Crazy Dog Lady

Two brown puppies up for adoption.
 

Yep.  It’s official.  I’m the crazy dog lady of Cairo. :)  I am now the proud caretaker of 5 dogs.  One mum and four pups.  I swore I wasn’t going to rescue anymore dogs, but alas, I lied. 

It all started a few months ago.  I was coming home from a long night of work when I noticed a sad-looking dog curled up in the entrance of my building.  That’s odd, I thought.  Street dogs usually avoid people.  There’s probably something wrong with it if it’s decided to seek refuge inside the building.  So I decided to find out.  I approached the dog slowly, not knowing if it was wounded or scared, or if it would bite me.  “Hiwoy,” I said (that’s “hi” in the super retarded doggie language I invented :D).  I got closer and crouched down to pet its head until it finally acknowledged me by wagging its tail.  Very well.  It didn’t seem to be hurt, so I made my way to the elevator.

From Ballet to Belly

I’ve forgotten the names of all of my elementary and high school teachers, but one name that will remain with me till the day I die is Dorothy Lister.  Dorothy Lister was my ballet teacher at the Joffrey Ballet School in New York City.  I studied--more like suffered--under her tutelage until the age of 15ish, at which point she quit the Joffrey, and I quit ballet. 

Miss Dorothy was, oh, just your average ballet nazi. :) Old enough to be my grandmother, she was a stickler for discipline and had zero tolerance for lazy feet, lifeless limbs, and other similar ballet crimes.  And she’d punish us too.  Whenever she caught us slacking off at the barre, she would angrily clap her hands and let out a shrill “STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP!!!”  At which point the class, the piano player, and all of 6^th Avenue would freeze in frightened paralysis. She would then sarcastically imitate our mistakes to show us how dumb we looked, and literally yank our body parts into the correct position.  Miss Dorothy always ended these torturous episodes with her signature dirty look, which masked her grin of sadistic satisfaction.  She’d then carry on with class.  

Current Affairs

One of the reasons I allowed myself to come to Egypt was because I was burnt out.  Six years of nonstop reading, writing, and thinking about Middle Eastern politics will do that to you.  Not to mention the constant debating, arguing, analyzing, questioning and critiquing.  It’s educational, no doubt, but also maddening.  Your brain never stops.  One thought opens the door to a million new ones.  I thought learning to dance in Egypt would be the perfect way to clear my head of all the political pollution, but boy was I wrong.  If anything, living here has only the made the wheels in my head turn faster.  Especially after the revolution.  All people seem to want to do is talk politics and make history.  At work, in taxis, at cafes, in Tahrir.  There’s just no escaping the political madness these days.  It’s endemic.

This month was no exception.  Tensions reached an all time high, seemingly over that disgusting film which denigrates the Muslim prophet Mohamed.  As an American who lives in Egypt, this is something that greatly troubled me.  So I want to share some of my thoughts on the matter.  Note: they are just thoughts.  I don’t have an “agenda,” and don’t present my views as THE truth.  

"Living the Dream"

I’m always bemused by all belly dancers who tell me I’m “living the dream.”  Every time I hear that, I want to ask, really?  What dream?  I never dreamed of being a belly dancer in Cairo.  I didn’t even know that was possible! =D

Truth be told, I didn’t come to Egypt with a mission to be a “star,” or because someone pumped my ego with garbage.  I came to Egypt because I had a broken heart.  I hadn’t broken up with a boyfriend or anything like that.  But a couple of years earlier,  I saw something I really wanted and didn’t think I could do-- real Egyptian belly dancing.  Since attending that festival in 2006, I desperately wanted to learn.  But because achieving that level of excellence in the dance requires many years of living in Cairo, I decided that was impossible, and got depressed.

It turns out I was wrong.  I have, after all, been living in Cairo for four years.  Yet at the time, if you would have told me this could or would happen, I would have responded that I also believe in the tooth fairy.  I had just been accepted to Harvard, would spend the next two years of my life there, and would then go on to get a job and make babies.  I couldn’t imagine interrupting the very natural flow of things to fit Egypt in.  Nor could I imagine the logistics of undertaking such an endeavor.  How would I get there?  Where would I stay?  Who would hire me to work so that I could pay my rent and fund all my dance classes?  Too much uncertainty, too much impossibility, no money. 

Feelings About Feeling

Let’s face it.  We foreign belly dancers are under a lot of pressure.  Not only do we have to look good, but we have to dance as Egyptian as possible.  Some get closer than others, but none of us ever hit the 100% mark.  Personally, I think it’s impossible.  Being Egyptian is one of those things you’re either born with or you’re not.  No matter how immersed we are in the culture or how well we speak Arabic, we’ll never be as Egyptian as an Egyptian.  And we’ll certainly never out-Egyptian one. :)  Not that that’s necessarily the goal...  Our “disadvantage” notwithstanding, however, we’re constantly being compared to Egyptian dancers.  And one of the points of comparison is feeling.

“Feeling” is one of those words that has no real meaning.  Yet we use it all the time to refer to some vague concept of Egyptianness in the dance.  We can’t exactly pinpoint what it is, because it can’t be defined, quantified, counted, or taught.   Yet somehow, we know it when we see it.  Most interestingly, feeling is the thing a lot of Egyptian belly dancers (claim to) have, and that we non-Egyptians strive to obtain. 

The Joker. Are You Joking?!

Because I have something to say about everything. ;)

This year more than ever, I had really been looking forward to coming home.  I was homesick, missed my family, and was having cravings that could only be satisfied in New York.  More importantly, Egypt was starting to get a little unbearable.  People have grown irritable and quarrelsome.  The traffic is worse than ever.  It’s impossible to go anywhere any time of day or night without sitting for hours in a cab, inhaling toxic amounts of exhaust.  Most cabs don’t have air conditioning, and it’s disgustingly hot and humid.  Some do, but lots of times, drivers lie and say the AC doesn’t work. 

I’m also a bit fed up with wearing long pants and long sleeves in this weather.  But what can I do?  Anything less and I’d be asking for real trouble.  These days, women are being assaulted in ways that never happened before the revolution.  I should know.  In just one month, I was targeted three times!  The first time, a man jumped out of a microbus and chased me down the street in broad daylight.  Next, I was in a cab when a gang on 10 motorcycles spotted me and tried to crash their bikes into the cab.  The driver got angry and tried to run over the motorcyclists.  Had I not barked at the driver to stop engaging them, we would have had a catastrophe on our hands.  Most recently, teen-aged boys sprayed tear gas in a cab that my friend and I were getting into.  Both she and I and the driver started tearing.  And I started losing consciousness.  We eventually drove away and the gas wore off.  

Woe to Egypt

I would have posted this earlier last week, but I've been insanely busy.  I apologize in advance, as there will be no sacred cows.  If you have any, don’t read this.

I feel like I just woke up from a nightmare.  Only, that nightmare continued into reality.  Islamists won the Egyptian presidency, fair and square.  That’s after winning 70 percent of the (now dissolved) Parliament.  Not to sound like a jackass, but I told you so.  

Even before this so-called revolution, I knew that religious fanatics would eventually come to power.  It was only a matter of time.  I guess studying the Middle East at Harvard is responsible for my political foresight.  But honestly, anyone with half a brain would have reached the same conclusion. The writing was on the wall.  Egypt has been ripe for Islamification for some time now.  One need only have noticed the growing number of veiled women and bearded men, and the widespread illiteracy, unemployment and poverty to figure that out.  If that’s not the perfect recipe for Islamist governance, I don’t know what is. 

The Politics of Harassment

“Egyptian women sexually harassed at anti-harassment rally,” read this week's headlines.  Well isn’t that ironic? 

On Friday, a few hundred women staged an anti-harassment rally to protest the sexual harassment that is ubiquitous in Egypt.  Male supporters formed a protective circle around them, only to be overwhelmed by hordes of violent young men who sexually assaulted some of the protesting women.  

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is what happens when women stand up for themselves in Egypt.   

Wait, maybe we shouldn’t be so quick to condemn.  Let’s look at the bright side.  Some Egyptian women and men are starting to recognize that sexual harassment is a HUGE problem and are willing to do something about it.  It’s unfortunate that it took several instances of revolution-related gang rape for them to wake up, but at least they’ve awoken.  Better late than never. :/

"No Justice, No Peace"

In the words of New York City firebrand, Al Sharpton, “no justice, no peace.” This is what came to mind upon hearing the verdict of the Mubarak trial two days ago. I have never had much use for the Reverend Al, but his words reverberated in my head as thousands of Egyptians took to the streets, enraged that Mubarak and Co. were let off the hook. Mubarak was facing life imprisonment for failing to stop the shooting of protesters during the initial wave of the 2011 revolution. So was Mubarak’s Minister of Interior, Habib Al-Adly, and Mubarak’s sons, Gamal and Ala. The six officers charged with actually pulling the trigger on protesters were also let off scot-free.

If that’s not getting off the hook, I don’t know what is. You would think that after thirty years of robbing the country, they could come up with enough charges to put him in the electric chair. Or to wrap a noose around his neck and mete out justice in Tahrir Square, Iraqi style. Which is basically what a lot of Egyptians clamored for (especially the relatives of those who died in the revolution). Instead, Mubarak was found guilty of only one crime but innocent (!) of numerous corruption charges.

As if we really needed a trial to prove that Mubarak was one of the most corrupt dictators in the world. One need only look at this place to know the extent of the damage. The education and health systems are a joke. The economy is in shambles. Unemployment and illiteracy rates are embarrassingly high. Traffic is a nightmare. Pollution is out of control. That’s all the proof of Mubarak’s corruption you need right there. But no. Egyptians are having a trial, knowing full well all the judicial finagling that will occur. Alas… us moderns and our obsession with process. :/ 

What I find most intriguing is the collective Egyptian reaction. Of course, Egyptians have the right to be outraged. But outrage implies surprise. For the life of me, I cannot figure out what is so surprising about any of this. From the very start of the trial, it was clear that things were fixed in Mubarak’s favor—Mubarak appointed all the generals, prosecutors and judges! Even without these appointments, we would still have a sense that things were fixed, because that’s just how things work here. This time, however, it was a little more obvious and therefore insulting to the national intelligence. 

Yes. That’s it. Insulting. Egyptians are insulted, not surprised. They are insulted that the powers that be think they are as stupid as to believe that Mubarak only did one thing wrong in his thirty-year tenure. They are insulted that even after a revolution, it’s still business as usual in conspiracy-prone Egypt.

This is why there will be no peace. Because there is no justice. Until the guilty and the innocent trade places behind bars, Egyptians will not stop raging in Tahrir. Don’t get me wrong. I fully understand that in this part of the world, in these times, manipulating political events to ensure more desirable outcomes is necessary. It may not be “right,” but it is better than letting nature take its course. Letting nature take its course (i.e. free and fair elections), would result in Islamists gaining complete control of the country. That would have disastrous affects for everyone, including the people who voted them in. Hence, I fully support rigging the presidential elections to ensure the victory of a secular candidate. This is probably really un-American of me to admit. Then again, I’m not exactly a (small d) democrat these days. 

That being said, Egypt could have afforded to conduct the Mubarak trial with less overt manipulation; convicting Mubarak for murder and corruption would not have jeopardized the future of the country the way fair elections would. If anything, conducting a fair trial would have been a nice gesture…a symbol of goodwill toward the Egyptian people. It would have communicated that the revolution was not fought in vain. At least not entirely. 

Not to mention, the timing of the trial was all wrong. The verdict came directly between the first and second rounds of the presidential elections, both of which are (rightly) perceived as rigged.  If Egyptians were outraged at last week’s election results, this verdict basically guarantees that this time around, Egyptians will approach the polls with a vengeance. And it’s the Islamists who stand to benefit. 

Here’s why. Last week’s election results put Egyptian liberals in the unfortunate position of having to choose between the two evils they have been trying to extinguish—Mubarak and the military, on one hand, and radical Muslims, on the other. Liberals must now choose between the Muslim Brotherhood’s Mohamed Morsee, and Mubarak’s former Prime Minister, Ahmed Shafiq.

Or, they can start a new revolution…

I’m willing to say that before the verdict, liberals would have voted in droves for Ahmed Shafiq. Not out of conviction, but to prevent the country from falling into the hands of radicals (and because this would be easier than starting another revolution…and because liberals have tacitly admitted defeat). The revolution did not preside the way they hoped it would, and it is too late to save it. Their only option would be to prevent Egypt from turning into Afghanistan. If that means electing a Mubarak crony, then so be it. 

After hearing the verdict, however, many angry liberals will vote to Morsee. Also not out of conviction, but out of spite. They are disgusted with all things Mubarak. Though Morsee wants to impose Shariah law, everyone knows that he is also the ancien regime’s staunchest opponent.  Right now, this is the most important thing for disillusioned Egyptian liberals. 

Casein point, Mr. Ayman Nour. He is one of Egypt’s most influential liberals who publicly endorsed Morsee. Ayman Nour is a hardcore secularist who made a career out of opposing Mubarak. His activism landed him in jail for being the first person to ever challenge Mubarak for the presidency in 2005. After hearing the verdict of the Mubarak trial, however, Nour declared his intent to support the Morsee campaign. 

So there we have it. Basically, this means that if the second round of the elections is not rigged, Morsee gets in. Now, I’m willing to believe (and sincerely hope) that the elections are fixed in Shafiq’s favor, but if they are not, we can kiss this country goodbye. 

If the elections are fixed and Shafiq wins, things will get ugly fast. We can expect more protests and more violence. Though Egyptians have historically had a high tolerance for corruption, a sham verdict on the heels of a rigged election was just too much, even for Egypt.

But if Morsee gets in, things will get ugly slowly. Women and Coptic Christians will be stripped of their rights and dignity. The economy will shatter even more than it already has, and life will become as miserable as it is in other Islamist countries. Slowly. Wahda wahda. That is more dangerous than any protest, or dare I say, any isolated massacre. Massacres come to an end, and people lose their enthusiasm for protests. But gradual Islamification lingers on for decades, destroying people’s livelihoods and lives. 

This is why this mockery of a trial was the biggest mistake since the onset of the revolution. It has angered people so much that they are now willing to throw their support behind the candidate who will most definitely destroy Egypt as we know it.

No justice, no peace.  

The Lesser of Two Evils

“El-Tet” 24/7 Belly Dance TV

Sorry, this is going to be long. I have a lot to say. 

If there’s anything positive coming out of post-revolutionary Egypt, it is the new belly dance channel, “El-Tet.”  Based in Bahrain with an office in Cairo, El-Tet features performances by Egyptian and foreign belly dancers 24 hours a day. That’s right. Shimmies and undulations around the clock on national Egyptian TV. The channel, which is a little over a year old, takes its name from the Egyptian Arabic word for the accordion/tabla section of a baladi piece. It is actually pronounced “tit,” but for obvious reasons, you’ll almost always see it transliterated as “El-Tet.”  Short “e,” not “i.”

I first encountered the new channel last December, when some of my musicians insisted they had seen me dancing on TV. I hadn’t heard of the channel before, and I had no idea why they were saying this, although I found the idea of a channel named “The Tit” quite hilarious. So, I assumed they probably saw another dancer who resembled me. I was right. My tabla player showed me the clip of the dancer in question, and sure enough, it wasn’t me. I don’t know how he confused us, but then again, Egyptians tend to think all of us foreigners look alike.

Dancing to "Ya Helwa Sabah" on El-Tet

"Being a foreign Belly Dancer in Egypt Interview with Luna of Cairo

Interview by Isis Zahara

WEDNESDAY, MAY 09, 2012  

"We are all of us stars, and we deserve to twinkle."--Marilyn Monroe 

Luna of Cairo is an American Belly Dancer originally from Brooklyn, New York (she studied in Harvard!) and has been living in Cairo for the past three years. She is contracted at the Nile Memphis in Cairo (Memphis Tours Nile Cruises) .

Luna will be at the next Salamat MasrEgyptian Festival (July 05^th till  July 12^th  2012) teaching with well-known Egyptian belly dancers stars Mona El Said, Zizi Mostafa, and Najwa Fouad.

She has a polemical  blog: Kisses from Kairo.  Where you can read experiences about being a  foreign belly dancer in Egypt, some cultural contrasts and - as she says - her mistakes, observations and successes!

IZ: When and why did you decide to start a successful dance carrier in Egypt?

The Big Yellow "M"

Yes, I’m talking about that M. McDonald’s. The place in which no self-respecting American traveling abroad would be caught dead. We Americans who travel abroad suffer from a sort of McDonald’s complex. We are painfully aware that the rest of the world stereotypes us as provincial, untraveled, uncultured cowboys who only speak one language and only eat fast food.  So, to prove to the world (and ourselves) otherwise, one of the things we do is avoid eating at McDonald’s. Even when it might be in our interest to do so.   

I am one of those Americans who suffers from McDonald’s complex. Not just because eating at McDonald’s would be an indication of close-mindedness, but because of all of the things the fast-food chain has come to symbolize over the years. Especially here in the Middle East. As one of the largest corporations in the world, it is a symbol of American economic and cultural hegemony. Is it any surprise, then, that McDonald’s restaurants have become a favored target of anti-American violence in the Arab world, alongside our embassies?

Eat My Feet

Eat My Feet

This post is for all the guys, real and virtual, who have ever said they want to kiss, lick, bite, tickle, rub, suck, wash, or eat my feet. Gentlemen, be my guest. I have THE most disgusting feet on the planet. Dancer’s feet. There’s years of ballet and belly dance under those things. (There’s some men under there too! :O ). Actually, they’re more like tools than feet. I have hammer toes, ingrown toenails, calluses, corns, blisters, open wounds, broken bones, premature Arthritis, dead skin, and permanently blackened heels. Bunions run in my family. I walk and dance barefoot on surfaces you wouldn’t touch with a 10-foot pole. My feet are so gross even the podiatrist grimaces when I take my shoes off. In fact, they’re so untamable, I’ve given up on them. I no longer bother painting my toenails. That would be like putting lipstick on the proverbial pig. Besides, 90 percent of the nail polish disappears after just one show. I don’t clip my toenails either, but then again, they never seem to grow past a certain point. Hah! They probably get filed down from all the friction that occurs when I dance on wood and concrete surfaces. I still clean them every so often, although it doesn’t really make a difference. They just get dirty again. lol

The Audiences of Cairo

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.  

On Being Egyptian

I’m not Egyptian and I don’t pretend to be, but I would be lying if I said I haven’t picked up a few Egyptian habits. Being Egyptian is contagious. Particularly when you live here for a while and speak the language fluently. That’s all quite normal, I guess. But it is interesting in light of the fact that I grew up in a country where it is common for foreigners to resist assimilation. So, when I observe the ways in which my thoughts, mannerisms, and even speech have transformed, I cannot help but be chuckle at how much I have unintentionally assimilated into Egyptian culture.  

For example. I have gotten into the very Egyptian habit of staring at beautiful women. No, I don’t lean that way, and I definitely don’t harass them. But like most Egyptians, I cannot help but marvel at beautiful people. Which is pretty hypocritical of me considering how much I hate it when people stare at me, even if it’s because they find me cute. Staring is rude and is an invasion of personal space. Besides, I learned not to do when I was in Kindergarten.

On Being American

On Being American

Last year, I bought some red, white, and blue fabric to make myself an American flag belly dance costume. Well, to have Eman Zaki make it for me. I never thought I would do such a thing, but I couldn’t resist those glitter stars and stripes set against a background of stretch lycra. Politics aside, it is a beautiful flag. And I’m crazy like that.**  

The costume was absolutely stunning, but I wasn’t brave enough to wear it. At least not initially. I was well aware of Egyptians’ generally unfavorable views towards the United States, and I didn’t want to risk being offensive (or being pelted). Then one day, I decided to risk it. I figured the worst that could happen was being booed off the stage. I was willing to take that chance. To my surprise, nothing like that happened. In fact, my audience started clapping and cheering the moment I entered the room. Many of them begged to take pictures with me after my show.

Metamorphosis

Adjustments

I just realized that I have been living here in Cairo for more than three years. This is a long time for someone who never intended to live or work here. With all the uncertainty in the air about Egypt’s future, one wonders how much longer I and others like me can thrive here. But rather than speculate about the future (again), I have decided to reflect on my past and share a few of the adjustments I made as a dancer. There were many, because belly dance outside of Egypt is a totally different animal than belly dance inside Egypt. There were adjustments in technicality, musicality, and even physicality. There were adjustments in music selection and music understanding, costuming and audience. And there were changes in attitude, ethics and comportment.

False Alarm

Warning: If you have an aversion to feminine products or problems, or are generally squeamish, proceed no further.

 

I totally didn’t intend my first blog post of the year to be about my period, but hey, it’s better than some soppy post about New Year’s resolutions. Years come and years go, and I never make resolutions. They are worthless, and nobody keeps them anyway. Besides, there is nothing special about January 1^st. As far as I’m concerned, July 29^th is just as good a day to make resolutions as January 1^st. Because there is no such thing as time. Not here in Egypt anyway.

Back to my period. If anything, my monthly cycle is the closest thing to time. It is always punctual and always painful, and I can always count on it coming (that is more than I can say for most people, including myself). And, conveniently enough, it came back to haunt me on January 1^st, at the stroke of midnight, to be exact. There could not possibly be a better way to kick off the new year, could there?