62 Photography: AXEL MARTENS Words: ANNIKA LASARZIK T Tehran, autumn 2001. An eight-year-old boy lies sprawled in front of the television. Suddenly, he makes a discovery that will change his life. A concert, a woman play- ing the violin. The boy can’t tear his eyes away from the screen. His father enters the room and watches his son for a while, be- fore asking: “Nima, would you like to play the violin?” Hamburg, summer 2017. A 10-year-old girl is sitting in her music lesson at school. She’s in grade five. The children sing a song. She’s new here, and everything still feels strange. But all of a sudden, she shakes off her fear and sings loudly and clearly, as if no one else were listening. Later, her teacher says: “Angelina, there’s a choir for children who can sing like you.” Years later, the boy and the girl are on stage in a glittering concert hall, surrounded by spotlights. In the orchestra, right at the front, Nima – now a young man of 26 – with his violin in his hand. In the choir, further back, Angelina, now 12. Jubilant voices rise to a crescendo, the applause goes on and on. Nima and Angelina have been feverishly awaiting this night for weeks. It’s a big event, The Young ClassX’s 10th anniversary concert in the Laeiszhalle concert hall in Hamburg. The paths these two young people have taken to get here couldn’t have been more different. It’s a rainy October day, a few short months before the concert. Nima stands surround- ed by instruments in a small room in the basement of a school in Hamburg, giving a violin lesson. He’s one of 19 “assistant coaches” who instruct other The Young ClassX scholarship recipients so that they can learn to play an instrument for free. “Look,” says Nima, as he swings his violin up on to his shoulder in a single fluid move- ment and draws the bow smoothly across the strings. A deep tone begins to swell, spreading through the room like a warm blanket. “Loosen up a little and have fun!” says Nima, laughing, but the 10-year-old beside him mumbles: “Can’t play it any- way.” Nima raises an eyebrow. “Have you practised? You won’t get anywhere if you don’t make an effort!” His pupil frowns and pushes her violin back under her chin. She drags the bow across the strings, back and forth, scratching out a tone that wob- bles across the room. Nima holds up his hand. “Nope, that’s not working. Pay at- tention to your wrist!” And then they play together, the pupil uncertainly, her eyes on her teacher, his upper body swaying gen- tly in time with the music. They play until her grip loosens, her movements become more fluid – and her bow stops scratching. Making an effort, going places: Nima knows all about that. When he was 16, he travelled to Germany by himself, with only his violin and an invitation to audi- tion at a music school in Berlin. The au- dition went smoothly, even though “hello” was the only word Nima understood. But then the school rejected him. He did have talent, the examiners said, but he would never get through school if he didn’t speak German. Nima takes the train to Ham- burg, intending to fly back to Iran. But on the telephone his father says: “Don’t come back, son. You have no future here as a musician.” When he talks about it today, Nima’s eyes stray into the distance as if he were still at the station, the receiver in his hand, his stomach clenched in fear. He knows in his heart that his father is right. A trained opera singer, he had to give up his dream. In Iran, artists face repression and there isn’t much funding available, so to support his family, Nima’s father sold spare car parts instead. Nima occasionally helped him, sitting in the basement sticking barcodes on packag- es for hours on end. The violin changed everything. His father sold his piano to buy Nima the instrument he was longing to play, enrolled him in music school in Tehran, sent applications out to six Ger- man music schools – and bade his son farewell. “My father,” Nima says today, his voice full of pride and wistfulness, “sacri- ficed so much. I can’t disappoint him.” So Nima tries to make his way in Ham- burg. He’s granted asylum and housed in “Don’t come back, son. You have no future here as a musician.” a group home. He finishes school, even qualifying for university entrance. In ret- rospect, it all sounds perfectly straightfor- ward, but Nima refers to it as “the most difficult time”: he grapples with govern- ment agencies, gets bullied by his class- mates, changes schools and is often ill. Wanting his own apartment, he looks for a long time but finds nothing. Depressed and aggressive, he withdraws into himself. The future, once so promising, now looks gloomy and empty. For years, he doesn’t touch his violin. The memories it evokes of his homeland are too painful to bear. Nima tells me all this sitting in a café in Hamburg, his legs crossed comfortably and a triumphant smile on his face. The kind-eyed, slender young man in front of me seems cheerful and relaxed. How can that be? His life takes a new turn in late 2014. By chance, he hears about the Felix Men- delssohn Youth Orchestra, which has been under the auspices of The Young ClassX since 2013 and where around 100 young people from ages 10 to 27 make music together. Nima gathers his courage and phones up to ask whether they’re looking for another violinist. Prof Clemens Mal- ich, the conductor, who is also head of the The Young ClassX instrumental mu- sic and orchestra modules, accepts him immediately and becomes Nima’s mentor. The rehearsals provide structure in Ni- ma’s life, and giving concerts in front of big audiences strengthens his self-esteem. On tour with the orchestra, Nima gets to know the country and even performs for the German President at Bellevue Palace. He now feels that he is part of something big. Looking at his violin these day, he still thinks of the past, but of the future too. While training to be an assistant coach for The Young ClassX, Nima discovers that his future lies elsewhere, far from the big stage. He doesn’t want to be a star. Instead, he wants to pass on what he’s picked up over the years, how to keep going when things get tough. He wants to teach music and motivate others. Today, he’s in his >