More than two years ago, I traded
in my life in New York City for a new one in Cairo.  I had just graduated
from Harvard University with a Masters degree in Middle Eastern Studies, and
had won a Fulbright scholarship to write a book about belly dance in
Egypt. A more secretive goal of mine, however, was to learn Egyptian belly
dance. The real thing. Ever since participating in Raqia Hassan’s Ahlan wa
Sahlan dance festival in 2006, I knew it could only happen in
Egypt.   

Though I had taken belly dance
classes and became a popular performer in NYC, watching belly dance superstars Dina,
Randa, Asmahan, and Sorraya perform at Raqia’s festival shattered all delusions
I had regarding my ability to dance. My dance confidence thereby humbled, I
realized I would have to live in Egypt if I wanted to be a fraction as talented
as these women. There was simply no equivalent in the US.          

At just 23-years-old, I was convinced
that moving to Egypt was all but impossible. So I put this desire on the
backburner and focused on my education. I applied to Harvard University’s
Masters program in Middle Eastern Studies. I started in 2006. For the next two
years of my life, I spent long nights in the library studying radical Islam, my
other passion. However, I couldn’t get Egypt out of my head. So I applied for a
Fulbright Scholarship to get funding to do research in Egypt. 

The Fulbright seemed to be the
perfect way to move to Egypt, all expenses paid, and with the structure and
protection of US government program. But I would have to convince the Fulbright
Commission to give me money. I would have to entice them with a juicy project
proposal. The first topic that occurred to me for a research project was belly
dancing. But what exactly about this dance was worthy of research?  What
would make it relevant to a general American audience? What about that
would make Uncle Sam fork over some money?  

The
answer was Islam. The radical kind that wants to put headscarves on
five-year-old girls. And what does Islam have to do with belly dancing, you
ask. Everything, considering how a thirty-year grassroots Islamic resurgence had
(indirectly) caused the number of Egyptian belly dance stars to dwindle. So
this was what I proposed to the Fulbright Commission—firsthand research on the
ways in which the Islamic resurgence had negatively impacted the belly dance
industry in Egypt… about how that country went from having multiple dance stars
in the sixties and seventies to just one lone star in the nineties—Dina. 

To my delight, I won a grant. I
basically won a free ride to Egypt to do the two things I loved most—belly
dancing, on the one hand, and geeking out over radical Islamist movements, on
the other. (What a strange, contradictory set of interests, I know.)

I like to think I accomplished a
lot since arriving to Cairo in 2008, including things I never intended to. I’ve
been interviewing belly dance superstars for my research, taking multiple dance
classes a week, attending belly dance festivals, and working as a teaching
assistant in the instructional DVDs of Raqia Hassan, Mohamed Shahin, Dalila of
Cairo, and Atef & Magda of the Reda Troupe.  I’ve also been designing
my own costumes with Cairo’s top costume designers.

Most
unexpectedly, I started performing in Cairo, living a dream I never knew I had.
Though I never entertained the idea of dancing here, countless opportunities have
been presenting themselves to me. Most recently, I signed contracts with the
Semiramis Hotel and with Egypt Tours Nile Cruises, where I have been performing
two to six shows a night, every night. 

My good
fortune notwithstanding, I’d be lying if I said my life here is all glitz and
glam. Living and dancing in Egypt is not for the weak. It comes at a huge
mental, emotional, physical and financial expense. And, so much of what I value
as an American woman do not exist here… certain freedoms, financial security,
independence, and at times, happiness, self-respect, and sanity.  Not to
mention I miss my family and friends back home.

Why do I put myself through this,
then?  The answer is that nothing compares to the joy I get from
performing to a large band in front of an appreciative audience.  I do it
because I love being the sole creator of my entire show, from choosing
musicians to choreographing dances to everything in between. 

I also do it because I can, and while
I can.  The sad truth is that belly dancing, like other entertainment
careers, is a short-lived career. It demands a certain look and a certain
age.  If I’m going to be a belly dancer in Cairo, now is the time, before
I get older, married, and tied down in other commitments.  And though I
get loads of criticism from family, friends, and other US-based dancers for
choosing this career path, I know in my heart that this is what I want to
do. Indeed, my biggest fear is turning forty, looking back on my life, and
uttering the words “I wish I would have…”  By the look of things so far, I
won’t have to worry about that.