My Daughter Is A Bellydancer Infusing A Different Culture Into Our Home By Pat Beaven My daughter is a bellydancer. When I tell people this, their initial reaction is to assume they’ve misunderstood: “Oh, a ballet dancer – how wonderful. I love ballet!” I correct them, and watch their eyebrows lift as they conjure up images of harems, sheiks, slaves, veils, and bejewelled navels. I, too, was once similarly in the dark about this ancient art, but I’ve come a long way – and had many surprises and misadventures – as my daughter and I have struggled to understand the culture she is striving to portray. Who would have imagined an open-air performance by a Middle Eastern dance troupe would serve as such a clear calling to my fifteen year-old daughter, a girl of strong Scottish and German heritage? She was totally captivated from the moment of the dancers’ joyful entrance with veils flying. Inquiries were made, classes begun, and although I didn’t realize it at the time, our lives would never be quite the same again. My first tip-off that we had entered a whole new world came the day my daughter returned from class, and casually asked if we had “an old Bedouin sword around the house”. I told her no, that I’m sure I would have noticed, and inquired why. She explained that the sword was required for a new dance she was learning. Months later, another query: did I have a silver sequin bra she could use? (!) She knew she didn’t have what her teacher had requested, but hoped, I suppose, that I might have such an item tucked away somewhere. The bra was to complete a costume someone would lend her, as she had been invited to perform with the troupe for the first time. Fifteen-year-old, Meagan, who is of Scottish and German descent, radiates her passion for bellydancing. ______________________ My first tip-off that we had entered a whole new world came the day my daughter returned from class, and casually asked if we had “an old Bedouin sword around the house”. ______________________ We called around to find out who made this type of garment, and discovered several possibilities – all costing a couple of hundred dollars, and requiring a month’s lead time. We only had a week. As my daughter was close to tears at this disappointing news, I volunteered to make what was needed. Her eyes grew as big as saucers at this offer, as she had frequently witnessed my ineptitude at completing even simple sewing assignments like hemming a pair of jeans. It’s one of those challenges one would never take on if they understood what was involved, but ignorance is bliss, and I was off to the dressmaker’s supply shop. Trying to estimate how many sequins it might take to cover a bra stymied me – and, oh gosh, there were those stretchy bits on the bra too – how did one deal with those? Better to be safe than sorry, I thought, so I bought two meters of each kind of silver sequin they had in stock. Four nights of painstaking trial-and-error later, fingertips ripped to shreds, and serious doubts about my sanity abounding, the bra was finally finished. I learned just in time that straps and closures had to be reinforced with dental floss so the costume would withstand the rigorous movements of Raks Sharqi, the authentic name for what we have come to refer to as bellydance. Since then we have become familiar with the wide variety of costuming used from the very folkloric milaya and galabaya, to the glamorous Oriental costume with its layers of intricate fringe and richly textured beadwork. And having experienced on a small scale the care and work it takes to produce one of these garments, their cost – when made by people who know what they’re doing – is entirely understandable. ______________________ And I often smile these days as I catch myself singing along while I do the dishes, to music that once seemed so foreign. ______________________ Music was another revelation. Arabic music for dance is strong and upbeat, with driving rhythms. It’s music that sticks in the listener’s mind long after it’s heard. And hear it we did! Almost constantly, as my daughter took advantage of every spare moment to practice her undulations and perfect her shoulder shimmies. Friends became accustomed to the music as background to every telephone conversation. And I often smile these days as I catch myself singing along while I do the dishes, to music that once seemed so foreign. My daughter choreographed her first solo to a piece of music that I came to know as “But When We Speak”. I adored the song, and was surprised (and secretly pleased) that it had an English title, so I could refer to it without stumbling over Arabic sounds that were tricky for my Anglo-Saxon tongue. When my daughter decided she needed a different version of the piece, I offered to stop by the tape store to pick it up. As the particular version was critical, she wrote down on a piece of paper exactly what I needed to request. I glanced at the paper, but didn’t recognize the name: “Batwa Niis Biik” by Warda. “But I thought you needed the same music you’ve been practicing to”, I puzzled. My daughter looked at me for a long moment, then dissolved into giggles. A simple misunderstanding: try saying “Batwa Niis Biik” just as it looks, five times fast. Doesn’t that sound like “But When We Speak” to you? Embarking on a new activity often means making new friends, and bellydance was no exception. As a matter of fact, for the longest while I thought my daughter had exactly twice as many new friends as was really the case. I didn’t know that most dancers take a bellydance name to use when they’re performing. At times my daughter would refer to her new colleagues by their given names, and at other times by their bellydance names. After I commented how much Mary and Munira looked alike (except that Mary wore glasses), and wondered aloud on another occasion if Cathy and Khalilah were sisters because of their strong resemblance, my bemused daughter explained the name situation to me! Though she's still Meagan to family and friends, dance contacts know her as Mayada. Mayada, literally translated from Arabic, means "walks with a swinging gait". I watch with pride as my daughter practices, studying herself in the mirror to perfect the intricate movements and dramatic combinations of her dance. I marvel at how this ancient art has allowed her to acknowledge her femininity, how it has increased her confidence and self-esteem. My daughter is hungry to learn everything there is to know about the dance. When not practicing, she can be found poring over books and videos, always eager to point out and discuss the merits of well-known dancers she admires. The fact that Fifi Abdou, Souheir Zaki, and Nagwa Fouad have become household names around our place, or that I am able to distinguish between beledi and sa’idi rhythms astounds me. Now, all I have to do is work on my camel walk … Pat Beaven is an actor, educator, and freelance journalist who revels in the spirit of cultural diversity where she makes her home in Toronto, Canada. Her work has appeared in newspapers and magazines across North America; she has a special interest in culture-specific movement disciplines, and is a staff writer for several dance publications. 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