once upon a weekend

the girls slept late and wore their pyjamas until one in the afternoon.
they enjoyed some autumn athmosphere with hot chocolates and good finnish music.
and the walls of stone radiaded cold.

they saw their palestinian little brother, gave him some food
and rejoiced over seeing his asthonished face after receiving.

they spent the night in beit jala, where a patient arab girl taught them
to pronounce the numbers and the girls found their finnish throats not to be able so say such words. they slept not so well after drinking arabic coffee, but were warm under the heavy blankets.

early in the morning they woke up, joined an arab lady to pick some olives at her garden.
they picked and picked and picked and time went by fast.
a taxi took them to the checkpoint, where they didnt fit in, and laughed hard.
they saw men being stripped off from their shoes and waited for the red lights to turn green.

in the bus they met a blond lady, who invited them to work in her hostel she is going to open in betlehem. they marvelled at these meetings the writer of the story keeps giving them.

in the evening they met a friend, walked around, laughed, tasted narkila (the sweet taste tobacco) and teased their brains with some riddles.
then walked back home really close each other to avoid the coolness.

back home they needed to switch their blankets to thicker ones.

its autumn.