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.          

                                                                                        

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.