My uncle Jens

Uncle Jens arrives at night, in the pouring rain. He is at the home of his nephew Akam, a young man who lives in Norway and teaches children at a school. “I’m standing at your door,” he says. “I’ve called you loads of times,” he adds by way of apology. As soon as they sit down at a table, having changed into dry clothes, the question comes that every parent, after a period apart, asks their offspring: “Why are you so thin? Don’t they feed you?” There’s no point arguing; he just has to ask him to keep his voice down: “I’ve got flatmates,” explains the young man. And sure enough, a young man with hair well past his shoulders appears. Other minor disagreements follow: the fridge shelves; Uncle Jens smokes. When he goes out, he heads to a bar frequented by Kurdish emigrants like himself. There he meets compatriots who have tried to adapt; in Oslo they have jobs and a bit of money. Hussein, for example, who back home was a Peshmerga, fighting for Kurdistan’s independence. Uncle Jens – whose real name is Khdr – has never held a rifle, but was forced to abandon his children and family to save his own life. After a life of solitude—or so it seems—Akam meets a very fair-haired Norwegian woman who even flirts with him a little. Should he protect his uncle? Build a life of his own? Live as he did in Kurdistan? Or let himself be courted by a young woman who—as fate would have it, and above all for the sake of the plot—works at the immigration office?