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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
