Ana bitsiame :P

  After a week at the centre Mayada took me to her Taita's
home and farm in the village of Zowiye.  On the bus ride I saw
more olive trees than I have ever seen all together in my whole
life!  I realized why Palestinians have so many babies; so that
they could harvest all their olives.  My goodness! But unfortunately
at least half of the olive farms have been stolen by the israelis,
including much of Mayada's Taita's land.
  That evening Mayada's uncle (who lives downstairs from her Taita
with his family) drove us around the village.  We could see Tel Aviv,
a 20 minute drive away, though (the familiar story) a place which
costs Palestinians a lot to reach.
  We also drove to a door, shaded by an olive tree (where a donkey
nibbled grass) in the big, concrete wall.  Here lives an old man
who refused to move from his home even after the wall cut him
off from his village.  Thus, his front door is guarded and he
must explain his own reasonings upon exiting and entering his home.
  Zowiye is a poor village where most villagers cannot read or write.
In effect, the people learn from what they hear only, and so their
idea of the khoran is warped by gossip.
  Mayada stopped translating much of what her Taita said to me,
and instead, began making explanations as to why her Taita
believed such nonsense.  You see, she was keen to convert me
to Islam (although "Christians and Muslims are friends").  Aparently
all I need to do is admit that Mohammed is the most recent prophet
and wulla! I'm accepted into heaven.
  I'm no muslim, but perhaps I pleased her as the following day I
fasted.  Mayada, her Taita and her Aunty would take me to
Al Quds (Jerusalm) to pray at the mosque and break our fast.
Due to israeli rules, you cannot enter the mosque without
muslim garb, so they also dressed me up.  I wore a long black
robe (the black is a modern day fashion thing: traditionally
they wore light colours and the dress was practical in the hot
climate).
  We caught a bus chockaz full of fasting women who were
proud to see me participating with their religion!
(I thought they'd hate me and see me as a lier).
  Once we got to the suburb of the checkpoint, the bus was
halted by traffic. It's very highly credited in Islam to
pray and break your fast at the mosque on a friday.  It was a friday.
And everyone was hungry for the mosque.  We got out of the bus
and walked the old lady through the hot, hungry, pushing crowds
for a couple of kilometers or more.
  The check point itself was worse, and once we got to the
actual officers/soliders/israelis behind the glass talking
to us through a microphone, everyone who'd caught the bus
save for Mayada and I were not allowed in.  I felt so bad,
but we continued into Jerusalem and Maa Salaama'ed the others.

  I had driven through Jerusalem before, but did not realize
I had not seen the old city/where the action is.  Boy is it
beautifull!!
  We were taken with the crowd through Damascus gate and
into old city where bodies against bodies held oneanother
upright and carried eachother along and to the mosque.  No
one could feel sorry for themselves for being in such a hungry
or fatigued state for everyone was in it together, and ultimately,
you simply sought to support those around you because
you understood how they felt.  So as we fought as one united
 crowd to the mosque, the ramadan lights glittered in the
ancient stone streets, passing nooks and crannys full of
delightful surprizes.  Many stalls sold only two items:
toy guns and prayer beads (this I found baffelling). Many
sold sweets, pickles, falafel, prayer mats, clothes, leather
handicrafts, etc.
  At last we reached the mosque, sitting at the top of the stairs
with a golden sultan hat, it certainly offered refuge.  Billions
of people ran around gleefully, though as we climbed up to the mosque,
the broad field around it was blanketed in men and women praying
and awaiting the time of iftah.
  We had stupidly bought falafel and hommos from one of the hektik
stalls within the old city (I could have killed all of their customers
it was so chaotic), and with this we anxiously watched the sun set onto
Jersalem while free food and drink was passed around.
  (so many organizations donate food to the poor during Ramadan).
  The cannon was fired, and our little picnic was joined by a group
of lovely women who shared with us a basket of figs and juice.
  Feasting was interrupted by prayer time, where rows and rows
and culumns of people (mostly women, actually) stood side by side;
bending and bowing in response to the prayer.  I was hopeless,
everytime I bowed (a moment too late) I would stumble on my dress,
or realize it had unbuttoned and began to rebutton it, or begin to
pick at one of my nails, or accidently ask Mayada a question, etc.
  However, due to my dodgy knee I could barely do the prayers properly
anyway.  Though I know God forgives me for that, as I have forgiven him
for it.
  After dinner we so longed our kind hearted friends and head again through
the crazy crowds to get OUT. After trying to to exit the way we came, we
realized it was too busy and head out again.  Here, I was stopped
by an officer and asked if I was muslim.  'uh!' I replied.
 See, though I'll never get used to it 'uh' is the arabic 'yes.'
all the other variations are from different dialects and translate here
(most commonly) to 'what?'.  Luckily Mayada stepped in and began
explaining how muslim I am.
  We back to Ramallah and, of-coarse, all the boys were there to see
us dressed so modestly.  Then we all got icecream (boosa.  Everyone
loves ice-cream here. They dont understand that someone who lives
in a foreign country is much more excited by knafe or fresh figs)!!


  The following day all the gang were to head off to Nablus.  Ehna
Mithamsein!!!! (We are excited, yani, I kept saying it which I soon
regretted because now my every second question is 'Sofia, mithamsi?'
Are you excited? Are you happy?. At least I'm used to it from
Australia.
Before we head off, I dragged Powla off to watch a friend I'd made
roasting nuts at the nut shop he worked at.  Wasn't as complicated
as I'd thought it, turns out.
Now I get free nuts

:D

Anway, we made up two car loads (or one mini bus) and arrived in Nablus
at 6ish.  The boys had asked me what I wanted to do in Nablus.
Eat Knafe, Go to the old city, see the soap factory....and inshallah.
  I actually thoiught this is what I would do.  See here in Palestine
life, and one's idea of fun revolves around food and family.  The first
thing we did was organize food (which I partially wasn't aware of).
  And then together we marched up the mountain to the spot where we'd eat.
The boys are hilarious, and we're always laughing together, and
so we just played at the mountain top until dinner time
When Shafeeqs huge family (hs father has remarried around 4 times)
arrived with a huge cake of Makloube, and drinks for all tastebuds.
  There were around 10 sisters (or half sisters...I became lost in
the family's details) who loved saying that they loved me, and making
me echo arabic lyrics to them.
  After announcing Al Hamdulillah (Thanks God (thus I'm fed)) we
went on camel rides all over the mountain.  Suddenly the clock struck
10pm - the time our friends in an awesome Tarrub band were performing
in Ramallah.  We waited another hour for a taxi, spending the while
appologising for why we coudnt stay the night with them and
YIPEEEEEEEEE
Got some Knafe Nabulsiyye on our way home.
SOO YUMMY
Naturally the band had finished when we arrived but performing
were a group of Dubke dancers.  I love Dubke.  You know when you see
someone doing something and you think oh I want to be able to do that too?
  Its inspiring.

I'm skipping so much, I've had so much fun with my family in Ramallah
but why bother explain my fun when we could be having fun?