His name is the dark-skinned.

I will take the hand of the happiest to vent about himself, and to get rid of the burden of blame, and the generosity of bleeding memories, and stories of failed struggles across a diverse Arab geography. And his story will not be complete without his uncle Ali the dark, bearer of pains and disappointments, and his mother who made from her fragility greatness and from her despair a sword, and two beloved distant goals... And I wonder if he will tell us what he used to do in secrecy and concealment?