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On one of the first days that smells of spring, Rasem Soufi parks the car in a forest clearing near the Saxon town of Mittweida. “Now she’s sleeping,” he says to his wife Rigerta, pointing to daughter Ruba, two years old. “You go out, I’ll stay with her.”

“No, you,” she says.

“No, you,” he says.

She laughs. “Which one of us loves her more?”

At the end both get out, but stay close to the car. The soufis often drive here, take folding chairs, coffee, biscuits, sometimes guests too, and sit with them on a tree stump, just as others ask their friends to sit at the garden table.