We are invited to visit the Beit Sahour home of two friends from the university whom we meet at the protest - George and George (pictured middle and right), otherwise known unimaginatively as "The Two Georges". Kifah takes this picture of me with them.
They're cousins, Palestinian Christians whose name comes from St. George of dragon-slaying fame. Other popular first names for Christian kids here include Daoud (David) and of course 'Issa (Jesus). Ibrahim (Abraham) is generally not used, as it is also a Muslim name. Religions are funny here. Your family might not have a particularly devout faith in God but heaven help you if you're a Christian trying to marry a Muslim or vice versa. It's like football teams. There's a joke here which goes: A Palestinian-American returns to the West Bank for a visit and strikes up a conversation with a local Palestinian on the street. "What religion are you?" asks the local Palestinian. "I"m an atheist," replies the Palestinian-American. "Well," comes the answer, "are you a Christian atheist or a Muslim atheist?"
It's time to relax a little. We eat a chicken lunch in Beit Jala. We visit Bethlehem University, disturbing couples in the "lovers garden" to take photos of the mountain over the railings. Afterwards we visit the Palestinian peace-orientated Center for Rapprochement Between People in Beit Sahour where the Georges often work in Israeli-Palestinian peace stuff.
Seeing the mountain from Bethlehem University really brought the severity of its confiscation home. It's so near and central. This is one photo I do want. Unfortunately my camera is jammed so I ask Kifah to take it, which he does (right).
On the way out of the town, we get stopped by a Palestinian police patrol while Kifah is trying to take a sunset photo from the car roof. They are wired. We are surrounded by guns. I am a little drained by the various emotions of the day and want to tell them to go and do something useful. Saleem is smiling and chewing the rag with them, trying to chill them out.
Kifah has forgotten his ID card, a bad move in this country. Their commander is confused by his long hair, asking him if he is a Palestinian or if he is a foreigner. "Why don't you speak Arabic if you are a Palestinian?" he asks Kifah in Arabic, who has been speaking Arabic with him. At this point Kifah begins to genuinely have difficulties speaking any language, as he is speechless. Eventually he gets it together enough to splutter "I am Palestinian! What do you think?!" The commander doesn't get it. He asks him two more times.
The commander asks for my identity card. I tell him in Arabic that I don't have an identity card, I have a passport. I ask him exactly what the problem is, in just that tone of voice. He ignores me, takes my passport, and asks Saleem if I am an Israeli. Peeved, I yell through the car window, "Yazalami, ana Scotlandi!" ("Man, I'm Scottish!"). Saleem finds this hilarious later.
We get out the car to smoke cigarettes while the commander radios back to base to ask what to do with us as Kifah hasn't got an ID card. The policemen - or are they soldiers? (after all, how many policemen do you see carrying Kalashnikovs?) - alternate between smiling and glaring at us.
One asks for a light. I am finding it hard to reconcile the potential 'threat' posed by three unarmed people driving through quiet Beit Sahour with the melodramatic behaviour of these Palestinian policemen. I want to laugh at them and I want to rant at them, both at the same time.
We tell them we were here to photograph the Israelis at Abu Ghnaim, to give them a sense of why we are here. Thinking back to the most striking image of the day for me - seeing Israeli paratroopers framed against the confiscated Palestinian mountain they were guarding (pictured left) - and everything that means, what these five 'policemen' are doing is unfathomable.
After ten minutes of radio communication and us showing the commander every piece of national and university ID that we do have, he apologises and let us go. "We are sorry," he says to Saleem, pointing at Kifah, "but his hair is long. He doesn't look like Palestinian."
On the way home, Saleem and I are killing ourselves laughing. Kifah is sulking in the back seat. I turn round and pull his goatee beard, "Aish malak ya sakhl? Sha'arak helou!" ("What's the problem, O goat? Your hair is lovely!"). Saleem likes this a lot.
Eventually, we get a reluctant smile out of Kifah.