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?

Beit Jala and Bethlehem

  To go to Beit Jala I text messaged a number Phillip gave me.  The number
didn't belong to the house owner, and I'd forgotten their relation to Phillip,
they may not have even lived in Palestine for all I knew and there I was inviting
myself over to their house.
  They replied! And I phoned them and hoorar! they are christian so its
not awkward if im there over breakie and lunch. I left the centre tout suit.
  I jump into a service taxi from ramallah tartah (downtown).
Every trip I had done in service taxis thus far had sat me beside sleazy
men.  Kind, so kind, but I couldn't have cared less this day.  I wasn't very
nice to him, and answered his questions bluntly.
  I needed to get to the church of St Nicola and he said that he too was going there!
  I said I was fine numerous times but when the bus dropped us off
 in bethlehem I realized I had little other choice.  I would have had to ask
someone for directions and this man was on me like a rash.
  So I followed him through Bethlehem (blind to its beauty...I find the beauty
 here often takes a second look to appreciate) and to the nativity church.
See tourist groups, like schools of fish, were hurrying everywhere.
  Inside was worse in terms of tourists.  I'm in a million photos now.
Then I realized which church I was in: the one built at the site
of Jesus' birth.  I told him I had to go and he said 'yes, lets go for a drink'
So I told him I was staying and he was going. I pointed to the exit and
 told him to go away.  He didn't look back! I think I was gaping as I watched him
walk away.  He was probably used to tourists turning him down, but in such touristy
places men are always so sleazy, suggesting many tourists just go wild.
  You cannot pray at the Nativity church.  You cannot avoid being in photos
at the nativity church.  I would not call it a church.  Then another man
came up to me and offered me a tour.  i told him I wanted to go around by
myself but because I said it in arabic he was too intrigued to listen.
Turned out he genuinly knew his history and took me around explaining everything.
  The room where Jesus was born had a long line of tourists, the first third from
China, second from Italy, third from America etc.  I was in a hurry (the mysterious
person Id been texting was picking me up soon - I called them) and said I didn't care
to see the site of Jesus, particularly.  But he insisted, and asked the police to let me
go the back way (avoiding the line) into the million dollar spot where the manger
had lay.  I was still in a grumpy mood and told him it was most likely the wrong spot
 and to my surprize he agreed but added that people like it better knowing where
 Jesus was born.  I didn't see the spot very well, for I stood behind a pushing
tight-squeezed line of tourists being yelled at to hurry up 'no more photos!
you can buy post cards! Go! Go! Go! Go!'. The people literally walked right past
the spot allowing but a glance (and missing the beautifull art work the walls
were covered with.  Then my phone rang and I was yelled at by numerous people to get out.
I ran out of Jesus' birth place, and the church, on my phone with a tour guide chasing
me asking for my number.

  Beside Bethlehem are two great mountains; where Beit Jala and Beit Sahoor lie
(two ancient villages).  As in all of Palestine the people hold pride concerning
where they're from, and Beit Jala and Beit sahoor have a (fun, they all
go to school together) competition going on.  Much to Beit Sahoors dissatisfaction
I stayed in Beit Jala.  Driving up the mountian, I could barely see the beautiful
houses due to the greenery! How refreshing.
Mona drove me up.  Like knafe itself, she was lovely.  We picked up her daughter
from their beautifull, grape vine entangled homestead in Beit Jala before
driving up and up the mountain to the home of Im Hanna (Phillips sister).
  Within awaited Hanna, his mother, his wife, her sister, and three (more)
beautifull children.  Im Hanna (Mother of Hanna: Fimia Costa) is a delight.
 I feel bad talking about this one family when I have neglected all the others
who have welcomed me.
  But god it was refreshing to be in a Christian home; somehow, they are
more like my own family.  Less rules, perhaps?
  I think they also eat big lunches and tiny dinners while muslims generally
have huge dinners and a nibble for breakie/lunch.
  Beit Jala is the village where Saint Nicholas is from!!!! It's where
he dropped goods into people's chimneys and gave all he could to the poor.
The Church of Saint Nicola is his church and my favourite church in life
so far.  I should have taken photos but I felt like that would be
disrespectful.  The paintings on the wall were very trippy.  Jesus pranced,
with diolated pupils, beside flying fish and firey water.

  I suspected I'd be invited to stay the night but I didn't count on it.
 Yes, they invited me to stay the night, and the next day they invited me to
stay the week.  I said no for many reasons, and after lunching on fresh
Palestinian Molokheyye (THE BEST THING EVER) me and the kids head off for
Bethlehem.
  I said thankyou and goodbye everyone, feeling as though my fate lay with
them for longer.  Fimia held my hand for ages, forgetting I was saying
goodbye and began repeating stories to me.
  The old women of villages are all so strong: most have stories about how
they manned the fields, harvested all the trees, only ate from their land,
etc.  That's until their land was stolen.

  Back to Bethlehem.  We walked through the colourful souq-like streets,
admired the view, revisited the Nativity Church and museum, and then I jumped
into a service taxi home.

the blue clouds of palestine

Its now the 28th of July (in three minutes the 29th).  That means I've been in Palestine
for 15 days now.  I've really just been chilling out in Ramallah most of this time (workin'
and resting after work), though its been a highly emotional experience.  I could blame a variety
of reasons but whatever my excuse Ive still been quite up and down. Very childish.
  Firstly, the work place is a little bit chaotic and I found myself thinking 'i'm here
to help' and thus running around like a maniac helping everyone and worrying that I'm not
helpful enough.
  I will tell you abit about the school.  Since summer school has finished,
I have simply been helping with the autistic child in the day time.  This is around 4 hours
straight.  There should be around three kids but luckily for me two have been sick or leaving early (!!!)
Yousef is three years old and beautifull.  The aim of my time with him is to teach him how
to trust people who aren't Mayada.  This involves having him in a room screaming for around 1
hour (this time span has become increasingly lower) The screaming is painful and makes me want
to scream and cry myself.  However, i have learnt that if you remain as calm as a spring
lake he will respond better.  Eventually he falls asleep as we caress him and Powla or I arouse him before his
father arrives to pick him up. We cross our fingers that he'll be in a good mood to play.
He's moody.  I'm glad to be working with Powla, shes amazing and has converted me to a
Polyamorist (a big sorry to the Palestinians who are looking to marry).
  I have fallen in love with him.  But Austism challenges my character greatly as you get
next to no attention from the children: You do not exist in their world. Your merely a
collection of fragments that make up everything; so when they look at you
they look past you.  Its hard to get their attention.  Keep in mind all three children
have different types of Autism, as do all Austistic people.
  Another interesting part is the ignorance families have with Autism: theyre continuously
seeking to find what's 'wrong' with their child and with those words its so obvious
that the problem lies in the parents attitude.


  After that, I have been helping around the place with random chores.  Cleaning, making
resources for the children, participating in Powla's dance classes (its contemporary dance
and a lot of fun)... I go to the market most days too.

  The market is a bit of a smack in the face.  I have been associating with educated Palestinians
here, but Ramallah tarta (downtown) is full of slimy men calling out the english they learnt on
 trashy TV.  Palestinians are heavily taxed by the israeli government while recieving little to no
attention.  The people are also "unallowed" to build in their own country, or repair houses. Thus,
the streets can seem shabby and the people desperate.  But considering their situation, I'm very
impressed with the lack of this poverty.  It lies souely in the downtown market.  The other streets
excite me as they weave and branch into sneaky stairways and alleys where you spy plum trees and kittens.
They all, however, lead to houses or backyards (all houses, if not an apartment, have ideal backyards:
full of fruit trees).  The houses too are well maintained.  They're beautifully designed and opulent
with pot plants and ramadan decorations and of-coarse, outside seating areas sheltered by grape vines.

  But the men in the market all yell 'hey where you from' and all the people I meet ask (much more
politely) the same.  Mayada always introduces me as Palestinian which I find helpful.  Probably because
after that I feel more welcome.  Though it still leaves me lacking an excuse as to why I know so little
arabic and why I've never visited before.  Though I'm learning very fast.  And with each word I learn,
I forget a french word. And I suspect that even returning back to Australia, this dialect wont be very useful.

  Though I am a better Palestinian than some.  There are many spies all over.  Many Palestinians work
with Israel.  Many are brainwashed into believing that arabic culture is insuperior.  Mostly, they just
want to escape.  This is natural, as they are contained in their cities like fish in their bowls and only
if one is lucky enough to have an overseas passport are they permitted to leave.  This has restricted my travel
as most Palestians I've met cannot take me to Al coots (Jerusalem), Jenin, Hebron: and these places
are within the West Bank.

  Here at the theatre we are very strict distinguishing ourselves from Israel.  No israeli workers, funding,
no buying of Israeli products (its hard to find Palestinian products, but you can), and what I've more recently
discovered no socializing with non Palestinians who live in occupied land.
  I cried yesterday.  See, I had organized to get out of Ramallah and meet a friend of Jamiel's who lives
in Jerusalem, is Jewish etc.  She offered to take me to a multi-cultural festival between the segregated
cities of Jerusalem and have me in her home for a night as well as take me to a Palestinian village where
she worked as a volunteer.  It turned out this is forbidden and if I were to associate
with such people I would be unwelcome to return here to the theatre.  Spies cause major difficulties while
running a pro Palestinian organization.
  I think I cried because we had an all nighter the night before so I was tired.  Also because of how difficult
it is to simply do things here.  Also because I looked stupid.  Also because they would throw me out after I have
given so much and am now such good friends with everyone here; theyve become like my family.

  Here in the centre we equally aim to distance ourselves from politics.  Though sometimes when I can't understand
the arabic yet still feel my energy slowly dying from empathy I guess that its politcal.  Despite the lack of
politics, sad stories are inevitable.  In almost every family someone has been to jail.  Though they themselves
generally speak of very positive topics and tell jokes I don't understand (which for them makes them all the
funnier...I guess that theyre often about me...)
  The distancing of polictics merely means that we should aim to be more productive with our time, and relaxed,
although politics restricts us so much here.  After travelling Jordan, I feel as though I'm wrapped in gladwrap
and can barely waddle my arms and legs.  There is so much people are paranoid about and its driving me crazy.
 Surely its just a tactic to weaken the people? To separate two sides?  Though while the consequences are extreme when they
do take place at all (jail, death etc), everyone is fairly relaxed whilst being cautious.  They still joke around
exeedingly.  One girl I've hung out with (my age) lends her husband her brothers passport to sneak out of the West Bank.
She drove me to Jafa for a swim at the beach.
  It was so bazaar to see the city. Though most of the historical sights have been destroyed, the same Palestinian houses
 as in Rammallah are shine through the cracks of israeli decoration.  It reminded me of an animal in a circus,
 they were dressed as coffee shops and designer saloons.  The streets were shockingly well kept and I realized
suddenly how poor the government services are in all the other places I'd visited.
  Equally, I felt as though I was back in Australia.  The jumble of races all naming themselves Australian on
indigenous land.  The ...pretentiousness? The city's style was parelel with Australia's. Save for the old
architechture.  Even my romantic idea of the mediteranean was shocked as I thought I was looking at St Kilda.

  Anyway, that seems to be all for now, though I havent told you about all my new friends and actual activity...
  Salamat

Its Hot: so Im lazy as the food is force-fed

The summer school performance was exceptional!
  Instead of sitting in the crowd I was in the dark and "silent" studio trying to calm the 40
kids who were about to perform on the stage (that I helped to build :)).
  It was impossible to silence them but once they began to perform I no longer cared because
as they came rushing back from the stage their giggles and comments were full of joy
I couldn't bare to suppress it.  Some of the children were stretching the faces open
with uncontrollable smiles while others were dead serious.  It took me a while to realize
that this sombre attitude was because they were so nervous, and I think afterward the final
high of it all was worth it for them.  Once the play was over we put on trashy dance music and
they pulled all the volunteers on stage to dance with them (and through hay across the centre).
 It was a nice ending to the crazy day (and weeks of summer school).  In the day time
I was left to care for Yousef (with Autism) for 4 hours, and in the meanwhile the 40 odd children
were in my disposal too...My shoulders are still purpling with bruises from their biting and
I'm reminded that I don't want to work with children.


  That night five of the estonians staying in the house with me left for Estonia.  Since then two
more have left and now there are three of us.  Its unfortunate in one big respect because Mayada
and I are now the only ones sleeping "upstairs" (a few blocks away) and Maher doesn't like us
walking back alone at night because he'd feel responsible if anything went wrong (the streets are
safe, he just wants children of his own) and so I can't simply go to bed when I'm tired, but I wait
for Mayada.  When she says she wants to go in one minute it means one hour.  But thats OK! Because
it's ramadan and so at night time I'm spoiled in food and desserts and special ramadan drinks.
The food made special for ramadan is to die for - my gosh!
On the subject of evenings I'll mention the dogs:
There are so many stray dogs around which Mayada claims have "raibies" which has been spread by the israelis.
Its sad to see the dogs; theyre so angry and confused and they scare me as I scavenge in neighbours
fig trees.
fig season yeeeeeooooo!


I'm going to explain some ramadan food I've had.
Firstly macloube: everyone should know what that is.
Then: Mansaf.
Palestinians make the best mansaf, sorry Jordan, but I'll say it again times 10000000.
Mayada's aunt and uncle welcome me over for the ramadan feast, where a huge amount of people
were gathered.  Their neices (Mayada's cousins) have come for the summer from Saudi Arabia
and though they speak as much english as I speak arabic we get along really well. In fact, theyve
invited me to their uncles house in Nablus for a week (we'll see how long I'm there for, though.
I'm free!)
  Then I'm not sure what its called but at Sinan and Nassan's house the mother made - my goodness -
chicken stuffed with freekeh and pine nuts as well as fuktoosh and a pasta salad.
Traditional Ramadan drinks are to die for.  One is called looz as its made of almonds (and a shit load
of sugar).  Another one is made of indian dates (again with the sugar). Another one is made of a
non-sweet orange (sweetened with sugar) which isnt grapefruit or cumquat....but its delicous!
I bought a bottle of the indian date drink to share tonight.


Tonight I'm having mansaf again at Mayada's aunts house. I'm gonna get faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat
woooooooooooooooooooooohooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
and since it's my third night eating there, and they now consider me family, I can help out with dishies
and that to my hearts content :)


The market here in Ramallah is so much fun! Its hard not to buy anything. Its a fruit market, by the way,
where colours on colours tumble around. Here, the range of fruit is
really exciting (more for the estonians than me who has good fruit in Australia too) but it really
is the right season to be here.

though it is unbelievably hot

Orienteering the dance theatre

14th July

After a day of observing activity in the centre, Mayada took me to her aunty
 and uncle's house for dinner.  They
live in Ramallah, close by to me. I will never become used to being a muslim person's
guest; even after Jordan.  Its a rule in islam that the guest isn't allowed to help out
with anything. They're to be spoiled silly. I was seated around the table, restless, when
Mayada's aunty handed me a plateful of capsi.  The serving would have made up the volume
of my head! I would have stopped her but I didn't think to consider such a big serving would
be for me.  Whats worse is that spread across the table you have more delicious food; yogurt
and salad.
Whats worse; it's rude not to eat it.
I ate it all.  Quite quickly, actually.
And then I ate desert of fresh fruit and icecream.
  Turned out I needed a big serve: it was amazing.

We got back to the centre by 11 and I spied on Maher teaching dance before we all head
off for the dead sea.  Much of the dead sea is meant to be a part of the West Bank, yet
still most Palestinians here are denied access, as though it lay in the occupied
territories.
  We arrived to a big israeli flag and two stubborn men who insisted we pay extra for
entrance.  It was worth it.  Floating on the thick sparkling water beneath a thick sparkling
sky was magical. It was bazaar looking back to Jordan, where my past stared back at me.
 I must have been walking in a dream the whole night long.  A large cresent moon
moon arose at 2 am above the horizon and three hours later framed by the large Jupiter and Venus.
Soon enough the sun shadowed beneath it, leaking hot pinks and blues across the earth.
Sun rise was extraordinary and right on cue Max and Thomas began to film Maher's solo
dance.  I painted the sunrise whilst watching.  Sleepily.
  Straight after we got back to the centre, Mayada yips me out of sleep and we jump into
a car for Jerisliyye to visit her other aunt and uncle.  The service taxis here are the
best ever.  They're maxi taxi sized, and are meant to have specific routes.  They're frequent
(save for fridays) and squeeze as many people in as possible for a very small fee.
  The Palestinian country side is beautifull.  Mountains and mountains, with neat little
villages on their tops and a tumble of olive groves drooling down the sides.  Decorating
the mountain farmers long ago built large (giant sized) steps to steady the land as it
slopes.  This makes the land for suitable for trees as well as very pretty.
  Jerisliyye is one of these villages atop a mountain.  It's full of families whose
'man of the house' has spent time working in America.  I still dont understand why.  But
the families all put their money towards huge welcoming houses ('villas') of a mediterranean
architechture, with colourful arabic furnishings (a bit like taita's but more colourful).
The service taxis drop you off to the door (hallelujah) and I'm warmly welcomed by breakfast.
I so wasnt hungry.  Foul, lebne, zartar, salad, bread, and the sweetest honey I've ever had.
I accidentally ate a chilli and cried. hehe.
  Atop the house is an attic, where a party of pidgeons have made themselves at home.
They fly back and forth between the sun.
  Once I have woken up we eat dinner.  Mansaf like none other.  A wonderful, yoguhrty lamb
atop bread atop bread with yoghurt sauce.  As well as vine leaves (cooked with tomatoes as
stock) salad (all salads here are tabouli varients) and a gourmeted chicken.
  Who knew food made you hungry?
I sleep some more after dinner (as I'm unallowed to help) and then I'm taken out by the youngest
daughter Haneen (who's 17 and has learnt good english at school) as Mayada meets the mother
of a man who wishes for her hand.  As we leave the house, we become a party of four, then six
then ten as more and more children (from 5 to 18) leave their homes to join us on our walk.
  Of-coarse they can wander at night: everyone in the village knows and trusts each other.
And whilst it is a quiet village, its much noisier at night as this is when everyone is up
and active (it was a very hot day).  We are invited into most houses along the street (my aunty
and her mother's house, my grandmothers house, etc) where I'm made to eat more and
more delicious types of food (all foreign with arabic names).  The two youngest boys insist
we pick something I thought would be snow peas.  As they ran through the fields of green
plants, a farmer came out yelling from his house and we all sprinted down the street.  I
think I was the most terrified.  The fruit turned out to be like a furry cucumber and after
I really liked it I was invited back to someones house where they had it pickled.
  Finally back at the house I collapse as everyone else stays up until early morning watching
a tape of the most recent engagement party (I'm invited to another one tomorow night).
  I wake up to watch the sun rise and sparkle Palestine with a soft pink.
  I was sad to leave Jerisliyye, and though they invited me to live there a while I said no.

  16th
Arrived back at the centre after staying at Jerisliyye and spent the day trying to help everyone.
I have not been assigned to any job in particular and as I tried to help I felt more and
more helpless.  Austistic children simply do not notice you And the other children need
too much of you And everywhere is inevitably messy and you just cannot escape things which
need to be done.
  Reflecting now I think, surprizingly, it was a good day. Ive almost stressed all my stress
out and know it can only get easier.

It's now the 18th and I cannot discern the days apart from eachother.  Each day is similar
to another in that the children have come in the early morning, they leave at 4 ish (depending
on when their parents/a bus can come).  It's hard for me to explain what my role here is but
I don't stop helping.  See tomorow night the theatre holds a big performance for all the parents
to see and so it's the climax of  movie and everything is chaotic.  The centre is suddenly full of
people (helpers?) it's not organized enough to handle. More rules have been put in place for control,
causing more confusion and chaos.  The atmosphere causes the children to loose all sense of
peace and they're difficult to tame...
So I jump from working with the autistic kids (observing Mayada and taking over when she's called
elsewhere), to working with the children (not very well. They all need too much attention each
at once), to helping to build a stage, to serving coffee and water to kids or construction workers
 (who're building a stage).  I really like the people I work with here, it motivates me
to keep learning their language so I can properly communicate with them.

  Last night we went to a circus set up by a similar (yet far better funded. Since here we run off nothing)
group of people.  Afterwards we went out for drinks! A few locals took a large group of us
to a western bar for beer.  The local beer is delicious, strangely enough, as the demand for
it is pretty low.
  The taps now offer but a dribble here in Ramallah, but unlike outside the West Bank, we are not distributed clean
water anyway.  I bought a six pack of water this morning but its now finished.

a wholly holy land

Leaving Jordan
We leave Aqaba and arrive in Amman via bus - the Cliff Hotel, where David and I were warmly greeted
by our good friend Andrew.  At last, I took out all the books from my bag and put them on
his book shelf. This made up for the arabic book Andrew gave me last time I stayed.
  So we stay up for a while with Andrew discussing the border - he's very well informed
as he has dealt with many many tourists. Last night's dinner is spent at Hashims, then David
and I go to our coffee shop for some shisha.  We meet some lovely people who insist
we stay longer in Jordan, this time not paying for hostels or anything for they would love
to house us. I'm sosososo tempted.
  I wake up numerous times in the night thinking it's morning and I'm late...for the border?
I don't even know.  Andrew thought I was crazy but he was very kind about it.
  David went out and bought me coffee and breakie while I packed up my stuff and chatted
with Andrew and before I knew it we were off.
  The service taxi was shared with two other Palestinians going to the border.  That was
really interesting.  The process for them to leave even the West Bank is strenuous, and
the allowance or visa or whatever is soso limited.  One was a very successful engineer who
travelled to India Syria Jordan etc for work with his company.  However the Palestinian engineers
would never work with Israelis who work to build illegal housing, and mostly rely
on exterior countries for work.
  From the Jordinian border we bussed to the Israeli border.  The 4 minute car ride took up to 3 hours
it was ridiculous but we were talking with a lovely girl on the bus.  I'm sorry to say
but I suddenly got really nervous she was a spy because she was so cool and that didn't
help my screaming butterflies. I was really nervous.
  Customs was meant to be split into lines for Palestinians, Israelis, and Foreigners but
I'm still confused because David came with me to every stop and did all of this talking
and it was pretty easy.  The last girl asked my surname, where's it from, do I have family
here, and I visiting them, etc etc she disappeared for a while showing off my passport,
came back, I say I'm not friendly with my family, I'm here to visit my boyfriend's family and from here
going to europe.  Then pow Bam she stamped my passport with a big fat israeli stamp.
  But I got through.  My flight home from Lebanon is ages away.  My nerves were too wild
to remember that.
  I say goodbye to David.  Which was pretty weird.  Because we've been together for three weeks
and never once said goodbye...though we never seemed to stop talking.  But we'll see eachother
again soon enough.  We'll travel again in November to maybe Egypt Morocco (sorry Mum) or eastern
Europe.
  I jump on 'the bus to riha (aka Jerico) with the Palestinians' as Mayada instructed and sit beside a
young girl with wide eyes.  The bus ride was too short.  I think I then went through
a check point before I jumped in a community car to Ramallah.  The guy next to me spoke a bit
of english.  I found out he was from the village Ni'lin and ope he knows Saeed Amirah!
So he sat really close to me and taught me the arabic body parts until we got to Ramallah.
  He was keen to come with me to my destination but I kept saying 'no no Mayada has a car for me'
but see the number for a taxi she gave me was disconnected so this lovely man got us a cab
and he dropped me off like a gentleman and continued onto his village (in the opposite direction).

Another thing I'm going to mention, though I've barely left Ramallah, is that I don't feel like
I'm in another country. I don't feel as though the people here are foreign, or that I'm foreign, which
according to everyone I'm not.  Ana philistiniyya, lol.  The arabic is again very different
so i'm really bad again and everyone corrects me which a different dialect thinking that they'll
teach me one I'll like better or something I don't even know but I'm pretty chill here.
mmyeah
Salamat

The Wadiest of Rums

WADI RUM!
  Wake up early, fix up car and head off for Wadi Rum.  The car ride was suffocating.  There were 6 of us in the long
long drive, and I sat squished beside a pregnant lady.
  We arrive at the visitors centre dirty and exhausted.  I'm not going to retell what happened but a sympathetic man
offered us his "hostel" for a cheap enough price so we accepted.
  He drove us in his cool truck (which had shelthered seating in the trailor where he sat) to his home where we picked figs
and he avoided to take us.  We asked a few times if we could go and he said we couldn't go there yet.
  We just wanted a shower and bed.
  Evntually he takes us, and I can barely appreciate the exquisite scenery of Wadi Rum.  Oh my God, like nothing else.  But
I'm so dirty.
 We stop in a beautiful location, deserted in the desert beside incredible rocks.
  We realize why he'd avoided to take us.  In the middle of the desert, the camp has no shade.
  The series of tents are rooms, and they're boiling.  The loung room tent is all packed up, still very hot, and like the
tents very dark without lights.  The place was closed down, it seemed.  We discovered dirty beds.
  'Clean sheets?' we asked him.  He took us from room to room.  The layers of dirt on the sheets
became increasingly worse.  'Changed them yesterday' he said.  We shook them and said "dirty!". 'Changed them last week,
no tourists since then'.  We left it; he was using language against us and it was draining.
  The toilet had no toilet paper, then it stopped flushing, and the bucket had a hole.
  'Yes. Yes.' he said as we explained it to him.  I don't think he owned the place, honestly, but I think he thought
taking us would both help us and him. Altogether not a bad idea. He was just not very hospitable.
  But we had an abandonned hostel to ourselves, and that was pretty chill.  Enjoyed the sun set, pinks and blues.  His wife
we'd met the day before cooked us dinner. Mansaf!  So he had lied when he said he knew what vegetarian meant.
For the fifth time that week we ate chicken.  I actually really liked it.

So beduins have lived out in Wadi Rum for centuries but now, like Petra, they live in the village and it's a tourist
attraction.
  The village seems quite poor and no shops offered fresh food.




The guy who took us to "his" camp offered us a cheap tour of Wadi Rum which we accepted.  After waking up to no
shade, we schedual the drive for as soon as possible.  You have to hire a car (or a camel) to tour Wadi Rum,
see.  Don't think us lazy. We climbed up a canyon, admired many Nabatean inscriptions
(camels, feet, a map etc), and watched Andrew climb up sand dunes.  But the rocks. Holy Moly. and the blue! The sky was vibrating with the bluest
blue I've ever seen against the hot orange sand.  I also visited Laurence of Arabia's house.  Oooohhhhhhh.

Back at the camp we wait for dinner and play games lazily on our mattresses, relocating with the shade of the rocks
 every so often.

Same dinner Tonight but this time the chicken was cooked with the rice! Oooooooh. We laugh.  We've become very close friends.
  The friendships made been a real highlight thus far.  The stars here are incredible and I've learnt quite a few constallations
now, more than I know from Australia's side of the sky anyway.

Next day
Wake up at 6 for yesterdays breakfast leftovers before we take the 7 oclock bus to Aqaba.
  The bus is already packed, with three people on two person seats, when it stops.  I lower my gaze as we drag huge bags in
and block any traffic along the aisle.
  The bus driver's very casual about it all and seems to be having many conversations at once with the men around him.
  We arrive, find the cheapest hostel and as everyone sleeps I sit here updating my bloggaroo.