In the close confines of Palestinian life, a nascent street-racing scene is hurtling up and taking root. For one of the women sat behind the wheel, freedom is what happens when you refuse to slow down.
Words Jane Reynolds
Photography Greg James
Mona takes a long drag on her cigarette. She's the first to arrive tonight, and nervously taps the steering wheel of her silver Opal Astra, watching, waiting. The low, menacing rumble of cars reaches us long before we see them. They re on their way.

We're at a dusty piece of tarmac the size of a football pitch on the outskirts of Ramallah. It's a piece of land that marks the end of the West Bank. Running alongside us is a barbed-wire fence, separating the occupied Palestinian West Bank from Israel. An Israeli watchtower looms nearby, and occasionally, a green-clad soldier becomes visible, peering curiously at the scene unfolding just a few metres.

A troop of cars appears on the horizon. They screech to a halt and as the dust gathers up and then settles, 18 hard-faced, muscular Palestinian men, each behind the steering wheel of a modified BMW, Mercedes or Volkswagen, peer out of a line-up of dirty front windows. Engines revving, they take no notice of the Israli military vehicles patrolling on the other side of the fence and instead concentrate on the obstacle course that one man and his young son are setting out in front of them.
 
But it's not only men who attend this weekly training session. 24-year-old Mona Ennab and a handful of other twenty-something women are here to join their male counterparts. They have formed their own streetcar racing team, which they call 'The Speed Sisters, and it's led by their captain, Suna Aweidah. At 39, Suna is by far the oldest of the group, acting as a mother figure and mentor, setting an example, enabling them all to have the confidence to pursue their sport.

When Suna first started bringing her sisters' to race with the men, they faced a lot of criticism. But that soon stopped when they demonstrated just what they could do, "When we proved we were good at driving, they started to watch more, to help us more - and now we have this team. They are really happy for us — we can ask them for anything we want," she says.Mona also explains how it wasn't easy to convince the men that she should be with them on the track.
At the age of nineteen, Mona became one of the first female street racers in the West Bank after being spotted speeding through the city's narrow roads by the head of the Palestinian Motorsport Federation.But during races, even when she was doing well and taking the right lines on the obstacle course, the men would distract her by shouting that she was on the "wrong road" - an instant disqualification in the sport. But it didn't put her off.

"I am the fastest women in Palestine"

She says, explaining how she'd simply lock the doors, turn up her Arabichouse music and immerse herself in the moment.Not only have they have even earned enough respect to train with the men of Ramallah, they also participate in the Palestinian Motorsport Federation Championship races, competing with all the other amateur street racers from towns across the West Bank: Jenin, Nablus, Bethlehem and Jericho.At the weekly training session Mona and the women are excited, laughing loudly and hanging through the men's car windows, shaking hands, talking and laughing. This is the moment of the week that they all live for. It's as much a social occasion as anything else - a time for them to escape from the reality and pressures of their society. It offers a release.One by one each racer is timed as they speed around the pre-set course - pulling handbrake turns, performing doughnut spins and weaving in and out of orange cones. The emphasis is on agility and control, but, hitting speeds of up to 50 mph in such a tiny space, part of the rush is about going fast, too.

Mona shouts over her shoulder, clearly feeding off the speed, the reverence radiating from the growing number of observers - or, perhaps, a little bit of both.Later that evening we follow Mona and her crew to an open-air venue that sits nestled into one of Ramallah's hills. US hip-hop pounds from the speakers and drinks are served by waiters running to keep up with orders.'Snow Bar' is run by Amin Maruf, a Christian who claims to own the most popular bar in the city.Mona has cast off her racing attire and, sporting a denim jumpsuit, we find her sipping a double vodka and lemonade. Her eyes are heavily lined with matching blue makeup. Having lived in Ramallah all her life, Mona is well known among this crowd. She flits between tables, and although she thinks of herself as 'one of the guys, there is something flirty and fun in the way she engages people. It seems to be infectious - people gravitate towards her - and she feeds off the attention that comes with being a recognised face.

Mona tells me how much she loves this city.

"The men, they would laugh at me, they said I couldn't do it and that I should be at home like all the other girls"

"I'm the lucky one" she says."My mum tellsme to ignore them. If I didn't have a mum that let me be free, I'd die."

In reality, her solitary Palestinian ID means she has little choice. To cross into Israel is an administrative headache, Jordan is not much easier, and she can count the number of times she has attempted it on one hand.The young of Ramallah have adapted well to their new surrounds.While they test and push the boundaries of Muslim laws and family traditions, they do not flout them outrageously.

While Mona drinks her vodka, others are sipping the local beer, and four of the men around our table, including Monas boyfriend, are drinking Pepsi. They tell me politely that they never drink alcohol. At lam the party starts to wind down.

People pile into their cars and head towards the centre of Ramallah, to another bar that will take over until 4am. But before we go, Mona pulls us towards a dimly lit outside, swimming pool that the Snow Bar normally uses to pull in the day crowds.

"I wouldn't want to live anywhere else,
I have everything here"

We watch cautiously as she heads down the steps, takes off her outer layers of clothing and, in shorts and a strappy vest top, jumps into the pool.Her shrieks and splashes fill the night air. Another of the girl racers, Noor, joins her. As the other girls giggle and look on, a cool breeze picks up, whipping through the valley and, within 10 minutes, Mona is out again.Quickly getting dressed and laughing, she says she likes to do things that surprise people.

The nighttime exploits and adrenaline-fuelled missions are not the only side of Monas life. She is also a young Muslim woman who, although admitting she is not 'very religious, is expected to conform to traditions and fulfill strong obligations to her family.

The first time I meet Monas mother, Naami, is at her cousin's wedding.Her husband died when Mona was still a young child and she never remarried.

There is always a flurry of weddings before Ramadan starts and Naami, a tall, broad woman in beautifully adorned Palestinian dress, tells me she has already attended two earlier in the day.

We arrive to the wedding late - Mona had insisted on going for a drink in another of her favourite bars - and out of the hundred women in the room, Mona is the only one not wearing traditional clothes. In skinny jeans and a white T-shirt, she kisses her mother warmly. Instantly her mother smells the alcohol on her breath and quietly tells Mona to get some chewing gum. Fom the edge of the room we watch Monas cousins dancing together in brightly coloured headscarves. They glance over their shoulders at Mona and it is clear they are whispering. Mona says they always talk about her - about what she does or wears - and says she does not care. But for the first time, she looks awkward.
Yet as another family wedding approaches later that week, we arrive at the small apartment she shares with her mother and sister to find Mona in full traditional dress. She says that sometimes it is perhaps right to wear traditional clothes to family occasions. In her bedroom she looks uncomfortable and cannot do up the belt that accompanies the floor-length red, embroidered dress, and in the end, she throws it to the floor. "It's stupid," she says, "how will I even drive my car in this."

Towards the end of our stay in the West Bank, the penultimate race of the season approaches. The night before the race the excitement among Mona and her teammates is palpable; extra training sessions are hurriedly organised, last minute stickers, flags and banners for their cars are ordered.

As the nerves build, Suna and the Speed Sisters meet for one final consultation. Together they carefully study the racecourse map that they will have less than 24 hours to memorise.

"I am worried he will want a wife who is at home with the children,
and right now I don't want that" she says.

The race takes place in Bethlehem, and the Ramallah team - men and women - set off together in a convoy across the scorched roads of the West Bank, passing several Israeli checkpoints along the way. As they enter the holy city, they join nearly a hundred other competitors rolling into the narrow streets. They all sound their horns, drawing attention from surprised bystanders, tourists and shop workers.

The race itself takes place on the private helipad of the Palestinian President, Mahmoud Abbas, high above the city. The crowd consists almost entirely of men - huge numbers of supporters have flooded in from towns across the West Bank.
The overpowering roar of the engines, the deep chants of the crowd and soldiers guarding the perimeter with guns creates an intimidating atmosphere. Even Mona is nervous and is the first of the girls to take to the track. In her jumpsuit and helmet, she completes the course without any faults and says she is pleased with her time. But in her Opal Astra car, her score can't compete against those driving more adept BMWs and Volkswagens. Out of all the women, she comes in third, but Marah, the youngest of the Speed Sister's team, has done well enough to beat several of the men. Their captain is smiling and says that, as usual, she is proud of what they have achieved, "Everyone, every time, they are improving. So thanks God, Inshallah!" Suna laughs.
Ramallah's men have won the overall title, beating their biggest rivals, Jenin. After they collect their trophies, they begin the victory drive back to their city, leaving Bethlehem to return to its normal daily hum.That night, at a party to celebrate, I speak to Mona about her boyfriend - I have not seen them together for several days and wonder where he is. She tells me she is avoiding him.

I ask if she has thought about marriage. "My family say it's nearly time, but we have some problems," she says, biting her lip. "He is very jealous, and very traditional."

"I am worried he will want a wife who is at home with the children, and right now I don't want that". she says.

I ask if she has thought about marriage. "My family say it's nearly time, but we have some problems," she says, biting her lip. "He is very jealous, and very traditional."

She says she fears that if she marries him, he will stop her from going out and - worst of all - will stop her from racing. "So what will you do?" I ask."For now, I will just wait. For now, I can breathe."