The Whore on the 4th Floor

My Secret Life as a Belly Dancer in Cairo

This might sound strange, but here in Cairo, I lead a secret life. I’m not a spy or anything. I’m just a belly dancer. But I make great efforts to hide this from people. When Egyptians ask me what I’m doing in Cairo, I tell them I’m writing a book about Egyptian “art.” I keep things vague, but not untrue. I am, after all, writing a book, and its subject is belly dancing, which is an Egyptian art. Never do I mention that I’m a practitioner of this art, however. Doing so would unleash a series of unfavorable consequences, not the least of which is being labeled a whore.

You might be thinking, “So what? Sticks and stones will break my bones but words will never hurt me.” Unfortunately, this doesn’t apply here. True, it’s not like I’ll be stoned for being a belly dancer, but I might…oh, let’s see… get kicked out of my apartment.

Oddly enough, this is exactly what happened to me last year (in fact today marks the one-year anniversary of my eviction!). My landlord virtually kicked me out of my apartment upon learning that I am a belly dancer!

This is what happened. In September of 2009, I was apartment hunting again (for the 5^th time in one year!). After weeks of searching, I finally found the perfect flat in Doqqi. It was on the 4^th floor. It had 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, a large reception area, AND an extra room that could be made into a dance studio. Most importantly, the price was right. I told the real estate agent that I would rent this apartment and would like to sign a lease with the landlord. The landlord, I was told, was living in Kuwait, but his sister Wiam would act on his behalf. So I met with Wiam and her two young sons.

Our meeting was cordial enough. And then she popped THE question: “So what are you doing here in Cairo?” (Mind you, Wiam had just made a point of saying that she was very religious, and that her whole family was conservative.) “I… um…I’m writing a book about Egyptian art,” I blurted. “Oh, so you attend the American University in Cairo?” she asked. “Um… I guess you could say that,” I answered, and then we signed a 6-month lease.

Fast forward 2 months. I’m hired to belly dance at the Paradise Hotel in a city called Ras Sidr, which is 3-hours away from Cairo. I did my usual 45-minute show with three costume changes. It must have been the first time the hotel hired a foreign belly dancer, and the audience was loving every minute of it. They were cheering, whistling, clapping, screaming and even throwing roses at me. I left the stage feeling so good about myself…

…and then, two young boys approached me as I walked to the changing room. “Excuse me,” they said. “Aren’t you the girl who lives at 22 Doqqi Street?” “WHY YES I!—am. Wait, how do you know that?!” I asked. “Because our mother is Wiam,” they replied. “She was sitting inside with us watching you dance. She said you dance really well.”

The boys’ words hit me like a ton of bricks. All the joy that I felt just two seconds before seeing them turned to disgust. “Just my luck,” I thought. “Wiam catches me belly dancing in a random hotel 3 hours away from Cairo! “Now she’ll tell her brother and he will kick me out of his apartment.”

Sure enough, my thoughts materialized. Mohamed came back to Cairo from Kuwait in March of the following year, and the first thing he did was say that he would more than double the rent. When I said I wouldn’t be able to pay the rent increase, he said rather sharply that I MUST have lots of money, being that I’m a belly dancer.

“So this is what it’s all about,” I said. “I’m a belly dancer and you’re not comfortable with that.” He admitted that he did not like the idea of a dancer living in his flat, because he and his family were “people of God.”

So what does that make me?! The daughter of Satan?!?

One of the things I hate the most about Egypt is the way the majority of Egyptians view belly dancing. Here, as in the rest of the Arab world, belly dancing is a synonym for prostitution. It is not an art. The belly dancer, or ra’assa, is a whore. Any woman who dares show her flesh and “titillate” men with her sexy jiggles and vibrations is looked down upon.

Admittedly, much of this thinking has to do with the fact that historically, most Egyptian belly dancers have engaged in prostitution. In fact, Muhammad Ali famously banished all the belly dancers (awalim) from Cairo in the 19^th century for supposedly spreading gonorrhea amongst French and British soldiers who were stationed in Cairo.

The other factor responsible for this view is Islam, which has a strong hold on Egyptians’ imaginations.  Islam demands female modesty, and says that a woman’s beauty must be reserved for her husband. Displaying hair and skin in the presence of men is considered sinful (not to mention dancing half-naked in front of them!).

Though I was always aware of this mentality, I always held a “not my problem” attitude toward it. Now that I live here, it is my problem. I take extra precaution not to let anyone know that I’m a belly dancer. I keep my makeup to a minimum when traveling to and from work. I wrap my sequined Saidi sticks in a huge black garbage bag, and when I practice dance in my apartment, I keep the music low.

Nevertheless, my secret manages to escape, as the events that led to my eviction prove. In fact, more often than not, people tend to find out that I’m a belly dancer. 


One week after I moved into my next apartment, I accidentally locked myself out. Unable to get in, I asked my neighbor to climb into my apartment via our connecting balconies, pull my spare key out of my purse, and open the door. Apparently, he was unable to fish the key out of purse, so he turned the bag upside down and emptied its contents. Out flew the key, along with more than 40 photos of me in my belly dance costumes! That’s it. My secret had gotten out! Now my neighbor knew that I’m a belly dancer. And in Egypt, if one person knows, the whole country knows. Indeed, it wasn’t too long before the bawabs (doormen) started giving me funny looks as I entered and left the building. They also started paying extra attention to all the men my roommates starting bring up to our apartment, and threatened to call the police on me for having male visitors (i.e. starting a whorehouse)! For though it is technically not illegal to have mixed-gender households, religious sentiments vis-à-vis gender segregation outweigh all other considerations.

As difficult as it’s been for me, however, Egyptian belly dancers have it a whole lot worse. Not only do they need to hide their lives from their landlords and neighbors, but they have to contend with their families. Most Egyptians would never accept their daughter/sister/mother working as a belly dancer. I feel bad for these women. On the one hand, they make good money belly dancing. On the other, they lead double lives. To make matters worse, 99 percent of them really believe that belly dancing is haram, sinful, and swear that they will quit once they’ve amassed enough money to live comfortably. Theirs is not just a social conflict. It’s an inner conflict, and it’s one that as a westerner, I do not have to deal with.