The memories of the time I was fortunate enough to spend with the poet Hussein Arab, who died last week in Makkah are still vividly in my mind. His house in Makkah was a veritable literary club where we remained from the afternoon prayer until the call to Isha. A number of young men who were interested in literature, including myself, were permanent members of this club. Hussein Arab, whom we respectfully called ustaz, was the leader of the group. Our discussions for the most part centered on literary and religious topics including frequent critical evaluation of contemporary works. His was the final word in our debates as he was encyclopedic in his literary and religious knowledge. He never failed to encourage all of us, particularly me, to read books explaining the various Islamic schools of thought and discuss issues related to them. His views on religious issues deserved wide circulation among the people and for that reason, I was always keen to publish them. He also encouraged us to read poetry as much as possible. He was very upset by my lack of poetic ability and was also disappointed by my inability to memorize poems. He often quoted at length from contemporary poems. He admired and encouraged local poets such as Muhammad Hasan Awad, Ahmad Qindeel, Muhammad Hasan Faqi and Hussein Sirhan.

He did not show any interest in compiling and publishing his own poems as most other poets did. When we found him making no moves in that direction, some of us planned to take secret steps to get his poems published. Most of his recent poems discussed the latest developments in Palestine. He was deeply shocked by the world’s apathetic stand toward the sufferings of the Palestinians.

The ustaz was very popular among the people as a minister as well. The whole population of Makkah was jubilant upon his appointment as the minister of Haj and Endowments. They all marched to his house to express their happiness. Before that, he had also been Director General of the ministry of the interior. Even after he left the ministry, people used to remember what good deeds he had done there. His house in the Nuzha district, like his heart, was always open to the people.