Go forward every day committed to worthy achievement, being altruistic, and building rewarding relationships with the people in your life.

—John Mattone

NABIL AL ALAWI SPENT HIS childhood on the island country of Singapore. Like many others in Singapore, he was the son of Hadhramis who arrived on Singapore's shore when forced to leave their homeland in order to eek out a living in a faraway land. Young Nabil's great grandfather, grandfather, and father were all born in Hadhramaut in southern Yemen, where the land was so sparse and unforgiving that the people who called it home were required to have not just a deep adherence to their religion but a legendary fastidiousness. The Al Alawi family brought these values with them when they arrived in Singapore. In fact, the great majority of the Arabs in Singapore are Hadhramis. These fierce immigrants made major contributions to Islam throughout the East. In Singapore, they created a microcosm of their own culture, centered on Arab Street, which was alive with Arab life, culture, food, art, goods, and the voices of multiple generations.

It was a good life, where young Nabil went to a Catholic school, learning to pray every morning, “Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name.” Being an Arab attending a Catholic school in a land far away from his origins began to forge the religious tolerance and worldview that would later serve him well.

But when the oil boom hit, many in the Arab community left to return to the Arabian Peninsula, including 12-year-old Nabil's father. So the Al Alawi family left Singapore behind, though its lasting impact would be etched into his attitude and values for a lifetime.

Cairo in the 1950s was the center of the Arab world, where powerful Egyptians mingled with wealthy Europeans on holiday. Nicknamed the “Mother of the World,” Cairo was a world-class city bursting with opportunity. The family thrived and young Nabil excelled in school. Eventually, when Nabil reached high school age, his father—who dreamed of his son becoming a doctor—sent him off to boarding school in Kuwait, where the educational system was superior.

Again young Nabil thrived. Alone at a four-year boarding school, Nabil took up the sport of tennis. Soon, he was winning all the school matches, then district matches, and finally he became a full-blown tennis star. At the age of 16, Nabil won the Kuwait Open championship. The next year, he won again.

Upon graduation, the Kuwait government offered Nabil a scholarship to Lebanon University. To his father's dismay, he declined. He had his sights on farther shores: the United States. Namely, Louisiana State University. This time, it was his father's turn to decline, declaring the endeavor far too expensive for the family to afford.

But Nabil, with the classic teenage characteristics of both confidence and a hardheaded singular vision, vowed to raise the money and go on his own, no matter what. He spent the next year working for the British Bank of the Middle East. Much to his surprise, his father succeeded in that year in securing a scholarship to LSU. But LSU was not his only choice—no less than four colleges offered admittance to Nabil. Nabil wanted a culture that ate rice and a town with warm, balmy nights. LSU fit both bills.

Upon arrival, Nabil approached the tennis coach. The team was already full and the coach had no idea who he was. After he introduced himself as champion of tennis in Kuwait, he was allowed to join the team, securing a second scholarship. His determination was already serving him well. Nabil adjusted to life at LSU, and began to fulfill his father's expectation that he become a doctor by taking mostly pre-med science classes. Even so, he had a nagging thought in the back of his mind: not medicine, but engineering.

That first year, during the holiday season in Kuwait, Nabil expressed his desire and misgivings about being a doctor. A cousin who was already studying medicine offered to help solidify his final choice.

It would be an enlightenment that would change everything.

Without telling him where they were going, his cousin took them to a great hall at the local university where he was studying medicine. With high ceilings and a stark coolness, the room was lined with endless metal drawers. Without explanation, Nabil's cousin suggested he pull open one of the drawers. As he slowly slid the metal drawer out of the wall, he immediately came face to face with a shocking vision: a head, mostly decomposed, all dry hair and protruding teeth. He staggered back with the fright and shock, pissing himself. And it was in that card catalog of both human despair and man's triumph over science and medicine that young Nabil Al Alawi made a choice: He would be an engineer.

He returned, after the holiday, to LSU with a renewed commitment to engineering. Oddly, it was his prowess on the tennis court that first put the thought in his mind. As a teen tennis champ, he was invited to a camp run by BP and Smith Chevron. Camp is a misnomer: the Brits and Americans had constructed typical townships, each a microcosm of American and British life. Young Nabil was so impressed not only with the way these towns were built—with perfect roads and fine buildings—but with the standard of life they offered. It was then it dawned on him: This was a feat of engineering made possible only by the monied world of oil.

Today, Nabil Alawi is the CEO and managing director of AlMansoori Specialized Engineering, a wholly owned private company in the oil and gas services business. True to form, Nabil graduated with a degree in petroleum engineering from Louisiana State University and started his career with Otis Engineering Corp. in 1965. He worked for Louisiana-based Otis Engineering for 13 years in multiple countries before founding—with Abdulla Nasser and Hilal AlMansoori—AlMansoori Specialized Engineering in 1977. Since launching his oil services empire, Nabil has overcome many challenges and witnessed the ever-changing fortunes of an industry that is intrinsically linked to political instability. The company has a global presence stretching across 24 countries in the Middle East, Europe, Africa, and Asia.

While there is a lot of hype about depleting oil supplies, Nabil remains undeterred in his belief that the industry can survive for generations to come: “I'm an optimist and have to stay that way to go on with my life,” he says. I talked to Nabil Al Alawi about how his unrelenting values were forged by both success and challenges in life.

As a result, you're going to double and triple check everything. And you coach your executives to do the same, hoping that they'll coach their people to do the same. Is that correct?

Do you have a passion to bring value to the world? What is the most important lesson that you've learned through setbacks, whether it's personal or professional?

I knew there was wrongdoing and likely corruption.

So I felt very vengeful, after having done such excellent work for them in the last four years. Clearly I wouldn't mind giving the job to another company that I respect. But to give it to such a poor company, there is something unethical about it.

So I said to myself, “I'm going to teach these guys a lesson.” However, I forgot at this stage that “these guys” to whom I plan to teach a lesson? They're Shell Oil.

At the time, there was no other company in all of Syria who could tackle the job. So they asked me to give them a three-month extension. So I checked around and asked my people, “Are you sure? Is nobody here that could replace us?” They all said no. So I went to the CEO of Shell Oil in Damascus, Syria and I said, “You want three months? I will give you three months. But here is my condition.” And I started to dictate my conditions.

One condition was we have no contract prices, which is the one we bid for. In that agreement, I could have a piece of equipment in eight months doing nothing and they might need it for one week. I can charge for one week what I normally charge for a much longer time frame. So I charge, for example, 100 percent of the rate that I charge for contract.

So I said to him, “If you want it for three months, it will be all callout rates. Plus, I want you to give an extension of one year from my back contract price.”

And they started say, “No, that's not fair.”

I said, “This and this is not negotiable. Take it or leave it.”

The minute I uttered those words, I realized—too late—who's the boss in the negotiation.

They were hard on me because they were completely against me getting this contract, which was run by an American company called Shelton Baker from Houston. When I was awarded the contract, Shelton Baker negotiated with AlMansoori and said if they give you the contract, you'll be the subcontract.

They basically called me and I said, “No, thank you. I'm capable of doing this job.” So when all that happened, Shelton was so happy. They wanted to do everything possible to make me feel welcome and appreciated. I had a problem in that the Americans who were working for me all left when their country invaded. They all left the job site, and went to the American Embassy and said, “We're not going back.”

So I had no alternative but to fly in there myself. I stayed with my guys. We did every job, including city jobs, including opening the well, going with the wire, taking the bottle, and coming back. We did this every day. I was with my boys. When we finished and I went to pick up luggage, there were no flights from Damascus. I had to drive to Beirut, catch a flight to London, then from London to Abu Dhabi.

And so this was the situation when I was negotiating. When I said, “Take it or leave it,” they kicked me out of the camp. Blacklisted me. They were able to half-rate every bit of equipment and support the contract. They brought in experts and the contractor they chose become a very good contractor who eventually competed with me for years.

The culture is a reflection of the character, values, habits, and thinking patterns of the CEO. If the CEO is strong and vibrant and positive, the culture reflects that.

The main reason they're my role model is because my business is about people.

Unfortunately, many big American corporations and some European corporations have a culture in which the value of a human being doesn't exist anymore. Everybody is a number and everybody is dispensable. I look at it the other way around: Every individual that joins me at the senior level is indispensable. When I look at my managers, they're indispensible. The minute I look at a manager as indispensible, I not only care for him, I respect him. Because I value him, I do not want him to leave.

Although it was a personal setback, it also brought professional insights I never imagined. Immediately I knew after my diagnosis that I would reject the American way of treating cancer. I embraced a completely unconventional healing methodology, defying anyone who chided me, “If you don't embrace conventional treatment, within months you'll be in bed and likely pass away.” But I rejected that. And 12 years later, I am healthy and stronger than I was prior to my diagnosis. And my cancer diagnosis made me realize the value of health in the workplace. And I realize that if I hire someone at 20 and that employee learns about health, he will be as vibrant and alive when he is 40. And if at 40 years old he has the same waistline and health standards and no diseases? What a fantastic management team I'm going to have. I decided that would be my number one focus and mission for my employees and hopefully, it's going to eventually reach a point where I can extend it to create that effect in the community around me.

A culture of a family. We feel bonded and united. Most of the people working for me come from the Arab world and Asia.

They are far away from their home countries and their families. There is a big social gap.

AlMansoori welcomes them warmly and gives them a sense of belonging, and they feel at home, with a familial feeling.

So going to work becomes a desire—not the feeling of “having to” work. With time, the bond continues to grow.

I meet with my key managers weekly to talk about not being complacent and not taking our success for granted. We have been very successful for 37 years. It is a dangerous trend for us to forget where we come from. We have to remind ourselves that our success was due to the team working aggressively and offering to our clients a service that is second to none. I ask myself often, “am I successful?” The answer is yes and no, and that answer encapsulates why I continue to see the sun rise every day in both my personal and business life.