
Kamal from Aleppo,
Kamel from Sønderskolen, and Musti from Denmark

Written by Alexander Vittrup and Tobias Nielsen
Photographs by Tobias Nielsen
In December, rebel groups surge down the Syrian motorways heading towards Damascus. In just a few weeks, Hay’at Tahrir al-Sham (HTS) has managed to shift the balance of power in Syria. Bashar Al-Assad flees to Moscow, and Syria is free.
The dust from the toppled statues hasn’t even settled before the Syrian refugees, who have settled across Europe, are urged to return and rebuild Syria.
Already on the 10th of December, Prime Minister Mette Frederiksen calls it the Syrians’ duty to go back and help with the reconstruction. Syria lies in ruins, Danish politicians speak of repatriation, and in the midst of the chaos stands Moustafa Kamal Habash.
Technically, he is a Syrian refugee, but he feels like a Dane. 24 years old, 188 centimetres tall, 84 kg, and Jutlandish to the core. Most of the time he lives in Grenaa with his mother, father, and two younger brothers. He also lives in Aarhus with his younger sister Iman, who studies at Aarhus University.
Kamal is helpful and calm, and his friends call him “Musti”, while his parents call him “Kamo”. He’s not the type who plans much. He always says “sådn” and takes things as they come.
He attends EUX Business in Grenaa and will graduate in June. Maybe he’ll open his own business? Or maybe he’ll study to become an electrician? He hasn’t quite decided yet. Oh, and he also spends quite a bit of time at Nova’s place, but that situation is complicated. If only he could make their relationship official.
Musti’s daily life is probably identical to most other young guys in Jutland: education, work, time with the family. For Kamal is a young man who has travelled far, both physically and emotionally.
But he is different. He is from Syria, and in Syria, his name was Kamal, but he doesn’t feel Syrian. Syrians are Arabs, and he is Kurdish. He has never felt at home among Syrians, as Kurds have always been oppressed by Assad’s regime. Nor does he feel Kurdish—but Danish.
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Kamal grew up in Aleppo, where his grandfather, who was an imam, had many friends and was highly respected. The family was among a minority of Kurds in Aleppo, and Kamal was one of the only Kurds at his school. At school, he only spoke Arabic, as speaking Kurdish in public was forbidden.
Kamal’s father was once arrested by the military for listening to Kurdish music, and Kamal became aware of the risks that came with his ethnicity. At home, the family spoke Kurdish, but Kamal always felt different.
He was among the top 50 pupils in his class and had plenty of friends. They played football together, and Kamal enjoyed his childhood years, but around him, the war was growing, and Kamal understood that his homeland was falling apart.
2010
Kamal lives with his mother, father, and younger sister Iman in a small flat in a new housing development in western Aleppo. Father is always working, so they don’t see much of him. That’s actually okay, because mother is always at home, and Kamal is a mummy’s boy.
Kamal’s father is once again stopped by the police, and they find his sketchbook, in which he has drawn the Kurdish flag. This was a symbol of resistance, and father was seen as a traitor. Shortly after, the family decides to flee.
Kamal and his sister Iman are only told that their father has left, and that they will meet again soon. He says he’s going to Europe, but Kamal doesn’t know exactly where. Father buys them lots of toys before he leaves. Mother decides to take Kamal and Iman to Afrin, where her own mother lives. Afrin is about 50 km from Aleppo and is a Kurdish area.
The war begins in March 2011, after the father has left. It starts with peaceful protests for freedom in Damascus, which the Assad regime responds to with violence. Kamal watches the news from his grandmother’s house, while mother tries to hide the seriousness from him.
With the war drawing closer, mother decides that the time has come to flee, and father is already in Denmark. Kamal doesn’t know much about Denmark, but that’s where father lives, and that’s where they are going.
2012
On a five-hour bus journey to the Danish embassy in Damascus, Kamal sees the destruction of the war. Ruins, burnt-out tanks, and wrecked cars line the road. Kamal realises that the war has become much worse, but he still feels confused and not ready to understand it all.
After months of waiting, the family receives papers for family reunification, and they travel to Denmark.
First a drive through eastern Turkey, and later they fly from Istanbul and land in Copenhagen, where they are met by the father. It is an emotional reunion. Kamal is happy to see his father again, mother bursts into tears in the empty airport. After a few days in Copenhagen, they go to Grenaa, where father has been living for the past few months.
Kamal and Iman quickly begin to learn Danish, even though it is difficult for them. Danish is strange, and Kamal misses Syria, his old friends, and the world he once knew. But over time, he learns the language and tries to adapt to life in Denmark.
Kamal and Iman soon attend a reception class at Sønderskolen in Grenaa, a school for children from all over the world. It is here that Kamal discovers he is not the only one struggling with the language.
Danish school is different from Syrian school; here there is room for play, creativity, and fun. Kamal’s favourite subject becomes “class time”, and he quickly learns to thrive in the Danish system.
2014
After two years in the reception class, Bente, their teacher, and the school decide, despite Kamal’s protests that he is ready to move to the public school class.
He starts in year 6 at Sønderskolen. He has always been called Kamal, even though it is his middle name, but the other children pronounce the name as “Kamel”, like the animal. It is humiliating, but he doesn’t dare to correct them.
Making friends has always been difficult for Kamal, and it doesn’t get any easier among the Danish children. He understands what they are saying and knows how to respond, but the fear of pronouncing a word wrong holds him back.
In Syria, he hadn’t been aware that, as a Kurd, he was different, but now he feels different as one of the few immigrants in the class. It doesn’t help that he is two years older than the others.
Little by little, Kamal begins to fade into the shadows of the classroom. He has no friends, and he spends the breaks alone or with Iman. He is “that loser in the back row,” ignored and invisible.
2016
Kamal’s class teacher notices that something is wrong. His absence is high, and his grades are low. His parents don’t understand what is happening, because he had been one of the best in school back in Syria.
The parents are called in for a parent-teacher meeting. Kamal cannot continue like this, and they need to find a solution. The class teacher suggests a boarding school, and even though Kamal doesn’t know what that is, it sounds better than the public school. Father is sceptical, but mother insists on listening to the school and the council.
Kamal drives around with a lady from the council to look at boarding schools, and they visit Kongenshus Efterskole. The school is located in the small village of Sønder Resen, which consists only of the school, a church, and a few houses. It is a place that also offers support to socially challenged children. Kamal is nervous, but it can’t be worse than the public school.
The first week at boarding school is difficult. He misses his mother, and it is hard to open up after being part of the shadows at Sønderskolen. But when the teacher asks what he would like to be called, Kamal sees a chance for a new beginning. Maybe it’s time to let “Kamel” go and start using his first name, Moustafa.
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Moustafa still isn’t a morning person, and the boarding school has morning assemblies. One morning, he becomes the target of Jonas, who gives him a slap on the neck. Moustafa reacts and slaps Jonas back.
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They end up in a violent fight, and the teachers have to intervene. Moustafa feels proud. It’s the first time he has stood up for himself, and it brings him unexpected attention. The fight becomes the icebreaker he had been waiting for.
For the rest of the day, people are curious, and the questions turn into conversations, which lead to new friendships. For the first time since Afrin, Moustafa makes friends and they are Danish. He quickly becomes known as “Musti” among both teachers and classmates.
He feels at home at Kongenshus Efterskole, and for the first time, it’s easy to be social. He begins to integrate into Danish youth culture and feels Danish.
2018
Musti finishes at Kongenshus Efterskole in 2018 after two years. Grandfather, who was an imam, would probably call his time there full of haram. Even though grandfather had taken father to Mecca, mother and father had never been particularly religious. Mother still wears a headscarf, but mostly out of habit, as she’s worn it since childhood.
Since arriving in Denmark, she has at times gone out with her hair uncovered, and father also thinks she looks better like that. Musti has never been especially religious, but he wonders whether that’s a shame. Many in the immigrant community seem happy with their faith in Islam, and maybe he should try to learn more about his own.
He reads the Qur’an, several times, but he struggles to understand the stories. They make no sense to him, and he can’t believe that what is written really happened.
His Muslim friends don’t seem to share his values; they don’t appear tolerant of those who are different, and Musti has always been different first as a Kurd in Syria, and now as an immigrant in Denmark.
He feels closer to his Danish friends, who are open and welcoming. Religion isn’t for him, and he lets go of Islam.
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As a child at Sønderskolen, it didn’t feel good to be different, but now, as an energetic 19-year-old, he wants to stand out. He hates the idea that people only see him as an immigrant.
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Earrings are haram for men, but maybe it could be cool? He asks his dad but gets a short and clear no. That doesn’t stop Musti, though.
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One October evening in 2019, he buys a piece of jewellery and gets an earring in his left ear. His dad flips out. Musti gets a long tirade in Kurdish, but his mum tries to understand and says that after all, he doesn’t smoke or do drugs, so they should give him a bit of freedom.
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2024
Musti meets Nova on 7 May in front of Star Pizza in Grenaa. He’s hanging out with two friends on their motorbikes when Nova cycles past. One of the friends recognises her from his old school and shouts to get her attention, but she quickly rides on.
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The friend sends a joking message, and after a while, Nova cycles back. She’s seen the message and decides to hang out with them.
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Musti notices the strong Samyang Buldak noodles in her bike basket and asks, “Can you eat that kind of thing?” She replies challengingly that they’re no challenge for her. Musti likes that.
They spend a few hours together, and Musti is annoyed that he didn’t get her Instagram.
Luckily, the friend helps him, and Musti writes to her. They start chatting, and he asks if she wants to go for a ride with him on the motorbike the next day.
She declines because she has plans with a friend. The plans get cancelled, and the next day she writes to him, and they meet up. They see each other often, and soon Nova even brings him food when he’s ill.
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Musti is fascinated by her. She’s different from the girls he’s met before, and he feels comfortable in her company.
In October, they talk about their relationship, and Musti is sure that it’s no longer just a summer fling, but he wants to take things slowly. Nova is patient, and they keep their relationship low-key.
The more time passes, the more certain Musti becomes that she’s the one. He wants her to be “the one,” but he’s not quite sure how to say it.
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In December, Assad falls, and the world’s attention returns to Syria. The Danish government considers sending Syrians back, but Musti doesn’t feel like a Syrian.
He’s Danish.
His father came as a political refugee before the war escalated, and Musti has grown up in Denmark. He doesn’t feel Syrian, nor does he feel like part of the immigrant group. His family is fully integrated, they celebrate Christmas, and his brothers are Danish.
Musti isn’t Muslim; he drinks beer with his uncle, has tattoos, and most of his friends are Danish. He sees himself as Danish and hopes he has nothing to worry about, but his residence permit needs to be renewed, and he doesn’t know what the future holds.
He finishes his EUX this summer and has to figure out what he wants to do next. Maybe move to Aarhus, maybe stay in Grenaa – nothing ever happens in that town. Maybe it’s time to figure out how to ask Nova to be his girlfriend.
He has chosen to spend New Year’s with two dear old friends from Aalborg, and he has brought Nova along. She’s sitting and laughing with one of his friends' girlfriends. Tonight is the night.
In true RomCom fashion, he has devised a plan to ask the big question at midnight and start the new year with a girlfriend.
That is, if she says yes...
2024 is about to breathe its last sigh. They have spent the whole day together. They watch the king’s New Year’s speech together, because that’s what you do. She looks so beautiful in her black dress with her hair straightened, a process that took so long he managed to take a nap in the hotel room he booked for them.
He wouldn’t call himself a romantic, but New Year’s Eve must be the best day to ask. Besides, it would be the easiest day to remember, so he’ll never forget their anniversary, though she doesn’t need to know that. At 00:00, he will ask her.
23:58. Nova and he step away from the others. He has a small speech prepared, but it’s nothing special. His heart beats a little faster, but the vodka is keeping it at bay.
23:59. “Nova, you...” he starts. She interrupts him.
“Musti, will you be my boyfriend?” 00:00, she beat him to it.
"Yes."
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