Nasara

Ahlan wa sahlan ala Nasara
Where its bizarre that my eyebrows are unplucked


Narareth was more shocking than the West Bank.
  The people of Ramallah were restricted due to gossip: if you
wore a hijab one day and not the next, you would be questioned.
  If you are unmarried and seen being friends with men, you are
questioned.
  Many would consider these restrictions based on islamic law
however its really just a modern culture which has evolved with
islam.
In Nazareth more than in the West Bank, women Ive spoken to have
expressed MORE anxiety, more pressure, with a will of more freedom.
  Here, one cannot wear the same dress to two occasions even if people
only see it on facebook.
  One cannot wear shorts and thongs to the supermarket without
being talked about.
  Again, the culture has established itself via gossip and whilst
the women feel trapped within it, I feel they help build it themselves
through accepting it.

Again, the West Bank is given only dirty unhealthy tapwater.  I was
happy to go to Nazareth where I would no longer spend such
money: where one can drink tap water.
  Oh how shocked I was.  Here, everyone buys hektik water
filters (which serves boiled water just as readily as cold water)
or bottled water anyway.  Because they're used to it...

Quickly:
  Nazareth, traditionally, is mostly made up of Christians.  Now
however, the islams make up the majority (the whole babies thing)
Whilst there is a jewish section called 'Nazareth Illit' (like
elite).  Its uglier and newer.  Though whilst only arabs live
in the section I've been living in, all the shops have hebrew
names and No One. Mentions. Politics.
(cept in the car where Im strictly reminded to stop talking)

 
  So the lucky little me has a home in Nazareth where my gorgeous
and so distantly related family accept me as a cousin and spoil
me silly, and where my beloved "cousin" (though mroe like third aunt)
seems to be the Queen of the social scene.
  I love my family here.  The littlest daughter never stops
talking to me, though she knows very well how I struggle to
understand her arabic.  We share a room, see, so she's given
plenty of time to pour her heart out to me.
The first thing she said (which her mother
kindly translated) was how little my ears are.  The second was
that she was born just one kilo.  Which was true.

  The middle child is highly sensitive.  He's obsessed with his
mother.  And highly afriad of losing her. His mother meanwhile,
is becoming mad trying to get rid of her extra shadow.

  The eldest is sa gentlemen (they all have the sweetest hearts) who
plays chess and backgammon with me at my request!

  They fight endlessly, and have grown voices to yell over
Their loud (arabic) parents.

  The first night I arrived, we went to the fanciest restaurant
of my life.  Me in my dirty sandals which Ive worn everyday for
over a month, and my clothes which I've worked in, camped in the
desert in, and swum in...
  My cousin most certainly has given me a makeover since then.
  I wonder if her long arabic phone calls are made asking for
donations, to help her poor, unkept cousin.  Whose two bras are
falling apart.  Whose clothes are all fit for a grandmother
of two seasons ago (who smelt really bad). And whose hair
couldnt be straightened or else people would notice she cut it
herself....

  See, my luggage has now doubled.  She was sure to wash every last
material of my luggage tout-suit (‌even my sandals went into
the washing mashine, to my disbelief).  I've been given every last
product so that no part of my body can emitt its natural smell.
  Body lotion, deoderant, spray deoderant, expensive perfume,
  My other cousin bought me shoes!! And Taitas cousins wife gave
me a WHOLE BAG full of fresh, like-new (wouldnt be surprized)
clothes as though it was normal.  Now I can fit in just fine
with the Stepford wives, in my hot pink three quarter pants and
matching sweater.
  Not that I'm not thankful.  Im overwhelmed with gratitude I am.
 
  But the money! The wastage!  I went to a wedding party where the
many tables where smothered in food (hommos, tabouleh, everything!)
  Any tray which was nibbled at was replaced within seconds with
a fresh one.  Not that anyone ate much! The women seemed
afraid to eat beside eachother. All husbands were on a diet (so they
filled up on bread and whisky).  All dancers were restricted to move
in all directions, whther it was due to their tiny attire or their
self-consciousness...I know I didnt let my clothes stop me.

:P

But oh my clothes.  I am the youngest daughters new doll, she does
my hair all the time.  For the parties, I am her mother's doll.
  I recieved three new dresses whilst trying on clothes for the party.
  One hot pink, the other two white.  If only I could avoid dirtying them.
 

  Its a small price for me, to accept their gifts. Though the biggest
gift of all is the acceptance i've from the family.  They have so much
love for me, whose grandmother only their dead parents remember.
  I was so afriad.  I thought no one would particularly care to meet me,
wondering why I wasnt at university, why I wasn't tending to my grandparents
I claim to love so dearly, why an Australian is claiming to be a part
of an arabic family...
  But they love me and love to feed me and I'm showered with compliments
I can barely accept between mouthfulls of knafe.

Now I need to get ready for another wedding party...
Not sure if I should wear the hot pink dress or the white dress! Its a
tough life.