For Palestinian women soccer players, a field is a dream

Her bedroom, she says, is plastered with pictures of her favorite team, Brazil, and its star player, Ronaldinho. "Our society has a very male-centered mentality," she continues, "but we're showing women there's a different way. Step by step, from the inside, we're changing things around."

"I feel powerful when I'm playing soccer," says Amira Hodaly, who studies physical therapy at Bethlehem University, "I started when I was 10, playing alongside my brothers. Now that I'm older, it's less accepted than when I was just a child. But," she adds, smiling, "I don't care."

Though many of the players have been teased by their male peers for their soccer passion, most have received support and encouragement from their families.

Ghada Hodeli, a university accounting student, is engaged to be married. Although her fiancé doesn't play soccer himself, he understands why she does. Several other players, however, have had to deal with a more disapproving response.

"My parents don't really like me playing," says Sarab Shair, a 21-year-old Muslim who grew up in a children's home and was later adopted by a local family. "But they don't have a choice.... They also want me to wear the veil if I have to play at all, but I've refused that, too."

Instead, like most of the girls, she plays in shorts and T-shirt, her hair swept back into a ponytail. Some other Muslim players, like Navin Kaleab, sister of goalkeeper Nadeen, play in long sleeves, pants, and a head scarf. But it does not affect her performance, she says with a soft smile. Though the local Hamas administration supports the team in theory, Mousa notes that the authorities have advised that the team cover up and play indoors, away from male spectators. So far, the team has not been forced to do either.

Opportunities for the entire national team to play together are extremely rare. The handful of team members from Ramallah and the Gaza Strip can't come to practices in Bethlehem. They train locally, often with fewer resources and even less support than the girls in Bethlehem. The team can meet and play together only at overseas championships.

The first such opportunity came last year at the West Asian women's football championship in Jordan. "It was a strange experience," recalls Hilal, "the team playing a game together without even knowing each other's names."

Not only was it their first time playing on grass, it was their first game as a full 11-member team. "But even so, the girls did well as beginners," Mousa says. "They played against the Egyptian national team, and though they lost, it wasn't by a big margin. In the future, it will only get better."

If they do manage to attend the Abu Dhabi championships in January, the team aims to prove its potential against its professional, well-financed competition.

By 5:30 p.m., dusk is falling in Bethlehem. On the horizon, a vivid pink sky hangs above the looming concrete "security barrier," which snakes across the countryside below. As the field slips into darkness, the girls pile into two cars waiting to drive them home.

"Although we can't yet compare with many other clubs, other teams are still quite scared to play against us," says Thaljieh cheerfully, as muezzins and church bells start to echo in the evening air. "We might not have the facilities that they have, but they know we have the ability, the courage, and the determination to win. And, one day, we will."

Page: 1 | 2