney” rock formations, and particularly enjoys explorations on foot.
London, however, holds a special place in her heart, where there is, she points out, a big Jordanian community.
“I have a lot of friends I consider my second family. They’re a mixture of scientists, people outside work, and others with Jordanian or Arab heritage. That keeps me connected to my roots and it is one of the beauties of London — it’s international.”
But she calls Dubai home and makes many happy returns to Living Legends, a newly developed 14 million-square-foot community on the outskirts of the city where her parents still live.
Part of the appeal of the emirate, it should be said, is the chance to hit the luxury shops. Dior and Prada are favourites — her handbag collection alone extends to “about 40 or 50 … I’ve lost count” — and the Swarovski-encrusted mobile phone she takes everywhere is a particularly prized purchase.
Invariably, though, one of the first stops is to fill up on luqaimat, known as awama in the Levant. She has sampled the sugary doughnuts wherever she finds them but maintains that the ones whipped up for as long as Awad can remember by her mum, Hanan Swais, “are the best”.
They were an abiding taste of a childhood in which the extroverted Awad, left to explore her own interests by her father, Jamal, an electronics retailer, and Hanan, a homemaker, played the piano exuberantly if not with any notable proficiency and went on Scouting expeditions.
There was never an expectation that she would follow in the footsteps of any of her siblings but the desire to pursue medicine was strong nonetheless.
“It wasn’t until we were discharged from hospital [after the car accident] that I realised I had missed the deadline,” she says. “There was no going back in time. I just thought: ‘What’s the next best option?’
“That’s why I always say I did not choose pharmacy — it chose me.”
Despite a reluctant start, Awad’s enthusiasm grew throughout a five-year degree at the private Applied Science University in Amman as she gained insight into the extent of what pharmacists could actually do.
“I started looking at pharmacy as having a bigger impact than I had previously thought,” she says.
“People sometimes look at pharmacists as if they are beneath or less important than doctors when, in fact, they do most of the work behind the scenes.”
Little by little, with the consolidation of hours of satisfying sessions spent researching in laboratories or learning about the differences in the properties of various drugs, it dawned on Awad that she had stumbled across her calling.
Which is not to say that she appreciated being treated as little more than a saleswoman while doing work experience in a community pharmacy during the degree course.
“People assume that the pharmacist just takes the prescription and gets the medication without doing anything else,” she says. “There is a misconception.”
The experience hardened Awad’s resolve to focus on research rather than the direct, community-facing side of the profession.
After graduation in 2015, she embarked on a master’s in pharmaceutics and drug design at UCL, where she learnt about 3D printing during an end-of-year project with her professor, Abdul Basit.
She was inspired to keep working with the Basit Research Group within the School of Pharmacy to undertake a doctorate specialising in using the drug-delivery technology in the manufacture of medicines.
“I’ve always been interested in technology so it grabbed my interest immediately,” says Awad, who is still a research fellow with the group.
Weekends when she is not working are spent dining with friends, indulging her obsession for Harry Potter — “I’ve watched all the films multiple times” — and baking. Coffee cake is her speciality and made a well-received appearance at her professor’s 50th birthday.
“I do like experimenting with baking and cooking. I think there are similarities between baking and science.”
She doesn’t rule out applying to appear on The Great British Bake Off television show but, for now, Awad’s ambitions are confined to the lab.
“I want to make a change,” she says. “I don’t want 3D printing to stay a theory. I want to see it being implemented and taken up by healthcare agencies.”
Most recently, Awad has been printing tablets with Braille and moon patterns on their surfaces for visually impaired patients, or changing their shape, size and colour so that children or those with limited capacity find them easier to take. She has also been researching how to combine several medications into a single pill.
One of her team’s successes has been in creating tablets that can be swallowed without water. Manufactured in partnership with pharmaceutical 3D-printing specialist FabRx by melting powder particles with a laser beam and using heat, the porous product dissolves on the tongue.
She talks about how 3D printing allows alterations of a fraction of a milligram, making medication much more tailored and precise than the standard variety available off the shelf.
“Every person is different and our bodies do not react the same,” Awad says. “The requirements when it comes to medication differ, and sometimes they differ within the same person, depending on the disease progression.
“We can also take patients’ preferences into consideration. That’s important when it comes to children or elderly patients. Often children refuse to take medicine because they don’t like the taste, the shape isn’t appealing or the pill might be too big.”
While 3D printing for customised pharmaceuticals has yet to be introduced commercially in the UK, Awad’s UCL team has managed to convert a smartphone into an on-demand 3D drug printer with an app that could be used in remote GP surgeries and even at home.
“We’re not far from the industry adopting 3D printing, probably in the next two to five years,” she says. “Approval will have to be on a medication-by-medication basis because each medicine could behave differently to the same technology, depending on its properties, and the 3D-printing technologies themselves differ.”
Awad’s passion for her work is tangible. The British-American analytics company Clarivate clearly thought so when last month listing her on its influential Highly Cited 2022. It was a remarkable achievement for such a young scientist to appear among fewer than 0.1 per cent of the world’s researchers across 21 fields.
Such recognition is welcome but, she says, the many “titles are more of an assurance that I am on the right track and that my work is important”.
“That’s the driving force to keep me moving forward and become even more ambitious to try new things,” she says.
One of her guiding principles is that researchers should be brave and adopt different approaches because even the most “ridiculous” ideas can be turned into brilliant inventions or innovations.
As she has been known to opine, not all scientific breakthroughs happen through planned research: “Sometimes, you come across things by accident.”
Given the route into her career in pharmaceuticals, it could be said that Awad started very much as she meant to continue.
With a Lebanese name and a Cairo birthplace in the background, Gabriel Makhlouf is steering Ireland’s financial recovery.
As governor of the Central Bank of Ireland, Gabriel Makhlouf is much preoccupied by the issue of resilience in a small, open economy challenged by a year of pandemic.
Mr Makhlouf’s own peripatetic life has shown him how precious an asset the quality of adaptability is at a time of change, be it in a person or for a national economic system.
Upheaval and the Makhloufs on the move could be a theme stretching back to when his father’s side of the family travelled across the Mediterranean from their Lebanese homeland to Cyprus.
When the island was part of the Empire, the family became British subjects and Makhlouf Snr ended up working at the embassy in Cairo after the Second World War.
It was in that palatial building near the Nile that he fell for a Greek-Armenian woman whose forebears had fled the historical turmoil of Izmir in 1922. Her family moved to Athens where she has come full circle to live today.
Mr Makhlouf was talking to The National at a time when Ireland’s strict national Level 5 lockdown is both defining his job and providing a perspective on the decades of movement and upheaval that have brought him to where he is now.
At a conference last week, the governor spoke of how the outlook had deteriorated in 2021 with the renewed lockdown. The short-term need to bolster the economy coincided with structural changes from technological innovation and climate policies. Ireland suffered a 7.1 per cent slump in domestic demand last year but is expected to see a 2.9 per cent increase in 2021.
Unemployment is predicted to reach 9.3 per cent this year and for an economy with a high level of property-focused debt, ensuring that households are supported is a priority. Mr Makhlouf points out that growth is not the same as having the capacity to recover quickly.
“We cannot anticipate every type of shock but we can build resilience,” he said in his keynote address. “Resilience is what has prevented the financial system repeating its previous failure. Resilience is what has protected households, businesses and communities against the worst of the damage from the shock of the pandemic.
“Economic resilience is what helps communities to manage the disruption caused by change and to manage the economic transitions we are living in right now.”
In providing leadership during financial strife, it is perhaps a boon to have some sense of dislocation. He describes his mother’s family as refugees. His parents met in a milieu that was the product of worlds with roots as far back as the Phoenicians, ancient Greeks, Romans and Egyptians. And yet the people of Mr Makhlouf’s parents’ generation made their choices and moved to build new lives.
“My mother, who was born in Athens, had spent most of her life outside of Greece, but when my dad retired she came back,” he recalls. “My dad moved on and lived all over the world and settled in Greece at the end, before he passed away.”
Mr Makhlouf was born in Egypt but left at the age of three when his father joined the United Nations and moved to the Congo. Makhlouf pere’s time as an international diplomat exposed the young Gabriel to many cultures.
“My first language was French, because my parents’ mutual tongue was French,” he says. “So I learned English when I was about seven when we went to Bangladesh, and when we got to the Pacific we lived in Samoa.
“I went to school in Samoa. My parents then decided they ought to send me to boarding school if I was going to get a proper education and not one that changed every few years.”
Travelling during the school holidays from the school in England was a regular odyssey in itself. “The trip to get to Samoa and back to England involved stopping in Los Angeles, Honolulu and Pago Pago, an American territory pronounced ‘Pango Pango’,” he recalls.
“But then they moved to the Philippines, they moved to Fiji, they were in Ethiopia and they were in Thailand. So, you know, my brother and I got used to this life.”
It is a puzzle, then, to establish the appeal to the young Mr Makhlouf of embarking on a career as a Whitehall civil servant. He explains it as following his father’s footsteps in to the bureaucracy. Certainly, the career path was more about determination and making opportunities than wanderlust.
“I don’t think I joined the civil service for stability, to be honest, but maybe somewhere deep inside me there might have been that,” he says. “I joined the civil service really for interest. I joined as a tax inspector at the beginning. And it was an interesting career option – it involved law, it involved accountancy and it gave early opportunity to manage.”
Fate intervened to resume the family’s roving tradition when Mr Makhlouf was headhunted in 2010 to run New Zealand’s finance ministry, the Treasury. There, he was responsible for developing a measure of well-being as a replacement for the traditional gross domestic product yardstick.
In one memorable allusion in a speech he compared the role of an economist to that of an artisan, challenged with weaving together different strands of evidence into a structured framework.
Before upping sticks to the southern hemisphere, Mr Makhlouf at one point worked directly with then-UK chancellor Gordon Brown, who became prime minister at the time of the global financial crisis in 2008.
Asked about his former boss and a recent warning that the world now faces another lost decade or perhaps even worse than after that crash, Mr Makhlouf acknowledges how bad it was last time around but disagreed on the dangers now.
“I think that there is one massive difference between the crisis in 2008 and today’s crisis,” he says. “Which is that the crisis in 2008 was a crisis of the financial system, the financial system basically collapsed.
“Today, the financial system is still standing, and it’s the financial system that’s playing a very important role in supporting businesses and households through the pandemic and hopefully into a recovery and out the other end.”
World leaders are proving to be different kinds of players, having recognised that this is an economic crisis caused by a health crisis. “Governments throughout the world have chosen to close down economies for the sake of people’s health. In some respects that is been planned. In comparison to what happened in 2008 where actually events completely overwhelmed us.”
So Mr Brown’s fears are too pessimistic? “A lot of the changes and challenges that are ahead of us, I think if we manage them, then I think they can be managed well,” he says.
Mr Makhlouf takes heart from the rapid adjustment of businesses to home-working and new patterns of demand. “Economies across the world and certainly in the industrialised world have adapted to the restrictions,” he says. “More businesses are set up for that and more consumers were ready and knew how to proceed.”
The scale of “technological adaptation” since he accepted the Irish job in 2019 is something he could well have guessed was just around the corner.
The governor has not been immune to the extraordinary pressures imposed by lockdowns. Even at the outset of the pandemic, the family’s far-flung ways isolated him in Athens just as the 2,000-strong staff of the central bank in Dublin were forced to work from home.
With his mother ill in hospital, Mr Makhlouf was on hand to help her recover. “Effectively, I carried on working like everyone else via laptops and iPads. It’s quite an extraordinary thing that we all seem to have got used to.”
History means that a British citizen running the Irish central bank will always be a talking point. The moment that the UK left the EU put Mr Makhlouf in an invidious spot.
First, there is migration of businesses and banking activity from the City of London to Dublin so that firms remain within the EU umbrella. Is this an opportunity?
“Overall, I think the impact of Brexit is negative. It’s negative for Ireland and for the UK and for the EU,” he says. “We’re most exposed as a country in the agricultural sector, in particular. The fact that there was, at the end of the day, a deal albeit a very slim deal was better than there being no deal.
“On financial services, we have seen post-referendum a move of business from London to Dublin,” he agrees. “I’m not sure I would necessarily call it an opportunity at all. I think from my perspective as a regulator this increases the need for us to manage and ensure the financial system works properly.”
With his son, brother and wife’s relatives living in London, the governor observes that the pandemic has played a greater role than Brexit in cutting off families and friends. But things are different.
“I feel sorry for someone like my son — his opportunities to work in 27 other countries have now been limited. So his generation has lost out,” he says. “Ireland and Irish people have got many connections in the UK, we recognise Brexit has happened but those connections haven’t disappeared, they haven’t been lost.”
As two movie-perfect countries on the periphery of continents with roughly similar populations, one wonders what the biggest change is for Mr Makhlouf in switching from New Zealand to Ireland.
There is the remoteness of the former compared with the latter’s position within the wealthy European market. But the answer, he feels, is the perspective on China. In New Zealand, much time was spent thinking about and visiting that part of east Asia. He himself went at least nine times.
“The role that Asia has been playing and will play in the 21st century usually dominated a lot of thinking. And what’s interesting coming back to Europe, and perhaps now it’s not surprising at one level, but it was noticeable how little of our time was spent thinking about Asia.”
For the well-travelled, there is the unchanging truth that proximity is often the most powerful force in geography.
The lockdown both defines Gabriel Makhlouf’s job as Governor of the Irish central bank and provides a perspective on the decades of movement and upheaval that have brought him where he is today. Courtesy Central Bank of Ireland
Egyptian actor Amir El-Masry was cast in the upcoming fifth season of Netflix’s historical drama The Crown, according to a PR representative on Wednesday.
El-Masry will portray the young Egyptian billionaire Mohamed Al-Fayed, Egyptian-born UK-based businessman, owner of Hôtel Ritz Paris and formerly Harrods department store and Fulham FC.
The cast of the fifth season also includes Egyptian-British actor Khalid Abdalla who has ben cast as Dodi Fayed , Mohamed Al-Fayed’s son and late Princess Diana’s boyfriend. Abdalla will play opposite Elizabeth Debicki as Diana.
Born in Cairo in 1990 and raised in London, El-Masry’s career kicked off with roles in Egyptian films, earning him Best Young Actor at the Egyptian Oscars in 2009.
Graduating from The London Academy of Music and Dramatic Art in 2013, Amir appeared in Jon Stewart’s debut feature Rosewater and various acclaimed TV series before his breakthrough role in The Night Manager (2016), followed by Lost in London (2017), The State (2017) and Age Before Beauty (2018).
Other notable credits include the critically acclaimed BAFTA nominated mini-series The State, a series regular role of Dante in the new BBC series Age Before Beauty and the lead in the first American-Saudi feature The Arabian Warrior.
Following the reign of Queen Elizabeth II, including political and romantic events that have shaped the twenty-first century, The Crown is considered one of the greatest series in the history of drama.
The series has won over 130 awards, including 21 Primetime Awards, of which seven were during the 73rd Primetime Emmy Awards in 2021, scooping awards of all categories.
The first season of The Crown was released in November 2016. Its fifth season is scheduled for release in November 2022.
Lebanese designer Alexandra Hakim has revealed her natural approach to her sustainable jewelry brand.
The mastermind behind the label Alexandra Hakim, told Arab News that she started the brand as a student, finding inspiration from materials in her studio such as sandpaper and matchsticks in ashtrays.
The jewelry maker tried to recreate the elements and turn them into wearable sparkly jewels to give each item a “different and completely unique touch.
She said: “I made my first collection at school based on matchsticks and I found beauty in the way that they are consumed every time in different ways. I took those fragile wooden pieces and I tried to transform them into earrings and create unique pieces of playful earrings and necklaces.”
Hakim also speaks to local workers in Lebanon to support different crafts.
“I have talked to fishermen, farmers, and different craftsmen about their work, and I try to integrate it into mine. So, for example, I would take any rubbish that a fisherman I met called Bob would find in his nets – because there is barely any fish left in the sea today. So, I made a collection based on that.
“I also used pearls to make the connection between the rubbish from the sea and the jewels,” she added.
Describing her brand as a mix of luxury and contemporary jewelry, Hakim said: “I feel like my brand is about inclusivity, sustainability. It’s about making jewelry that is good for the planet. It’s about limiting waste and making women and men feel empowered.”
One of her most recent collections, the “Good Karma Capsule,” was based on horoscopes.
“I asked people around me from different backgrounds and places if they wanted their portraits taken depending on their horoscopes. So, I found a Scorpio, a Gemini, and it all kind of came together.
“People felt so empowered wearing their horoscope and felt like the earrings were a lucky charm and a token of positivity,” she added.
