Jerusalem - a microcosm of the Country

Woah!  Life is so wonderful.

  Meeting G was refreshing.  Like diving headfirst into the cool colours of the ocean,
)after I'd become so sticky from my former, conservative environments. (with my family
  First we went off into Jerusalem's old city.
  Im embarrassed, I was like a sneaky little hawk, vaguely avoiding all her questions while
. absorbing every last word as they poured out to me.
  I couldn't help but to love her more and more with each moment (and thus ofcoarse
hate myself more and more, as I was being so rude by doubting her authenticity).

G
 so G is a Jerusalemite.  She does not call herself
israeli or Jewish but Hebrew, and from Al Quds.  She fully
supports Palestine but like the new generation had no choice as
to where she was born and where her family live.
  Her family is Jewish and moved to Palestine from America and
UK around 48 purely believing that God was finally on their side,
and was helping their people and their family at last.
  G was oblivious to the Palestinian perspective until she was
made to join the army, as all are, and though she only did
social services she discovered the true situation and became
an active supporter of Palestine.  One state.

  G first took me through the Jewish streets, then to the wailing wall, before we
crossed the wall to Palestinian villages.  I felt as though we stood on the wall itself,
and could peer onto both peoples with a balanced view.  I call these 'Jewish streets'
because they are apart of the occupied territories where mainly only Jewish people roam.
  There are arabs who still own stalls along the markets path.  Many wear traditional
Jewish accessories as to avoid racism, otherwise, they have the israeli flag.
  We arrive at the wailing wall and sneak into the Synagogue (Which normally one cannot
enter without some sort of special permission ??) through the escavated caves beneath the
ground.
  We spy on caves leading to more escavation, where Israel is turning Jerusalem upside-down
(from Occupied soil to Palestinian soil - meaning beneath Palestinian's houses wihtout
their consent).  They do this in search of proof that Jerusalem belongs to the Jews.
  The sadness within that speaks for itself.


  So, a large portion of Jerusalem is still "legally" (according to Oslo) a part of
the Palestinian territories. With just a few corners and sneaky tourist doors, we have
stepped through the wardrobe and are standing in poor streets, filled with Palestinian
people with (again) their own, special passport.  It is easier for non-palestinian inhabitants
of Jerusalem to avoid these streets than it is for them to find them, so many Israelis are,
not so much oblivious, but alien to the Palestinian people.  Frankly, its the same vice versa.
  The people are alien to one another.
  In a popular city square a week ago, a Palestinian was beat up almost to death by a group
of israelis.
  Though the Israelis are afraid of Palestinians.  And truly.  Its been almost 6 years since
any suicide attack has happened, but propaganda has clouded any sense of humanity and caused
a general agreement that Palestinians - sorry - that Arabs are dangerous.  That muslims
are dangerous.  That the world is against the Jews and they only have one another to trust.
Or something.

  So the city of David was made in the 90s right atop Silwan village.  Its about 1 6th of Jerusalem,
huge, and full of inhabitants...though who are now compressed into a smaller area again.
  Its just one of the many palestinian villages which were scattered around Jerusalem, and
just one which still struggles for peace.
  M works at the local centre, set up by the villiage, which helps the children deal with
what's going on (with the help of volunteers) as well as teaching foreigners and Israelis
the bloody truth about the City of David.
  The local centre is illigal: See, even for Palestinians here it is illegal to build.
  The village as seen much bloodshed; but the present struggle involves being unable
to build, renovate or repair houses (and babies are on the way!).  The streets get no
Government attention (are smelly with rubbish), and the children are frustrated as many
have been sent to Jail, or members of their family have, and their identity is denied.

  The Passport of Jerusalem Palestinians is a whole new colour.  Like those within
the West Bank, they too need to pay to apply to have permission to leave the country.
  Additionally, they can't visit the West Bank.


  So a bunch of couch surfers were keen to meet G, so we were to meet with them at
a bar in Jerusalem.  The only bar here which, even since the intifada, allows Palestinians
to enter! No security (which apparently could only be for Palestinians...what else?)!
  How radical.  So we invited M (from Silwan) and also a man whos setting up a jewish/arabic
choir from the US, and also a few friends of G's from school (ahh! At last I found some
hippy styled conversations!), a Jewish Morroccan on an art project, and a bunch of internationals
who're payed to study science here.  Altogether we covered 5 or 6 continents and the outer
seating area of the bar. Everyone was friendly, excited to be strangers, keen to learn, etc
  Though the seemed ignorance most of them held concerning the reality of the country
Shocked me.  I almost felt unable to connect.
  These feelings themselves alienated me, I realized, as G's tolerance and acceptance
gathered the whole circle into joining a 'field trip' (!) into the scary and mysterious
'West Bank'where they could learn about the situation.
  Like most of the inhabitants of Jerusalem, a bunch of these people knew of Palestinians
to be 'terrorists' who did this and that on that street and that building.  Even the soldiers
are under the illusion that Palestinians want to hurt them.
  Its a generalization, but various aspects to the country as well as the media set the
inhabitants up into fear of Palestinians.

Dipping my thoughts in coffee

OkiDoki.
I'm currently sitting in an israeli chain store in
the central bus station of Jerusalem.  I'm sipping
on my coffee all too quickly as I have five whole
hours until the one whom I'm waiting will arrive here.
  I plan to sit in this cafe the whole while
scabbing their free wi-fi...and sipping my
single coffee ... the cheapest one on the menu.
  I'm not exactly mobile as on top of my back pack
I have my hand bag and a big, overflowing green bag.
  I thought going to Nazareth would relieve me of
presents which weighed me and my bag down. Oh how
I was mistaken.  My clothing has now doubled in
amounts and you know what: I hate all of them.
  I plan to donate them all the poor once I reach
Ramallah.  (Then I'll start actually buying things
here, too.  Other than bus rides and the occasional
falafel sandwich.)  Until then I'm a walking bag stand.

(Dont mind me if I ramble...I have five hours...)
  So Nazareth:
Before I left, I organized to do a thorough exploration
of the old city of Narazeth.  Taita insisted I visited
one of the many churches, and since tens of bus loads
of tourists visit the city nearly everyday to see them
I thought it would be worth my 1 dollar bus ride.
  One church which everyone but me probably knows had
about 200 ancient mosaics/sculptures based on Mary and Jesus
surrounding its outer walls.  Each one was from a different
country, incorporating the culture and style of the country
into their interpretation of the bible.  It was awesome!!!
My favourites were from China (Anime Mary and Jesus!), Spain
(it was like a gothic nativity set...a bit spooky), and Nazareth
itself (Mary just matched my own interpretation).

  I wont tell you about the history of the land because this is
my story your reading, not Jesus'.

  I felt so stupid, though.  At least the huge tourist groups
know their bible.  I wanted to light a candle in one of the
cute little churches so I grabbed one from a big box.  It
had already been lit and put out so I thought how good, they
recycle.  I looked for the donation box and couldnt find it
so I though there mustnt be one.  So I relit an old candle.
  Within moments an angry man puts it out puts it into
the bin and walks away. Considering that it represented my
 prayer I was sorta taken aback.  Eventually I found the candle
stand and I bought one from him. Made him laugh with a little
joke and ran away.


  The old city is ususually alit with noisy movement and
colours of fruits and clothing.  But I experienced it
during Ead.  The quiet streets and closed doors (or open
doors where sleepy workers watched TV beside the fan) were
really lovely to meander around.

Not sure if I've told you about the one million times I've
gotten lost by myself thus far....but this adventure into
Nazareth was one of them.  Luckily, because it led me
to the holliest spot I'd found in my exploration of churches.
  The cemetary.  It's incredible.  Each grave is a mini
garden, with succunlents and roses crawling out and into
the neighbouring grave, all shaded by Jacaranders and and fig
trees.  The flowering Life and The Dead both seemed so
happy and peacefull.  Nothing was going anywhere and nothing
needed to. You know what else? Muslims dont use coffins!!!! Gosh I love them all just for that.
They dont even believe in decorating graves with superfluous memorial statues.


  Sitting here, I'm somehow glad to
have left Nazareth.  I felt too weird there, (amongst the younger
family members more than the older).  I felt ugly for not wearing
make-up and weird for thinking a tree is beautifull.
  Amongst the jews (in Jerusalem) its more like Australia; people come from all over the world and
 barely seem to notice you if your western looking,. They seem not to notice you at all actually

  Soooooooooooooo I freaked out a little bit this week.  I thought I'd be
stranded in Jerusalem as my Ramallahn friends were in Tel Aviv
 Palestinian phones and so I went through my contact sources to find somewhere to stay.
 My welcoming family needed to prepare themselves for a new school
year so I felt like I had to go somewhere.
  My calling came form G, whom most people have told me is a spy.
But she's Jamiels friend.  Who cares? If you live in Israel and your
not Palestinian your automatically supporting the oppresion of Palestine.
Thus, she's no good.

  I'm currently waiting for G at the bus station.  I need to, it's
my calling.  Israel and Palestine are enemies and afterall, for one to
consider the best possible way to improve the situation one must know
the life on either side of the wall.  Palestinians are so isolated here
from everyone else, so that their views of eachother are warped.  I want
to know how Palestinians appear from the otherside, and how people can live
in such a country.  If G wants to give me a warped view of Israel, to
convert my political views, it wont work but I'm intrigued to hear.

  I am inocent here and I won't go putting any of my friends of family
 in danger as I won't mention them.  Not that any one is guilty of anything
Ahh!!! I'm so sick of this paranoia. Cant wait for Europe

Acko

Staying in Acko was so much fun. Was only there for 3
nights...and it went all too quickly.
  Shafiq and Nahala are a simply delightful
couple, and their children are sweet and kind.
  Rather a relief after my last household of yelling
atop yelling... I was glad to remember that arab culture
 isnt all so loud.

  After my 4 hour bus ride to their house
(which is half an hour away by car...) I vistited
the schools in Acko.  The college contains all
religions, a school unlike one I've thus come
across.  I was told, however, that the school system is
made to give an advantage to the Jewish students.
Moreover, different religions tend to stick to themselves.
  The Jewish people here have a culture much like
in AUstralia...they're really from all over the world,
see, so they don't have a definable culture.
  When Christians or Muslims live amongst the Jews,
they seem to adopt a greater freedom; wearing
skimpier clothing and doing more Western activities
ie listening to western/hebrew music/tv.

  Here, arabs generally call themselves 'arabs Israeli'.  ANd
those in the West Bank 'Palestinian'.  Many are sorry as they do
it, but feel that they have to.  This is specially
for those who live more amongst Jews - otherwise, living in
just Arabic cities like Nazareth you will find people
who still Identifying themselves as Palestinian, save for when
they're talking to a Jewish person.

  The weirdest thing in Christian homes is that
they're so ignorant of Muslim culture.  They know
the culture, but they seem to not understand it...
I'm generalizing completely but I'll continue.
  they call the Muslim dresses 'ugly' and muse over
 why they wear them.  They seem to be ignorant of any
good things which come from Ramadan.
  Its as though because they're muslim, whatever they do is ugly.
  Or smelly.
  It's so sad, because I spent three weeks amongst
muslim families who were all so lovely, welcoming
and accepting even after I would call myself Cristian.
  I really rather love many of these families
 and I'm sorry that my relatives cannot accept them
the way they accepted me.

  Christians also seem to hate Eid.  (Islamic
equivalent of Christmas).  They hide indoors throughout
the weekend, and consider the celebrations lower class,
calling the crowds rude due to one or two pushy people.

  I am sorry to admit that I was in a muslim city during Ead,
babysitting.
indoors.
the whole weekend.

OOpsy!! Acko!!!!!!
Its absolutely gorgeous.  A terribly old city with the same story;
Nabateans built it, Muslims had it at one stage, the Crusaders
had it too and probbly destoryed a large portion, and Sala al din
did something exciting along the way.

  The city is made up of many large walls to protect it from
the Crusaders, weaving along the beach.
Within the old walls, winding through stony arches, old blue
doors, and tall church towers, the streets are full of
fisherman sailors and market men, beach-combing young
urchins racing with stray cats as the sun sets on the
sparkling ocean.
  Its like a dream.
  Ola and Maha are around my age, and together with
their younger siblings Hanna and Nadine we went on
a boat ride along the coast of Acko in the Mediteranean.
  I stood at the tip of the boat, gripping onto the rails
with an uncontrollable grin taking over my face as the
boat crashed up and down in the waves.
  I love the sea.
  The afternoon sun had cast a silver shiver across the city
by this hour, and as we pulled into the port the driver
was playing popular club music.  This got everyones attention,
and tens of young boys ran onto the rooves of the boats around
us, dancing like the smexy women from MTV, before jumping
into the sea still wearing their shoes and socks.

  Before the boat-ride, they seemed to think one of the best
holiday activities was going to the mall...
don't know what I was meant to do there but I'm definately
an alien in the shopping world now.  Though I did enjoy
having my hair straightened and eyes coloured before we
left...



Shishbarak, makloube, cussa and warra...salad with tahineh sauce...
freekeh (with chicken), tahineh as a dip in itself;
thickened with just water salt lemon, fil-fil (stuffed
capsicum), ...
just going through some food you have to remind me
to cook when I get home :D

Habibti Taita

This is just summarizing my adventures with tracing relatives and family
homes....it will be boring for most people but before I forget
all the names to tell Taita...

I shall share with those who care (apparently me and my interest
is weird) which family members I have met.
  Firstly, Nahla and Xena are the girls of Hanna Deeb(Taita's 1st cousin)
who have children from my age to Jamiel's age. They live in Nasara
where Nadira lives.  Nadira's beloved father George (Taitas 1st cousin) lived in Acko,
where her mother still lives.  He died, but her mother is fit and
gorgeous with two other children who each have young children like
Nadira.  They are all gorgeous.
  Another 1st cousin, "Uncle Yousef" everyone calls him, lives in Haifa.
He's married to Mona (who gave me a bag of clothes and began organizing
my week as soon as I met her - she's a travel guide), and together they
had Lena and Salim who had more wonderful children around my age - all
very intelligent and interesting.  They all live in the same building.
  Uncle Yousef is the fittest of all of Taita's cousins.  He still works
as an engineer with his son, downstairs, and his daughter recently joined
them too with some other helpful job.
  They live in a happy little building.  Mona and her husband recently
had another baby, so when I was there everyone was sleepy eyed from
sleeping in the same room with the baby who never sleeps.

  In Acko I was swept over to Hanna's wifes home.  Hanna was another
of Taita's cousins and so far they've all been children of Shafeeq.
Taita's father Amin had two brothers; Naim and Shafeeq.  All brothers
lived in Ramie (a village maybe 20 minutes from Acko) and Hanna
(the eldest brother) was the first to move to Acko.
  They're first son Shafeeq lives upstairs at Hanna's family home.
He married Nahla - another Deeb! - her mother who now lives in America
is Taita's second or third cousin, and she too was born in Ramie.
  On this occasion it was Waleed's birthday so all the family (Hanna's
children who I've mentioned thus far plus their families) were over.
I ate a lot of cake/knafe after my lunch of cursa and wurra and we sung
and laughed.
  The whole Deeb family is very actively humerous.  When we were singing
Happy Birthday, everyone made such a loud exciting fuss that
the tables and delicate coffee cups shook and the candles went out
from the collective breath as we sung.
  Shafeeq and his wife Nahla have four children: Ola (21) Maha (18)
who very close, Nadine (12) and Hanna (6).  Theyre all the sweetest
things and Ive grown to love them.
See, after meeting them they invited me back to their house to stay next
wednesday!

I will skip my first two days of Acko so that this post is a boring family
one.

  The first night in Acko, a couple with their children came over for dinner.
I knew the man whose sername is Hanna was distantly related to Shafeeq,
but to my surprize we figured out over dinner that his wife's mother, too,
was Taitas cousin.  The family live in Ramie, where Taita was born, and they
said I was welcome to visit this friday and next friday (their weekends).
So on friday we head off in the afternoon.
  We arrive, and drive through the village.  Its much larger than I expected
and looks much like the other villages I've seen, in terms of the array of
50s style houses.  Ramie is much greener, however, blossoming with flowers
and many many humungous Australian eucalpytus trees which look older
than any Ive seen in Australia....they probably just grow well here?

  Within Reems home, I was awaited by Faizi (first cousin on Taitas mum's side
 and Irhad (married to Taita's cousin).
  Faizi wondered whether Taita knew all her siblings had passed away,
and asked about Taita's younger sister in Damascus; about her health and
wellbeing.  She asked why Taita stopped sending letters, greeting cards,
particularly to Assad, who too questioned me later when I met
him (and his wife Abla).  He was also good friends with Jidi,
 they worked together in Jordan, and he was
sorry that while he lived in Perth he never visited us.
  The answers to the ambush of questions were hazy in my mind
 but I said that Taita's hands lacked
blood flow and writing letters is really hard for her, especially
after cooking all her delicious food she does.
  Faizi remembered the dresses Taita made for her when she was younger,
and the details of when they last ate together in Amaan.
  Faizi also knew that while Taita was born in Rami, and visited often
to see her extended family, she lived in Acko.  Where I'd just been
staying.  So I've another house to visit on my list!!

  Everytime Ive met one of Taita's cousins I have shared the 5 or 6 photos
i copied from Taitas albumns to share.  In 2 of them, no one has known
who the people are (dont think Taita knew either, perhaps they were Jidi's
photos???) but the other photos Were exciting enough.

  Later, Reem's sister took me for a walk.  It's funny, they knew
I wanted to see Taitas house which is three minutes away and so
sudenly i catch in the conversation that we're driving there !!?????
 I repeated a few times that I
REALLY didnt mind walking and Reems sister heard my prayers.
She was a really delightful guide: She later admitted that she's
been wanting to give her own children the history of the village,
though I'm afraid even Ramie has been introduced to technology.


  The sun made me nervous;
 it was just about set when we head
out of the house and I knew all that I wanted to see couldn't
be seen within the time frame.  Aditionally, the country side
had a cloudy mist which had been spreading across the fields
since I'd arrived.  It seemed to add to the pressure of the
coming darkness.
  First I entered the old Church
which is now opulent with golden tinkets, the traditional
architechture (with the starry rooves) painted with a different
bright colour on each section!
The big chandelier had one of Taita's cousins name on it -
for he had donated it to the church.

  Then up the cobbled streets to Taitas house.  The slim, stone path
winds through the streets with a thick gutter right in
its centre.
  Taita's cousin's wife Noha still lives there all by herself,
but she works all day in Acko and so was not home at the hour.
As it is such big house there are also a few other families inside
 - Druze families.  One corner of the house is also a supermarket.
The smoky blue sky became a blurry darkness upon arrival, and the
building became a spooky gray colour, save for the balcony.
On the balony sat a family were noisily relaxing, framed by
the bright green and purples
of their grape vine.  Around 10 young children were bouncing from
the walls and running through the garden, oblivious to me as I
photographed their house.  It wasn't the fantasy
home Taita drew in my head, but childhood memories seem to live
only in our own minds anyway.  Moreover,
im confused as to if this house was Taitas or not...but it certainly
belonged to the Deeb family and Taita certainly visited
it very often.
From there, we delved into the old city (which was much smaller then)'s
streets.  Its a really beautifull village with houses tightly squeezed
together, balconies touching so kids can visit eachother easily,
with ropes swung across the baloncies which (apparently) the
children used to send baskets of messages/sweets to their
neighbours.
  Reem's childhood house (Taita's mother's brother's house)
had three houses all joined together with a really abstract stairwell.
  Her grandma lived in the house below
 while her uncles family lived next door... the three
buildings all fit together like Tetras pieces, bound by the
outdoor stairwell where they would call out to eachother through
their windows or doors.


  Though the Deeb family came from Lebanon origionally, they
became one of the most well-known dwellers in the village
of Rami wherein lived Christians Druze and Muslims.
  Moreover, Taita's mother was from Rami - the Jacki
family.  So many houses in the old village (and generally the more
beautifull houses) belonged to Taita's relatives.
`Hanna gave me a history book based on Ramie to give to Taita
(its in arabic) which too looks very interesting!

  Rami was an emotional experience, possibly because I was tired
with hopes to see things only light can reveal....

I'm welcome back there though, and photograph the village in
the light of day.

Back in Nazareth, I have since met Taita's cousins Laila and
Ilaine.  Shafiq's children, sisters of Yousef.
  Laila is in good health, as is her husband Khalil.
They are sooo lovely; village people and like Taita would, Laila kept pulling
me into her arms and kissing me.  She made delicious stuffed eggplant
and kofta and recognized all the people in the photos I took from Taita's
photo albumns!!
Ilaine unfortunaetly is sick, but this is kept a secret from Taita
i repeat: a secret from Taita.  One I will not help break, thankyou.
  The whole family was there when I visited, lifting the atmosphere.
  She is sooo beautifull, like Laila.  Two absolute stunners.

  To my delight, they too were delighted to meet me.  I'm praised
here for my respect, for like in Australia, the western culture
fully exists here and distances grandchildren from their history,
culture, and their grandparents.  Though its not as bad as in Australia
because the taitas and jidis live upstairs...

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.

Road To Nasara

It was sad to leave, though I knew I'd be coming back.
I've become very close to my fwends in Ramallah.
  After working days we'd spend long nights teaching
eachother languages, playing chess, watching olympics,
smoking shisha, going out in Ramallah, eating, drinking,
watching arabic skits, listening to live music which
comes to the centre to practice etc

So I was to catch a bus to Jerusalem then another to Petah
Tikvah from there.  I thought it would take me 40 minutes
to Jersusalem then an hour from there, so I thought I'll
leave 3 hours before Im meeting them to ensure I'm not
late.  I was over two hours late.
  I was stuck on my way to Jerusalem for over 1 hour
at the checkpoint alone.  The people have learnt how to
push their way through, and I suspect I was pushed back
many times.  Finally when I got to Jerusalem, I had to
find the right bus.  I asked for directions from many people.
One said to go in one direction, and after walking around
one kilometre I asked someone else who said TO GO THE
OPPOSITE WAY AGAIN.  Most people in fact were tourists
or foreigners.  Barely anyone seemed to know their way around,
it seemed.  Cept the soliders.  Finally I found the tram
to take me to the bus stop.  Transport is like Melbourne there,
with buses and trams all with dear expenses.
  One difference however is to get into the bus depot, everyone
lines up and has their bag exrayed as they walk through a
beepy machine.
  So arabs arent the only pushy ones.
  I find my bus and am relieved as I take off my backpack
(carrying all mi stuff).
  Id spent most of my money by now, but a lovely arabic girl
lent me enough to buy a ticket.
  She turned my day around, and I enjoyed the bus ride as
a little jewish-hatted boy slept pressed against me.

a surprizing highpoint

My boyfriends from Ramallah all applied for a months
allowance to travel outside of the West Bank! This was approved
within the month.  It costs over 500 sheckles (over 140 dollars).
MM.
Anyway so they invited me to go to Jerusalem with them one night
and I said Why not, and left my girls at home who had better
things to do.
  It was 830pm when we left, for some reason (my arabic disables
a lot of communication) and by the time we got through the checkpoint
and to Jerusalem it was about 1030. Sorry, when I say Jerusalem,
I mean a half an hours bus ride from the old city to a huge
shopping mall. Like South Land, or Highpoint.  It was the first
time out of the West Bank for most of them, and this was the
best thing they'd ever seen.

  Unfortunately, most of the shops were actually closed by now
and moreover if we were to make the last buses back to Ramallah
we barely had an hour to look around at the mall.
  I spent one sheckle (10 cents maybe) on a bouncy ball and played
down ball with whoever I could distract at a time.
  I think I was annoying...see I kept (trying to) speak arabic on the
bus ride home and they seemed to be almost ashamed to speak
arabic.
Once back in Ramallah I ate the best falafel sandawich ever. See,
in Ramallah the shops are open all night long though in the mall even
the food shops were closing.
  Arabs seem to have endless energy.