Rooted

ROOTED

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In a single lifetime, we may have the opportunity to experience the delight of new beginnings, the comfort and companionship of others, or the challenge of awaited endings.

Time to dig our roots in deep or explore new soil.

- Time to start as many new chapters as we please.

Time to refresh, to rediscover, to rebuild.

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No matter who we are or where we are going, we all need a place to call our own.

A place to plant ourselves, spread our roots, and grow.

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TOGETHER, WE BELONG

by Jenny Dupuis

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WHEN WILL YOU COME?

by Tahmineh Godazgar

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WHEN JULIE MET AHMED

by Eman Helal

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FREEDOMS & FAREWELLS

by Jake Coombes

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FEELS LIKE HOME

by Claudia Levetzow

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HEAD HEART HANDS

by Francis Wilson

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THE TWO OF US

by Farzad Soleimani

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TOGETHER, WE BELONG Story by Jenny Dupuis

To the Rask family, a home is not merely a physical space.

It’s a feeling they carry inside them.

It’s about having the freedom to do as they like. It’s manifested in the unconditional love they receive from each other every day.

Viggo and Niels say goodnight after Viggo is done watching Niels play a game on his iPad.

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On a crisp October morning, a rock melody intertwined with the repeating words “it’s a beautiful life” plays softly in the background.

It’s 6 AM. Peter is kissing his youngest son, Viggo, goodbye as Viggo’s eyes flutter open after a restful night’s sleep in his parent’s bed. Henriette is in the shower, getting ready for her day. Peter heads to Niels and Anders for goodbyes, Niels had left his bedroom the night before and is sleeping peacefully next to Anders.

The Rasks are a common family, but they still have their own views on what makes a good life and what they want to pass on to their children. To them, it’s important to go out of their way to spend time slowing down together. They use adventure as their tool.

It’s one way they show their children how important the bond of family can be.

When they were in their youth Peter and Henriette both wanted to get away from the place they both grew up in, but never met.

Traveling the world seemed more intriguing.

Henriette became an excursion leader based in Egypt and Peter became a fisherman in Greenland. This is where their passion for adventure began.

They met through Peter’s sister, who thought they might be a good fit. They then married and decided it would be best to return to the north-western coast of Jutland that they once left behind. It was where they wanted to raise their children. It was home.

Today their quaint yet cozy house, decorated proudly with items found while traveling, is built on five and a half acres of grassland and forest. There is plenty of pristine land for Peter’s hunting, and trees for their three blonde boys to climb. Currently, Henriette works at a hospital and Peter is studying to be a teacher.

“Rask” actually means “fast” in Danish. From Viggo having a fit about not getting what he wants to Anders playing video games at a friend’s house, Henriette said it seems that her family is constantly battling the stereotypes of the modern world.

“The world today is so different than the one we grew up in. You have to go so fast,” Henriette said as she gazed longingly into the sky.

“Curling parents,” a modern term in Denmark, is used to describe a select group who are notorious for coddling and controlling their children late into adolescence. This can mean anything from letting them stay inside playing video games for hours, to accompanying their 20-yearold to job interviews. They allow them to do what they want and prefer to control their outcomes. Henriette said Peter and her try not to be curling parents.

It’s important to them that the boys know that they need to figure out life by themselves. However, it’s equally important that if ever they get caught between a rock and a hard place, they know that they can reach out to one another for help. No matter how many feelings may have been hurt, or tears that may have been shed, they will always be okay in the company of their family.

Henriette and Peter try to lead by example, even after they fight themselves.

They say that when their boys are older, they know they’ll make the same mistakes they did. It will be hard for her to watch her kids suffer, but they know they can’t control their actions. Whether that’ll be

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At their summer house in Vorupør, the boys have bunk beds. They like to mess around by jumping from one bed to the next and hanging from the rails.

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getting into trouble with friends or smoking cigarettes, it’s all considered lessons to build character. In the end, Henriette and Peter just want their boys to know that they can always come to them, and can rely on one another as well.

The little green campervan Years ago, Henriette and Peter bought a tiny army green campervan to travel with their boys, after reading about primitive lifestyles. They thought it would be a good way to challenge themselves by living in minimalism. No bathrooms, no rules, no problems. For three years every summer was a European adventure. While in the van they peed in bottles, not showering for days.

“We were free. If we found a place we liked we would stay there for two days. However, everything is routine after two days. Same places to eat, same places to go. After two days, you must leave. It’ll always be adventure when you use that rule.” Henriette smiled warmly as she reflected on her fond memories with the van.

They eventually sold the campervan, starting to use a camping and hunting shelter Peter built just a few yards from their front door.

They wanted to be close to simple living whenever they’d like. The shelter allows the family to sleep under the stars together. It allows them to slow down together.

In the perimeter of their house, Henriette considers making a fire at the shelter the ultimate thing her family can do. The boys beg to go out there. She said it’s hard to find an activity everyone enjoys, but for a campfire it doesn’t matter if you’re two or twenty.

When the family strikes the matches, gathers kindling, and makes bread dough for hot 10

Live from the pile, Niels eats a couple ants Sunday, Sept. 17. He says the ants taste like lemon when you bite into them.

On a Saturday afternoon, the family sits at the fire next to their shelter for hours roasting hot dogs and playing yard games.

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dogs together, Henriette feels a strong sense of being united. If one doesn’t do their part, then the rest can’t enjoy the full experience.

How to make a home According to Henriette you must first have the feeling of home inside you to call a physical space home. For Peter a good home is a feeling of belonging, though also a physical space you feel connected to after time. For both of them, home is a place where you give and receive love. Every morning Peter makes sure to say, “I love you” to his wife and kids, which they return. Every morning when he says goodbye, they share a hug and kiss.

Excited to be working on his homework, Viggo runs the hallway back and forth to show his mom what he’s accomplished every 5 minutes.

Every night, Viggo, Niels and Anders come with sleepy eyes and soft voices to say goodnight to mom and dad. With a quick kiss and a warm hug, Niels and Anders head to bed. Tonight Viggo stays behind for a bedtime story. He loves when his mom reads to him.

Dressed in his jammies, he hands his mom a book that he got from a weekly library trip.

This one included a famous Danish lullaby, “Elefantens Vuggevise.”

She sings: “Sleep tight, little jumbo, you little delight… …You little cute beetroot.

During a routine weekday breakfast of oats and milk, Henriette comforts Viggo with a kiss on the cheek after he hurt his finger climbing onto his chair.

…You asked me to tell you a fairytale, now you’re already sound asleep.”

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Atefeh, 34, never fit in any Iranian social scenes. Now, a bank research scholar in the Netherlands, she walks on the streets of Amsterdam remembering her first encounter with Europe. When she first got to Europe more than 10 years ago, she felt at home.

WHEN WILL YOU COME? Story by Tahmineh Godazgar

Already grown and blossomed in their home soil, millions of promising plants are replanting themselves in new soil so that they can bare fruit.

This is a story about transformed lives, a story of the elite Iranians leaving their homes, because they are not being valued.

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From the time I started my education as a scientist 15 years ago, I was used to losing my friends after they graduated. They would go to work or continue their studies in Europe or northern America, not Iran. I continued to stay home at every turning point, beginning to detach from older friends and find new ones. The cycle went on. Travelling friends would ask me, When will YOU come? I never knew how to answer them.

For me, home was more than the material or a place. It was a concept that could not be displaced and easily made again in some other place. Iran loses many of its academic elite, an annual loss of 150,000 to 180,000 specialists. And even more are longing to leave, but held back by visa issues. I have been living in Denmark for two months now, attending workshops. I began to take trips to visit my emigrated Iranian friends, and others like them – to get answers for the questions in my mind: Why should I come? Why did you leave? What happens to your home? Have

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you made one in this new country?

They all welcomed my visit. One with flowers, others with coffee. Everyone I met immediately began sharing their story of leaving home, some even without me asking. Many of them left Iran, because of corruption. There are few academic jobs and the old professors tend not to accept the young minds. More over, it’s not one’s quality, but moreso their connections that decide if you get a job.

Reunion of old classmates I have not seen Farhad for six years. We used to spend almost every weekends together in a group of friends, when we attended university in Zanjan, Iran. He now explains to me how he wanted to collaborate with universities back home, just to be a help, but they never listened, cared or wanted any help. Farhad is now working as a research scholar in a corporation in the lithography industry, in Eindhoven, the Netherlands.

Parisa, 26, works for Facebook now. She had tremendous problems begining her journy after leaving Iran. “ It was never my plan B to go back to Iran�, Parisa said.

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Shabnam, 29, is an informatics specialist working in an IT corporation in Germany. She missed her family every minute living away from Iran.

Farhad, 33, left Iran 8 years ago. He is now working as a research scholar in the lithography industry. He always gets upset when he hears bad news about Iran.

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Elaheh, Farhad’s wife, has a Ph.D. in physics, and she is on maternity leave from her research job.

I met Parisa in an outside cafe. I haven’t seen her for seven years. Now, she lives in Dortmund, and is happy that we can meet.

I find out her main reason to leave Iran was how women are treated, which is the reason for many women to leaving home. After finishing a masters degree in Iran, she was supposed to go back to her city Abhar.

However, in Abhar, she would not be able to wear what she wanted, could not have a boyfriend, and could not have an independent house, apart from her parents.

She could not bare the thought of living with her conservative parents, and not having the freedom of the lifestyle she likes. For her there was no other option but to leave Iran, and start a life, one she wanted in Germany.

A long journey starts Having decided to leave home, all of these Iranians had to prove themselves: working in competitive work spaces for years. Farhad

would love to work in a university job, but he is working in the private industry. Visa restrictions force Iranians abroad to get jobs as soon as possible, which forces many to choose jobs they do not want.

Hoping to have a simple, independent life in Europe, Parisa began a Ph.D. project in a small eastern German city. After 2.5 years of unreasonably hard work, and not being able to find a single friend because of her black hair, she got sick and spent 3 months in the hospital. Quitting university and leaving the city, she is now still trying hard in her new Ph.D. position in Dortmund, Germany. I cannot believe her struggle, and what she has gone through. While smoking looking into the distance, she tells me she would never think of going back to Iran, and now she is happily working for Facebook and studying. Finally, she is able to make the life she wanted, four years after she started her journey here.

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Sareh, 35, works in a medical center as a research scholar. She feels at home in the Netherlands, but only when her family comes to visit her there. She feels complete with her family, husband, and little son.

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Home means It’s not all about job, it is also about home, and what it means to these people. It’s a decision they made to leave their homes in Iran, and to make a new one here, but there is always something missing. They miss home, they are still engaged with Iran's problems and news, and feels like a guest here. Farhad is always reading news from Iran. He knows all the depressing statistics, even about the 'brain drain'. He is a going to have a baby in less than a month. The baby would be raised Dutch, but still Iranian. Farhad feels good about his new home, but he would never feel being the same as an original Dutch.

Shabnam doesn’t want to go deep into her feelings.

“Why am I here for even one second, so far from my family,” she says to herself whenever she thinks deeply.

Working in an informatics corporation in Germany, Shabnam is paid to think. When she comes home she tries not to think at all. Definitely not about home.

Sitting in a small cafeteria of IKEA in Eindhoven, Farhad was eager to tell me his stories about all these years away from home, and especially his new discovery.

“I never dream about here. All the places in my sleeps are in Iran,” says Farhad, one of millions of Iranian elites who live and work outside Iran.

Farhad stays silent for a while drowning in his thoughts, searching for the whys of this inter space-time connection with his fatherland. The world may seem without any borders for those with wise minds, but can people completely detach from their origins? Shamlou, a famous Iranian poet, despite all the possible political dangers, came back to Tehran after the revolution. He answered the whys of his return: “ My light burns in this home.” The lights of between 150 to 180 thousands Iranians who get out of home, how do they burn?

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Shahin, 64, feels buried alive in Paris. She has a Ph.D. in Iranian studies from Surrbonne University.

It has been more than 40 years living outside Iran.

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When Julie met Ahmed Story by Eman Helal

Six years ago in a cafe in Paris, Julie met Ahmed.

That day, she did not expect to later convert to Islam or even marry him.

It’s 6 AM and the streets of Copenhagen are dark and silent, but Julie is up. Half a year ago, she would not be awake at this time, but today she is in the bathroom beginning her ‘wudu’ washing: passing water 3 times over her face, ears, arms and feet. In the left corner inside her bedroom she has a small wrapped carpet, it is blue and gold. She opens the carpet, putting it in front of one of the many plants that fill her room. She covers her hair with a headscarf, and puts on a long dress, then kneels down. Turning towards Mecca, she starts to pray. Ten minutes later, she goes back to sleep.

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Julie Budtz, 30 years old and a Danish

movie writer, recently married her boyfriend Ahmed El Haik in October 2017. Ahmed is a French Tunisian lawyer. They met in a cafe in Paris, fell in love and have been together since. While being apart, Julie lived in Copenhagen and slowly got to know about Islam while Ahmed focused on his job and family in Paris. He couldn’t let go of his Danish girlfriend.

Later, she converted to Islam. He proposed and they recently married. After the wedding, he plans to move into Julie’s apartment where she lives with five roommates in Copenhagen. They have never lived together before.

“He couldn’t live without being married to me. Being a Muslim now, I understand the reason,” Julie said.

Questioning her faith Dating Ahmed made Julie curious to know more about Islam. After the French Charlie Hebdo attack in 2015 and reading negative things about Islam in the media, Julie started to read about Islam. Especially when she saw a post on Facebook attack one of the famous Muslim public figure. Julie read his books and one of them was about Prophet Mohamed.

She liked the book, so she then began to read the Quran.

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Ever since she was little, Julie believed in God. She was a Christian originally. While her parents did not practice, she learned how to pray---praying in her room for many years. She feels she has been religious person for long time. Julie studied philosophy, because she was interested in questioning the meaning of life and what happens when we die. She kept asking herself if it is a coincidence that the way we live affects how meaningful our lives are. For her it made sense that the creation of life was not just an accident, and since it is not an accident, then there must be a creator.

And if there was a creator, there must be a purpose in life. She has found meaning in reading the Quran.

“I was afraid that people who are close to me could think I converted to Islam because Ahmed ask me to do it….they don’t think I do it for my own reasons,” Julie said. “Everyone asks if I am going to wear a hijab instead of asking deep questions.”

Wedding preparations Julie arrived to Ahmed’s family home in Paris one week before the wedding to prepare the house before receiving the guests. Julie’s parents arrived soon after, meeting Ahmed’s family for the first time. Between them, it was quite difficult to communicate, because everyone spoke different languages: Danish and English one side of the family, Arabic and French on the other. That makes the international language of smiles and gesture the only communication they share.

Julie learns Arabic by listening to videos on YouTube in her apartment in Copenhagen.

Ahmed’s mother and two neighbors help cook most of the food for Julie’s wedding dinner at their house in Paris.

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Ahmed’s mother spreads incense around Julie to rid her of bad spirits on her wedding day. This is an Arabic tradition.

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Julie talks with her sister Maria during the wedding diner service.

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Ahmed’s relatives pray to bless the couple after the Islamic ceremony at his family home in Paris.

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Julie’s mother and two friends were responsible for making decorations, and Ahmed’s mother was responsible for the food.

While Ahmed’s sister was busy cooking, her baby was in the living room crying. Helle, Julie’s mother, slowly went in to check on the baby, but he was still crying. She held him.

She hasn’t held a baby for a long time. After playing with his toys with his two nieces, the baby slept.

“Your love brings two families together. We wouldn’t have meet under normal condition,” Maria said to Julie.

On the day of their wedding, a mixture of Tunisian and French food filled the tables.

“In the beginning after I converted I kept drinking alcohol not because I want it and that made me sad to do it but I was try not to be difference than anyone else. And in one point I felt that it doesn’t make any sense. If you don’t want to do it ,don’t. “ say’s Julie.

As the Arabic tradition, the bride gets a private dance night only for women. Julie received an oriental dress, and her sister-inlaw gave her a golden necklace to wear. the women tried to teach Julie a Tunisian dance.

Then, Julie danced with Ahmed, their first dance together in the boat. Suddenly, her Danish friends picked Ahmed up and took off his right shoe. As the Danish tradition, the groom’s sock must be cut before he goes home.

Combining traditions After the ceremony, Ahmed and Julie walk to the close garden from the city hall to take pictures. One of the guests asked Ahmed to kiss Julie. He smiled, and held her hand.

“Ahmed doesn’t want to French kiss me in front of his family,” Julie stated. “I agree with him. Even though I know that the Danish people find it weird.” Julie said.

Later, after all the ceremonies were finished, Julie’s friends organized a small boat party on a French canal. They bought alcohol with them, because the couple didn’t want alcohol at their wedding.

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FREEDOMS FAREWELLS Story by Jake Coombes

Farewells are difficult, and freedoms are fought for. Meet Anas Aboali, father and husband who left his home in Syria seeking a new life for his family, hoping his goodbyes weren’t his last.

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Drawing lines with his hands on the mosaic table we sit at, Anas Aboali maps out his home city of Damascus, legs crossed coyly and a distant longing on his face. Living in the centre of the city and working as a taxi driver, the troubles of war constantly surrounded him. Danger was continually closing in on his young family. As food and water shortages rapidly grew worse, Anas had a difficult decision to make.

Over the course of 6 short weeks, alone and without guidance, Anas determined to leave his family, in search of a secure life for them all in Europe. His son, Ali, hadn’t even turned 1 yet.

In a months time he had packed his bags, was saying farewells, and giving hugs. There was no promise he ever would be able to again According to the UNHCR there are over 5 million registered refugees outside of Syria, almost half of which are children. There are an additionally approximated 6.3 million people displaced internally. The country’s conflict marks one of the worst humanitarian crisis’ since WWII and the effects are felt all over the world.

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These figures were still in definition when Anas chose to put his life in the hands of unscrupulous human smugglers. He passed through Lebanon, Algeria, and Tunisia to traverse the Mediterranean from Libya to Italy by boat, the most hazardous crossing to the European mainland. It is estimated that there are 15,000 dead or missing at sea since 2014.

“My family is always my first thought”, explains Anas, and at times he thought they might also be his last. Once processed in Italy and registered with refugee status in the EU, he was moved to Germany where he spent an arduous month before being granted permanent residency in Denmark.

Freedoms - - - European integration hasn’t been easy for Anas, though his Danish skills have come a long distance. In our interactions, where neither speaks the other’s language, he prefers to use google translate in his new home language.

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Anas talks about his choices to leave Syria.

Making the decision over one and a half months, his thoughts were constantly of his young son.

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Anas is looking for a permanent home in Aarhus. Due to financially supporting his family in Damascus, and expensive rent the search remains difficult.

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A repurposed office space at Anas’ work he uses as a bedroom, sleeping there on and off over the past two months. He’s been asked to leave at the start of November.

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“I want to be as Danish as possible” he says sitting proudly, a grin shaping his face.

He tells stories of racism, abuse, and threatened violence in his new country. Insults from strangers only provoked by his happiness and laughter. Even in adversity he remains positive, treating Denmark as a gift, a bastion his family will one day appreciate.

Using his fortune, Anas sends half of what he earns every month at a humble health food store in central Aarhus to support his family in Damascus. As a result he is unable to afford a permanent roof above his head, sacrificing his comforts. He sleeps between a friends couch and a small office space, being told recently that he has to move on as neighbours have been complaining about his presence.

Since being in Aarhus Anas has applied for reunification with his wife and child, but for reasons unknown to him the process has been put on hold until further notice.

Farewells - - - In the late part of 2015, after beginning to cement his new life in Denmark, Anas received a call that brought him right back home.

In a barrel bomb attack outside of Damascus, his best friend Wahel had lost his life when returning home from work. Anas’ tears echoed with Wahel’s mother’s on the other end of the line, and they didn’t stop falling for days afterwards.

Now two years on, he reminisces, showing me photographs of his old friend, a sentimental smile threatening to curl his lips. He wishes he could have said goodbye.

Anas resolves that “life goes on”, and has submitted to circumstances outside his control.

He has lost many more friends to the war, his home, and the thought his family could be next fills him with fear. With his son now 4 years old, he prays every morning for their safety, the farewells three years ago will not be his last.

We sit perched along a beautiful danish promenade, sunlight pouring through autumn leaves as trains running who-knows-where rattle past below us. Anas hangs his head in his phone, typing deliberately. Lifting himself slowly he shows me the screen, google translate reading three simple words.

“I miss Damascus”.

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FEELS LIKE HOME Story by Claudia Levetzow

One doesn’t know how important it is to have a home until you don’t have one.

For the ones who need a place to stay in Aarhus there is a place called “Varmestuen”. It is a shelter for people who do not have a home or simply cannot be at home. Johan is one of them.

* All names have been changed to protect the guests of Varmestuen.

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The light in the room is dimmed down, someone snores from the corner. On the other side of the room Johan is sitting on a table chatting with two other guys in low volume, sometimes laughing silently. Suddenly it is ringing at the door.

One of the social workers rushes to the desk and checks the monitor. He unlocks the door downstairs with his chip. Then he disappears into the corridor.

After a while it gets noisy in the hall way, someone is talking. Or singing? Someone climbs up the stairs very slowly. Then the social worker appears in the door holding a thin man with pants down. Helping, he carries him into the room and lays him down on a mattress. The man immediately falls asleep.

“Varmestuen” is a 24/7 shelter in the city center of Aarhus. This place is provided by “Kirkens Korshær”, a christian based organisation reaching out to some of the most vulnerable people in Denmark.

Everybody can come to “Varmestuen” in order to get something to eat, find a bed to sleep on, to chat with somebody or to get help with requests regarding social welfare.

Johan comes here because he fears sleeping alone at home, the result of childhood abuse from his mother and grandfather.

The social workers call their visitors “guests”. Nobody gets questioned about the reasons why he or she comes to this place.

“Varmestuen” is meant to give people a safe place at any time of the day. Most of the guests are homeless. Their reasons for being homeless are as many as there are homeless people.

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Johan

At night the guests of Varmestuen have to ring the doorbell to enter.

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The relaxed mood at Varmestuen can quickly change.

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Varmestuen An hour later the thin man awakes and starts to yell. He complains about something but is hard to understand because his speech is slurred by alcohol. This disturbs the other guests who are sleeping on a couch or in a chair nearby. The social worker convinces him to take a nap in one of the two bedrooms.

It is almost 2 o’clock in the night when Johan stands up and asks one of the social workers to lock his bag in the wardrobe. During the night he locks his things in the wardrobe so that nobody can steal them while he is sleeping. Here poor people steal from other poor people because their addiction to drugs or alcohol make it necessary.

Slowly Johan crosses the room heading to one of the bedrooms. Again he has to ask one of the social worker to unlock the door for him. Then he disappears into the dark of the dormitory.

At 7:30am Johan comes out again looking sleepy. He vanishes into the bathroom with a toothbrush in his hands.

Guests are lying everywhere in the living room. Some are still sleeping on couches with a cover over their heads. Others are still sleeping on mattresses or simply on the floor under a table. “Some guests prefer to sleep in the living room.

They feel safer with voices and noise around them,� Kenneth, one of the social worker says.

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A few social workers are going around to wake everybody up. They look tired from the night shift before.

Johan is back from the bathroom and gets himself a plate of muesli with milk for five kroner. He sits down at a table. His hands are shaking while eating, milk dropping from the spoon. The medicine he is prescribed for epilepsy has it’s side effects.

Some guests complain about the cost for meals.

“Facilities and food cost a small amount of money at Varmestuen so that people maintain their dignity. It shouldn’t be too comfortable to be homeless.” Ole Thvilum, a leader of Kirkens Korshær explains.

At 8:30am everybody has to leave the place until 9:15am for cleaning up.

Fixerum Downstairs in the cellar two other social workers provide service in the “Fixerum”.

The doorbell is ringing. One of the social workers checks the monitors and unlocks the door. Someone wearing high heels walks downstairs.

“Hi Anni”, the social worker says and smiles.

Anni heads to the smoking room made of glass, big metal tubes on the ceiling. She sits down, lights a cigarette and starts to heat heroin on a piece of aluminium foil. The other social worker is reading a newspaper at the desktop while Anni smokes.

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Since Kirkens Korshær established the “Fixerum” in Aarhus, fatal overdoses in the city have decreased to zero. This is due to offering clean needles and a safe space.

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“I would like to stop and take methadone instead. But then I have to announce my name and they would take away my child,” Anni says.

The Fixerum in Aarhus has been around for four years. Since it was established, no drug addict has to die anymore because of dirty needles or overdose, because there are staff and clean needles.

Home It is 11:15am. Upstairs it is getting busy again. New and old guests are arriving at Varmestuen for lunchtime. So does Johan.

An older lady arrives with a pink trolley and starts to decorate the place with new plastic flowers. She does this once a month in several public places around Aarhus.

By doing this she makes this place even more of a home. Since the last two and a half years Johan considers Varmestuen his home although he has a small apartment in a place for elderly people. He does not like this apartment the community has given him.

“When I think of the future,” he says, “then to me home means having a wife, children and a cat, a good job and doing creative things at home like writing lyrics or making candles.”

It is 3:00pm and everybody has to leave again for the big cleaning up of the day. At 5:00pm the guests can return to Varmestuen. Johan asks for an umbrella. He usually uses these two hours for a walk through the city.

It just began to rain.

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The TV show “Vild med dans� presents guests at Varmestuen a life they do not have.

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HEAD HEART HANDS Story by Francis Wilson

Tucked away in the highlands of Scotland stands a 13th century monastery, still home to some 20 Catholic Benedictine monks. Dedicating every moment of their lives to God, these monks value their time, silence, and brotherhood.

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“The habit doesn’t make the monk.”

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To be a monk As they enter the abbey church, they bow at the altar, then whip white hoods over their heads and take their seats in the pews. Their sandals scrape the stone floors and slap against their socked feet. A moment of silence vibrates off the patchwork walls of the 13th century building, the candles brighten just a bit, then the monks begin to chant. Their voices are slow and scattered at first, then louder and more unified, they grow. It is 4a.m., and the monks at Pluscarden Abbey have just begun their day of study, prayer, and labor.

Father Giles Gonacher took his monk vows some 50 years ago on the 21st of August, and has served his God in the most remote corners of the world since. He now lives at Pluscarden Abbey with a mixed group of 20 brothers, varying in age and nationality, in his home country of Scotland.

To Father Giles, being a monk is much more than the robes he wears, although, he admits that his habit does give him a certain amount of “street cred”.

To him, being a monk has a simple definition: “a monk is someone who is truly seeking God.” The blue rope In the chapel hangs a thin blue rope that separates the public prayer and visitation section from the private monastic section.

“That enclosure, a separation, is part of good order,” Father Giles states. “You don’t want everyone and his brother wandering about, in an undisciplined way.”

He explains that even in the bible there are separate prayer sections in a chapel for the gentiles and the women. Father Giles reasons that this order signifies that there is something special about the space.

Not many have the privilege of going beyond that blue rope, but those who do are rewarded with a deeper understanding of the rhythm, the challenges, and the beauty of monastic life.

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The rhythm Up well before the crack of dawn, the men at the abbey devote much of their day to prayer and labor. Between the eight church services they attend each day, the brothers work in the fields, harvesting honey from their many bee hives, and tending to the cows and chickens, or spend time inside cooking and cleaning.

“Everybody cooks, or washes up, or digs holes,” Father Giles says, explaining how everyone contributes to the monastery wellbeing. “It’s a life you kind of sign up for.”

The dinner bell is rung. The monks quickly shuffle into the dining hall to their assigned seats. At their place setting, name tags rest on their napkins, beside a simple bowl and silverware. They stand behind their chairs, hands tucked under the front flap of their habits, grasping the strap of leather tied around their waist. One of them takes the stairs to mount a pulpit, adjusts the microphone, clears his throat, and begins to lead the dinnertime prayer.

The monks chime in a moment after, their voices low and soft, as they rock back and forth on their heels, eyes shut. They take their seats, eagerly awaiting the wobbly dinner cart to pass and serve them. They do not speak, they simply eat and listen to the stories read aloud from the pulpit—stories on morality and character or current events and literature.

As with their meals and their services, silence is held as a statute to these men—its significance scrawled on their parlour wall: “God speaks in the silence”. When they aren’t silent, the monks share moments of laughter and words of wisdom. Between them, there is no need to put up any facades, because they know each other too well. They are able to be themselves around their fellow monks—for, after all, they are brothers. For Father Giles, this brotherhood is an important part of what makes Pluscarden Abbey home—the brothers study, pray, and work together.

“There is a balance of not being just purely intellectual or purely manual—a balance of the head, the heart, and the hands,” he says. “And prayer is the background to the whole thing.”

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“The only way this life will work—is if you’re called to it.

If you’re not, it’d be impossible.”

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His calling To many on the outside, the customs of monastic life may seem a significant challenge, but to the men in these white habits—the real challenge of monkhood lies somewhere deeper.

“Seeking God...is an ongoing quest, a road, a way. It’s not just where your feet go, but how you live,” reflects Father Giles, removing his glasses and massaging his temples.

“Wherever you are, you’re going to get challenges—they are means of growth. Everyone has their difficulty, but, primarily, the main difficulty is ‘me’.”

His eyes wander to the window, recalling his youth.

Father Giles grew up in Edinburgh, in a “conventional” Catholic family of five children, a convert mother, a devout and faithful father. Faith framed their family: church on Sundays, prayer before meals, keeping the ten commandments.

“If you have a strong family environment, you do things together—that includes going to church on Sundays,” he says. “As you get older, and live a slightly more independent life, it becomes more of a challenge to keep that up.”

After switching his studies three times in three years, Father Giles dropped out of university—lacking focus and purpose. Soon after, he left to volunteer faith mission in Lourdes, France. It was there that he discovered the value of a community that thought and felt like him—a community of youth who lived, worked, and prayed together.

“Being a Catholic Christian was much more than turning up late for mass and staying for coffee afterwards,” he says, chuckling a bit then becoming serious. “Prayer was much more real there.”

It was during his time in France that he discerned his calling to monkhood.

“Just growing into—into allowing yourself to be loved— that’s a big part of the deal,” he sys. “Any Christian life is discovering the truth of this.”

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Old stone home White sleeves are pulled to the elbows, hands reach up to grasp the rope that dangles from a hole in the church ceiling. With a hop up and a mighty, full-bodied tug downward, the bells begin to ring—their melancholy tune crashing over the fields and hills across the valley.

It’s a patchwork quilt of a building—the old stones of the church dovetailing the new and repaired ones. For the monks at the abbey, a life of prayer lived in such a building is richer because of its history. Or, as one brother put it, prayer should be practiced in style.

“The fact of it having been a place of community and prayer for pushing 800 years, then there’s a kind of continuity—this is what goes on here,” Father Giles reflects. “You could pray in a hut, but it’s probably less inspirational than in a beautiful building.”

While he may still know the streets he roamed as a youth in Edinburgh, he has lived a majority of his life at Pluscarden Abbey, some 45 years.

“This is my home,” he murmurs, adjusting his glasses and looking out the window.

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“Every day I renew my vows.”

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THE TWO OF US Story by Farzad Soleimani

Time is running fast for Asger and Annelise. The old couple have lived in the same area for more than 50 years, getting to know each other long ago. Now however, the end might not be too distant, home may have to take on a different meaning.

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It’s all quiet. Annelise puts the eggs that her husband has just collected on the stove.

Asger sets the table and puts a couple of pieces of bread on the it. They now sit for breakfast the same way they always have.

Asger faces the window, Annelise on the other side of the table. They have lived together for so long that conversation doesn’t matter. A small clock ticks on the wall, and they’re not sure how many more moments they have left together. As farmers they have been living a simple life for many years, never leaving the area for long.

“There’s probably nothing I would do differently if I go back in time. I’ve been a farmer almost all my life and I’m quite happy with it,” Asger says.

Beginnings Asger met Annelise 58 years ago. He’d been on a trip to Norway in search for work and saw Annelise when he got back home. She had come to work in his parent’s farm. He looks at his fingers now with a big smile on his face, as if he can recall the exact feeling from that moment. His face reddens, shy talking about those days.

“We knew each other for a couple of years and then got married,” Annelise adds.

A Bouqet of flowers from their 50th anniversary hangs atop of Asger’s picture from the time he was a soldier.

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They moved to their first farm house, living there for 28 years before relocating to their current home, just a couple of kilometers down the road.

Feeling The living room is filled with furniture as old as their marriage. The wooden floor creeks under feet and the air carries the smell of mold. After all the years they have spent with each other, after all the memories from living each and every day together, they feel themselves closer to the end. They may have to abandon all the big and small pieces they have gathered for themselves over the years. Each reminds them of some time or memory which is gone for good. An inaccessible past.

The old couple has lived the better part of their lives in the same area and are quite happy with it.

“We still have some of our friends from old times and it’s very nice to see friends when you go out,” Asger paused, “They might not be in a very good shape now but it’s still nice to have them around.”

Having familiar faces around makes them feel at home in the area they’ve spent most of their lives calling home. They’ve even considered going to a retirement house just across the road, if it had to come to that.

“It would feel like going back home, because we have a couple of friends there and it’s also very close to our first house,” Annelise says, “If we can’t get over all the hard work that a big house like this needs, we would have to leave the house for a smaller apartment or a retirement house,” she adds thoughtfully.

Leaving the house however, won’t be easy. They have put a lot of hard work and love into this house to make it look as warm as it looks today.

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Asger and his granddaughter Caroline are having some Sunday fun together.

Caroline used to go to her grandparents’ when she was little, staying with them for the weekend

Asger sends his daughter’s family off after having dinner together one Wednesday afternoon

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“The hardest thing to leave behind would be the garden,” Asger said.

Tears brim in Annelise’s eyes, her face flushing.

“The most difficult thing for me would be to leave the house without taking Asger with me,” she says, while fiddling with her fingers, trying to keep the tears behind her glasses.

Every Wednesday their younger daughter Mette and her family come by for a visit.

“We are lucky to have our children close by” Annelise says.

Their children help them but they also still help their children and grand children when they need it. Asger’s face looks proud when he recalls a Saturday night when his grandson and his girlfriend asked Asger to pick them up after a party, choosing to stay the night with the grandparents.

But in the end of the day it would always be Asger and Annelise still there for each other.

The days pass faster now and things might take more time to be complete, but they still have each other.

“I can never stay in this house if I am the only one to live here,” they both say one after another, “it won’t be possible to stay.”

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- With endless thanks to - Mathilde, Hanne & Lars

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FRANCIS WILSON @francis_wilson_

TAHMINEH GODAZGAR @ttamine

JENNY DUPUIS @jendupuis

CLAUDIA LEVETZOW

@claudialevetzow

@jokecoombes JAKE COOMBES

@emanhelal754 EMAN HELAL

@farzad_soleimani FARZAD SOLEIMANI

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FALL 2017

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