Still fighting

In the late 1990s, Abu Khadijeh was the golden boy of Jordanian boxing, racking up wins, plaudits and titles, not least twice defending the Arab heavyweight belt. His reputation spread, and he found little trouble using it to secure jobs as a bodyguard or bouncer to earn money in between training at the Beqa’a boxing club, the “factory of champions”. It was when he was working as security in a coffeeshop in Ras al-Ain – although the nature and location of the establishment does seem to change depending on the narrator – that he was set upon by five thugs, believed to have been sent by the owner of a rival establishment as a warning that even the indomitable Abu Khadija couldn’t protect the place. They clearly miscalculated; two of the assailants were killed on the spot, one the result of severe trauma after an Abu Khadijeh right hook reportedly exploded his brain. He was arrested, detained for nearly a year and a half, and only released after a judge decided he was acting in self-defence. 

 

Naji, the 28-year-old film director and screenwriter, says he can’t actually recall when he first heard about the incident, but thinks the idea probably sprang from photographer Laith Majali, who had been a frequent visitor to the camp’s boxing club, which he later shot for NOX in 2006. “I instantly thought what a great film it would make,” he says, in a clipped, educated English accent that belies his decision to forego the chance to enroll in Sandhurst Military Academy – which of course numbers the late King Hussein among its former students – and take up the camera. “The best part is that when I first met him, he really wanted to tell the story. He does not feel sorry for himself at all, and that makes the story so much better.”

 

Death of a Boxer recreates the events of the night in a drama-documentary style, with Abu Khadijeh and other principal characters playing themselves. There is a degree of artistic license in the precise details of the fight, as well as the placement of certain locations, but they weren’t, Naji insists, from a desire to obfuscate but simply due to the logistics of getting the action on film. “We decided to reenact ‘the incident’ in a dark alley in Downtown Amman,” he says, reflecting on the hurdles – people, traffic, possibly police – they would have faced had they shot at the actual site. “But after shooting a big chunk of the scene, when we showed up the next day to finish it, we found that this big construction site that was appearing in the background had completely disappeared. Just gone! So we had to start all over again.” 

 

It’s been over a year since the shoot wrapped, but the pair still get together once a month or so to reminisce about the making of the film and discuss where they could potentially go from here. It’s a friendship that isn’t hindered by Naji’s less than total Arabic nor Abu Khadijeh’s almost complete lack of English. It isn’t long before they’re teasing each other about their obvious differences, or looking back at the days of the shoot. Naji brings up the obviously popular topic of Gaber, an Egyptian stuntman they brought in to take a dive in front of Abu Khadijeh. They descend into peals of laughter as they recall his first appearance on the set, showing up in a pair of flip-flops and protesting that Abu Khadijeh might get mad if he punches him. 

 

Although he says he wants Death of a Boxer to remind people of his former greatness, as well as explain to them the injustice he faced back in 2005, it’s clear the people of his hometown don’t need the help. Walking through the main market, with his smile reflected on everyone who sees him, old friends and shopkeepers rushing to greet him, and a photographer and interviewer confirming his status as a real local celebrity, it’s clear he did gain something very special from boxing – the enduring status of the people’s champion. And he doesn’t need a film to prove it.  

 

For a full version of this article, see NOX40.