Egyptian Uprising 2011

This is an account of how I experienced the political turmoil of Friday, January 28^th, 2011, aka the “Friday of Wrath.” I apologize to my readers for not accompanying my writing with any images. Though I had originally intended to photograph the protests, I decided against it. The acts I witnessed were so unconscionable that I felt it would be unethical to capture them and slap them all over Facebook. The media does a good enough job of that. And they get paid for it. I don’t.

 

Friday of Wrath

It was 1 pm when I woke up from the previous night’s sleep. As I laid in bed, my thoughts drifted to the Memphis, the Nile Cruise on which I was contracted to dance. My musicians and I were scheduled for three sails across the Nile starting that afternoon, totaling six 45-minute performances. I wondered if they would happen—the country was scheduled to erupt into massive anti-government protests, and I couldn't imagine business running as usual. 

Not knowing whether the silence of my 13^th floor bedroom meant that the demonstrations were off, I picked up my tiny Nokia phone to call my manager. After several attempts, I couldn’t get through. I didn’t yet know it, but the Egyptian government cut all lines of communication, including cell phones and land phones and the Internet. It was a last-ditch attempt to prevent protestors from mobilizing in Tahrir Square. When I finally figured this out, a pang of panic bolted through my stomach as I thought to myself, the government controls the Internet?! 

The Harvard Thing...

…Warning.  This is a rant. 

I’m just going to say it. I went to Harvard.  Four years ago. I did a Masters program in Middle Eastern Studies and graduated with a 3.9 average. I’ve been deeply fascinated with the Middle East ever since experiencing the terrorist attacks of September 11^th firsthand, and decided I’d drive myself into serious debt studying everything that went into them.  

So why for the love of God am I belly dancing in Cairo? Shouldn’t I be putting my education to use? Shouldn’t I be making a six-figure salary working for the US government or a consulting firm somewhere? Aren’t I wasting my life “shaking my butt” in a third world country? 

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 having an affair or doing anything nefarious. 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 thought of as a whore.

You might be thinking, So what? Sticks and stones will hurt my bones, but words will never hurt me. Unfortunately, this is true only to the extent that I won’t be stoned for being a belly dancer. But I might…oh, I don’t know… 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 kicked me out of my apartment upon learning that I was a belly dancer.

My Story...

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.