Audiences

One of the perks of being a contracted
dancer in Cairo is that you get to perform quite regularly.  Some of us work a few nights a week. Others
work multiple times a day, depending on the venue, the popularity of the
dancer, and these days, whether there is enough business. What could be better
than doing what you love every single day. It seems like the ideal work
situation. And it is. Except I wasn’t too sure of that when I first got contracted.
Here’s why.

Anytime you turn your artistic passion
into a job, you run the risk of losing the passion. This is because a job
entails obligation, routinization, and money, whereas art is antithetical to
all of that. Art is a gift from God. It is not something we can always produce
on command. Hence, we often hear the word inspiration associated with art. Artists
seek and wait for inspiration, and when
it comes, we become impassioned and produce our best work. Since inspiration
can neither be forced nor rushed, it almost seems ridiculous to turn art into a
living the way we would law, medicine, or dry cleaning. And yet, somehow, after
a year of performing every single night, I have not lost an ounce of passion
for the dance. Rather, what I have noticed is that my enthusiasm for the dance
has increased, and is highly dependent on the enthusiasm of the audience.
 

Audiences are
really important for belly dancers; the performer-audience dynamic is much more
intimate than it is in other dances. It is also more interactive. Unlike in
ballet and other stage dances, we actually see
our audiences and make eye contact with them. We can tell who is enjoying the
moment, who is moved, who is bored, who is feeling insecure, who is
embarrassed, who is imagining inappropriate things, who is judging us, etc. We
can pull them up to dance with us, take pictures with us, and we can even joke
with them. All of this affects our mood and has an impact on the performances
we deliver. Dancing for an audience that is already cheering before you even
enter the room makes for a better performance than entering a room full of
sleeping tourists or sour-faced religious people. 

I have probably performed for every type
of audience imaginable by now. Egyptians, Arabs, tourists, fellow belly dancers,
friends, enemies, rich, poor, religious, non-religious, politicians,
celebrities, Muslim Brotherhood, women only (and once, men-only), polite,
appreciative, rude, aggressive, fun, crazy, sleeping, stuffy and pretentious,
obnoxious. I have had religious (non) audiences walk out before and during my
show, and jet-lagged, worn-out tourists literally sleep through my entire performance.
I have also had audiences cheer, zaghareet,
and scream with joy.  Audiences have also
hurled flowers at me, kissed me, and shower me with compliments, all while I
was dancing. Heck, I have even had people pluck feathers out of my costume
while I was on stage! Though I (obviously) favor some audience types over
others, each one has taught me something about myself, human nature, and most
of all, about the dance.

The most important thing I have come to
appreciate is that belly dance is a social dance. It is a dance that happens in
festive social gatherings such as weddings, hinnas
(bachelorette parties),
birthday parties, and subuas (a rough equivalent to Christenings),
etc. I already knew this from my beginner belly dance classes back in
New York City. But I knew it in an intellectual, abstract way. Here in Egypt, I
feel this knowledge every single day.
Since the audience and the dancer are each other’s “society” for the duration
of the show, they feed off of each other’s energy. With that said, I thought it
would be interesting to describe the different audiences I have encountered, their
requirements and expectations, and explain how they each affect my dance. 

************

I will start with the Egyptian audience. The
Egyptian audience is hands down the best
audience for a belly dance performance. Nobody enjoys or understands Egyptian
music and dance more than Egyptians. Most of the time, Egyptians look forward
to watching the belly dancer and dancing with her. They cheer before, during,
and after the show. Men and women invite themselves to dance with her. Others,
mainly veiled women, know that they “shouldn’t” dance, but cannot resist. I
love watching these women let loose on the dance floor, and I love watching the
reactions of other audience members, especially tourists who think veiled women
do not dance.

I give my best performances when I dance
for Egyptians. I know they understand what I am doing, which makes me feel free
to just dance. I am free to emote and to be myself. I do not have to worry
about whether I am not doing enough, the way I worry when I dance for some
foreign audiences. If anything, I worry about whether I’m doing too much. Egyptian belly dance is more
subtle and relaxed than the more acrobatic versions of belly dance we see outside
of Egypt. It is about feeling and emotion. Egyptians do not need to see you
twist yourself into a knot, stand on your head, or do every single move you have
ever learned as fast as you can, just because you can. They just need to know
they can trust your performance—that you understand the music, you know what
you are doing, and most importantly, that you are enjoying yourself. They also
want to see a pretty girl in front of them,

My absolute favorite thing about Egyptian
audiences, however, is the fact that they are engaged.  They will usually give you feedback, and if
need be, constructive criticism. They tell you whether or not they liked your
performance, your costumes, and your hair. They tell you when you need to slow
down, calm down, or take it up a notch. They tell you that you need to gain or
lose a little weight, and that you should not wear this or that color. If they
really like you, they compare you to legendary Egyptian dancers and hire you to
dance at their children’s weddings. In short, Egyptians want you to become the
best dancer you could be. This is something I really appreciate, as constructive criticism is something that
is lacking in our dance community.  Dancers
praise their friends and bash their enemies without giving any real thought to
the quality of their work, so it is refreshing to listen to objective feedback from
disinterested observers who do not have an axe to grind.

As much as I love
dancing for Egyptians, I would be lying if I said they are all as enthusiastic as
the ones I just described. There are some who simply do not like music and
dance. And there are some who do, but who are not comfortable demonstrating that
in public. I see quite a bit of this with nouveau
riche Egyptians—the newly-moneyed strata of Egyptian society with actual professions,
nice cars, western clothing, and pretentious demeanors. These are
self-important people embarrassed by all things Egyptian, especially belly
dancing (as if fully naked girls dancing for money isn’t a thing in the West). These
are the Egyptians who pretend they are not watching you dance, and who pretend
they themselves do not want to dance with you. 

Second to
Egyptians, the audience I enjoy the most is an audience of belly dancers. Since
I started performing at the Nile Memphis one year ago, I have performed for dancers
from all over the world. As dancers, they understand what I am doing and they know
how to be a good audience. They are also the most critical. Nevertheless, the
energy is always high and always positive. 
And they always join me on the dance floor, which makes my show even
better.

************

Then there are the
religious crowds. With the exception of a group of Muslim Brotherhood members a
few months ago, nearly all religious audiences I have encountered leave the
room when I dance, or else remain seated and frown throughout my entire show. Needless
to say, this is the worst audience to perform for. As if publicly dancing in a
skimpy costume does not take enough guts, these people try to make me feel like
a sinful, lowlife whore. Whenever I dance for a crowd like that, I find myself
getting all psychoanalytical. I imagine all the things they are thinking about
me, like how I am going to hell because I dance. I start thinking about religion
and politics—not the topics you want
to think about on stage—and then I hold back on my performance. My movements
become smaller and less energetic. My smile fades. I avoid making eye contact
with anyone, even the women. In short, I recoil. I do not feel comfortable
being judged in that kind of way while
I am trying to entertain. Luckily, most of the Egyptians I dance for are not
like this. They are usually happy to watch me dance, and even come to take
pictures before I disappear into the changing room. 

Though I tailor my
performances to suit the audience, my one constant is never making eye contact
with men in the audience. Never, unless they are unaccompanied by women. Women
tend to be a bit unnerved by a belly dancer who can look their men straight in
the eye, especially on their wedding day. So, I don’t do it out of respect for the
women. It makes them feel more comfortable, and reassured that I am not some
psycho-slut out to snatch their man. 

************

Foreign audiences
are a little different. For some people, watching a belly dancer is the highlight
of their trip to Egypt. It is easy to tell who these people are simply by the way
their eyes twinkle when you step on stage. They start smiling and clapping, and
they cannot take their eyes off you. 
These kinds of tourists make me love my job. They want to watch me, and I want to give them a good show. It works out
nicely.

There are others,
however, who make my job a little more difficult. Occasionally, I wind up
dancing for a group of jet-lagged, worn-out tourists who are literally asleep
in their seats before I even enter the room. Nothing in the world can wake them
up. Not my band, and definitely not me. I could stand on my head and do eleven
pirouettes and they still would not wake up. This is the most uninspiring
audience to entertain. I can sympathize with them to an extent. I know what it
is like to cram all of Egypt into a 1-week tour; between the jet lag, exhaustion,
and food poisoning, you want to kill yourself. Nevertheless, when I am
performing for sleeping tourists, I find myself getting pissed, not
commiserating with them. I lose interest in what I am doing and can’t wait to
get off stage to do something more constructive.

The sheer
diversity of audiences here in Cairo is amazing.  And though I do not enjoy dancing for
everyone equally, I learn something from each performance. The best thing about
it is that you never know who your audiences are before getting on stage. There
is always a bit of a surprise to it. It’s like Forest Gump. Each show is like a
box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.