The following article was written by Ms Afiefah Osman, an Ecumenical Accompanier from Pietermaritzburg who recently returned from Palestine and Israel.

FREEDOM in SA has taken on a new meaning for me as I had forgotten what it was like to be restricted, but being in Palestine brought back those memories. It was like having a scab pulled off a wound that has not completely healed. You know the pain is quick and instant, but the exposed wound leaves you completely sensitised and vulnerable. Suffice to say the ability to survive and cope kicks in and you begin to function within the oppression.

I was pretty hesitant to make my first visit to Al Aqsa. The truth is I put off going, making excuses - many excuses. One of the reasons was just fear at identifying myself as a Muslim. I never feel completely safe and secure here. With Palestinians, I am happy to be Muslim but the moment I am in a place where there are soldiers I just don't. I finally summed up the courage to walk to Al Aqsa on a Friday. Nobody was allowed to accompany me, as it is only open to Muslims on a Friday. With much trepidation I walked down the street to one of the entrances. At the first checkpoint, I met an Israeli policeman who checked my passport and asked me if I was Muslim. I was dressed as a Westerner and had no cloak on. He wanted me to prove I was Muslim. I explained to him my name would indicate I was Muslim. Incidentally, my name is a common Arabic name. He was giving me hard time, but in this place you have to keep things in context. Given I was not wearing a cloak and scarf as I walked down the street to the mosque, I would be viewed with suspicion when I suddenly stepped into a shop and emerged with a cloak and scarf. If the interrogation by the Israelis were not bad enough, the Palestinian guard would not allow me into the mosque until I satisfied his questioning which was like a religious quiz. It was my first visit and given the whole Sharon visit, I was happy to buy into the need for security. Once in the mosque complex, I never felt completely at ease. I went to Al Aqsa and the Dome of the Rock, said my prayers and thought "I am not coming back here". This was so different to my experience in Medina and Mecca where I revelled in my identity as a Muslim. At Al Aqsa, I felt harassed, afraid, insecure and alone.

I went back to Hebron and, during a visit to a very kind Palestinian family, I mentioned my visit to Al Aqsa. The daughter in the family was so excited as she had never been, and it was her dream to go. Why was this a dream and not a commonplace event? Well, despite the fact she lives about an hour away, she would have to apply for a permit to visit Jerusalem, which would be practically impossible to get. I promised I would go and pray at the mosque on her behalf, given the fact I would be allowed to. Once again, my second visit was the same as the first: the need for me to prove I was Muslim, which meant that I would have the humiliating task of reciting a verse from the Koran to some grinning Israeli policeman. I hated this questioning, but I was unwilling to walk down the street in a cloak and understood that changing into a cloak just before entering the mosque may invoke suspicion. This time the Palestinian guard from the mosque saved me by saying he knew me. I was fed up at this stage, but the idea of doing this for someone who did not have the same privilege as me kept me going, and I dismissed my feelings of discomfort.

I am not sure if many of you know the story of the ascension of the Prophet Mohammed. Well, it is a very significant night in the Muslim calendar, and I was fortunate enough to be in Jerusalem on the night. Muslims often spend the night in prayer at the mosque or at home, and countries with large Muslim communities often declare this day a public holiday. How often does a Muslim person by pure chance find himself or herself at this time at the place at which the Ascension is believed to have occurred? . After much personal debate, I decided to go while dreading having to put myself through the entire process of "proving" my Muslim identity once again.

What did this night feel like for me in this significant place? To be honest, there were not many people, I felt no magical mystical presence and was a little disappointed. It was not at all as I had imagined. I think it is important to note the streets to the Old City of Jerusalem were closed to traffic so access was practically impossible on that night. Palestinians living in the West Bank require a permit to visit, which is practically impossible to get. The mosque closed as it normally does at 10pm every evening, so I guess I should not be surprised the night is not marked with any great significance in Jerusalem.

So after my disappointing evening, I decided I would be good and go to the mosque early the next morning. This time I would walk with my cloak and scarf through the streets to the mosque, as there would not be too many people milling about at that part of the morning, and I was just tired of "proving" my identity. Well, while my intentions were good, I could not get up at the time of the early prayers. Given my safety issues about loitering along the streets at that part of the morning, I decided to go around 7am rather than at the crack of dawn. When I got there, the guards put me through the entire ordeal of proving my identity. It was at that moment I realised it had nothing to do with safety, and yes, while I believed in keeping things in context and trying to "walk in their shoes", they were working with a completely different script to me. They were just messing with me, as they would do to any Palestinian.

On leaving the mosque, my normal reaction would have been to take of my cloak and headscarf as I walked back to the hotel. In defiance, I walked in complete cloak and headscarf. It was a very significant moment for me, as I truly understood the reasons behind Palestinians wearing the cloak and headscarf since the second Intifada. It had nothing to do with the rise of "Islamic fundamentalism", but rather just a question of identity and defiance to the oppression of your identity. Living in this type of situation I am surprised people have faith at all.

I work for SACC as an Ecumenical Accompanier serving on the World Council of Churches' Ecumenical Accompaniment Programme in Palestine and Israel (EAPPI). The views contained herein are personal and do not necessarily reflect those of my employer SACC or the WCC. If you would like to publish the information contained in here or disseminate it further, please contact the EAPPI Communications Officer and Managing Editor for permission. Thank you.