Adjustments
I just realized that I have been living here in Cairo for more than three years. This is a long time for someone who never intended to live or work here. With all the uncertainty in the air about Egypt’s future, one wonders how much longer I and others like me can thrive here. But rather than speculate about the future (again), I have decided to reflect on my past and share a few of the adjustments I made as a dancer. There were many, because belly dance outside of Egypt is a totally different animal than belly dance inside Egypt. There were adjustments in technicality, musicality, and even physicality. There were adjustments in music selection and music understanding, costuming and audience. And there were changes in attitude, ethics and comportment.
Technique
Perhaps one of my biggest initial challenges as a foreign student of Egyptian dance was learning proper technique. Egyptian technique is much more subtle, nuanced, and intricate than what most of us learn back home. Movements are smaller and more precise, more controlled and more meaningful. Upon studying dance here, I had to unlearn everything I thought I knew and start from scratch. For example, in the US, I learned to do everything in plié. Shimmy in plié. Hip drops in plié. Figure 8’s in plié. I never noticed how bent my knees were until I came here and Egyptians pointed it out. Not only do bent knees look bad, but they prevent us from making our hip movements as powerful as possible. I have since straightened up and become a stickler for straight knees, as anyone who has ever taken class with me can attest.
No sooner had I replaced my American technique with Egyptian vocabulary than I met my next challenge: slowing down. Non-Egyptian dancers have a tendency to do too much too fast too soon. If we don’t cram all the moves we know into one piece of music, if we don’t hit every single doom and tak, we feel as though we’re not doing the music justice. This isn’t necessarily the case. Less really is more. Slowing down is probably THE single most valuable piece of advice I have heard in all my years here, and it came from none other than Sara Farouk. I consider Sara one of Cairo’s best kept secrets. She is the organizer of the Randa Kamel of Course intensive held twice a year here in Cairo, and an assistant to costume designer Eman Zaki. More than that, Sara is one of the best belly dance instructors I’ve encountered, and a really good friend. She has a talent for spotting all of your belly dance flaws and correcting them. Now, every time I go on stage, I think of Sara and make a point of slowing down and feeling the music, no matter what I’m doing.
The Show
These were some of the technical adjustments I had to make as a student relearning how to belly dance in Egypt. When I finally found a stage, however, I had other things to think about. For starters, the shows here are longer. A typical belly dance performance at any hotel, boat or wedding runs between 45 minutes to an hour. They are not the 15 to 20 minute gigs we do back home in one costume. Each show is divided into 2 to 5 sections, depending on the performance format of the venue. The dancer changes her costume for each section, and performs to a different sub-genre of Egyptian music. For example, in the first set, the dancer will usually dance to an instrumental entrance piece, which is what Egyptians call the mejance, and followed by one or two classics. This takes anywhere between ten and twenty minutes. She then changes her costume and dances her second set for another ten to twenty minutes. Typically, the second set involves some type of folklore and shaabi music. Whether it’s saidi, iskanderani, Nubian or khaligi, the dancer costumes appropriately. For the third set, dancers usually wear another belly dance costume and continue with things like sharqi, baladi, and finish with a drum solo. Some performances deviate from this, but this is generally the standard belly dance show format in Egypt.
Because the shows are longer and more comprehensive, I had to really brush up on all types of folklore. I could not rely on all the (con)fusion I learned back home, because things like wings, fan veils, swords, and candle trays just don’t cut it here. Egyptian audiences want to watch you dance, not do circus acts. This was actually a relief for me, as I never really enjoyed dancing with props.
Music
Music selection was another big one for me. Because the Middle Eastern community in New York is diverse, I would dance to Egyptian, Lebanese, Syrian and Turkish music all in one set. In Egypt, however, people’s taste in music is well, Egyptian. Unless it’s George Wassouf or or someone like Melhem Barakat, I learned not to deviate too far from the standard Egyptian classics that all Egyptians know and love. I also learned that I really need to understand song lyrics. Not so that I can play charades on stage, but so that I can be emotionally in tune with the music.
Physical Appearance
Physically, I’ve also undergone some changes… for the better, I like to think. For the first two years that I lived here, I was sickly skinny. You could see my ribs, and I had no rear. This was odd, being that I had always been slightly on the round side. It’s not that I was on a diet or even exercising that much. I was, however, under a whole lot of stress. Between adjusting to the culture and constantly dealing with selfish, narcissistic types, I entered into a depressive slump that affected not only my weight, but my entire outlook on life. Luckily, I was able to make the changes I needed in order to restore my health, happiness, sanity, and love handles. Not to mention my big old butt….
…which is having a difficult time squeezing into costumes these days. (Thank God I live within a three-mile radius of Eman Zaki and can have costumes custom made!). Any other girl would be freaking out if she gained the 25 pounds that I have gained since moving here, but not me. I’m proud of them. They serve me well on stage. I kind of like how every sharp movement I do now has an unintentional shimmy reverb. Not to mention, Egyptians like a little more junk in the trunk. So it all works out.
Which brings me to my next point. Dancers here are encouraged to select the costumes that flatter their curves the most. That means tight-fitting lycra skirts that trace every dimple and cellulite deposit on your thighs and butt. Sexy. The more traditional chiffon bra and belt numbers are no longer in fashion. Nobody wears them here. Ever. Nobody does fringe that much either. This all came as a shock to me when I first arrived here, because most of us wear these traditional bedlas back home. Except for the lack of fringe, I have taken quite a liking to the more modern costumes, even if they do define my thigh dimples every now and then. With lycra, the possibilities are endless. From newspaper-print lycra to heavily-sequined spandex, stretch fabric has stretched our imaginations to the extremes. Hence, fabric shopping has become a regular part of my weekly routine. This is why I now own more than 30 pieces of fabric, all waiting to be transformed into gorgeous costumes.
Attitude
Alongside all the changes I made in technique, music selection, and costuming, the biggest adjustment I have been making is one of consciousness. I no longer belly dance. I am a belly dancer. Meaning, belly dance isn’t just a hobby I do on the weekends to make a few extra bucks. It is my full-time job now, and it pays my bills.
I am also no longer a one-woman production the way I was in New York. Back home, I would show up for my gigs, CD in hand, ready to dance for fifteen minutes and do it all over again at the next venue. It was just me, myself, and I. Here, I am part of a larger team of musicians, managers, agents, and male dancers… you know, those young guys who do the cheesy YMCA-type movements at the beginning of any belly dance show? They also share the stage with me when I perform any type of folklore. Because we interact with each other while dancing saidi or Alexandrian, we actually have to conduct rehearsals from time to time. This is always fun(ny).
Though I am technically part of a team of musicians an ddancer, the concept of teamwork does not always apply the way it would outside of Egypt. For example, Egyptian dancers see (and often treat) their musicians as inferiors. As tools. Foreign dancers are taught to do the same. Unnecessary interaction with the band is strongly discouraged, which means there is little to no camaraderie amongst coworkers even though we see each other every day. I’m sure each dancer’s situation varies somewhat, and there are examples of dancers breaking the rules, but generally this is the dynamic between a belly dancer and her band. I personally try to keep things a little less formal and more humane, but this doesn’t always work out.
Though I am technically part of a team of musicians an ddancer, the concept of teamwork does not always apply the way it would outside of Egypt. For example, Egyptian dancers see (and often treat) their musicians as inferiors. As tools. Foreign dancers are taught to do the same. Unnecessary interaction with the band is strongly discouraged, which means there is little to no camaraderie amongst coworkers even though we see each other every day. I’m sure each dancer’s situation varies somewhat, and there are examples of dancers breaking the rules, but generally this is the dynamic between a belly dancer and her band. I personally try to keep things a little less formal and more humane, but this doesn’t always work out.
Contract
The fact that I am now contracted means that my job imposes certain responsibilities on me. Kind of like any other ‘normal’ job would. For example, no matter how sick I am, I can’t just not show up for work, or send a replacement and hope they like her. I also have to constantly update my costume wardrobe. In short, I have to be on top of my game, because in Egypt, the belly dancer is the reason for the evening. Egyptians and tourists go to venues that feature belly dancing specifically to watch the dancer. Not like in the US, where people go to restaurants to eat, and ‘oh by the way’ there’s a belly dancer. When you’re a ‘by-the-way’ belly dancer, you can get away with not doing your best—your audience is more interested in that chicken on the plate anyway. In Egypt, all eyes are on the belly dancer for the complete duration of her performance. So, there is more pressure for her to be at her best (assuming she cares). In the end, however, it is totally rewarding. Both Egyptian and foreign audiences appreciate a good show. In fact, it is quite common for audience members to treat good dancers as celebrities… running after them before they disappear into the changing room, begging to be photographed with them, kissing them, or hiring them for so-and-so’s wedding.
I will never forget my very first show in Egypt two years ago. It was at a remote Red Sea resort two hours away from Cairo. Before I could even finish taking a bow, I had almost the entire audience up on stage with me—kids, moms, dads—kissing my sweating face and pulling me alongside them to take pictures. Never before had I seen an audience react to a belly dancer this way before. I was overwhelmed by the love. At first, I thought maybe it was just this particular audience that was particularly warm, but the more I performed, the more I encountered similar reactions. I’ve heard other popular dancers in Cairo relate similar experiences as well, which means Egyptians really appreciate a good show.
When people ask me what is keeping me in Egypt all this time, I answer, this. Knowing that I have made people happy with my performance. Knowing that audiences truly appreciate my art. Because other than great audiences, mostly everything else that comes with being a belly dancer in Cairo is some type of nastiness. Indeed, one of the mysteries of the universe is how an artist makes so many people happy could be considered a hell-bound prostitute by those same individuals. It’s a real mindfuck, let me tell you… feeling like a sinner and a celebrity all at the same time.
One thing is for sure: I am neither a sinner nor a celebrity, but I have learned to accept that other people see me as such. More importantly, I am a different dancer than the one I used to be in New York, and a different dancer than the one I will be in two more years… because each night on the stage is a learning experience as much as it is a gift.
