Hafla!

A very long time ago, I was working on a play. The show had a circus theme and so it was decided that the best way to establish the theme was to have a circus-style sideshow prior to the start of the play.

This was a late-in-the-game brainstorm. About 9 months had gone into the evolution of the circus theme and it was only during the last 2 that we came to work on the sideshow. There were lots of details to work out including the auditioning of the sideshow acts. We wanted to have someone selling patent medicine and a juggler, some food--anything that would capture the essence of the sideshow.

At this late date, I am no longer certain how we came up with a belly dancer, but one became available and so we arranged to meet her and have her audition for a spot in the show.

This is all by way of explanation as to how I found myself in a large rehearsal room with the director's wife and a belly dancer.

I am, by nature, a shy person. After years of careful study, there is virtually no situation that I cannot avoid, no emotion I cannot deny, no compliment I cannot deflect. Combine that with a pasty Scottish complexion and the result is that I have just about the worst possible poker face you can imagine. I am like one of those characters in a Tex Avery cartoon who when they get kissed, their faces change color to blood red and then steam blows out of their ears.

So I am in a room with the director's wife and a belly dancer who is auditioning for a part in our sideshow. We're all professionals so, no big deal, right?

Well, as a professional, the dancer, whose name is lost to memory, is used to performing for an audience and as the only boy in the room, I become the object of her full and undivided attention.

I can feel my face flushing as I write this.

Ordinarily, under cover of an audience, I could look away, or otherwise deflect the attention, but we were trying to make a decision about the show and if I looked away, she would have lost half of her audience.

I should mention that I am also a polite person.

At this point in the audition, I am struggling between not being rude, not blushing and not being a cartoon character. Needless to say, my visible discomfort only empowered the dancer and she moved in closer. There was no escape.

She got the job.

That was my only experience of belly dance until last Saturday.

As part of a package that she purchased at our recent auction, my wife had a pair of tickets to "Cairo in Columbus" a workshop and concert of belly dance.

Initially, I was not supposed to go. I had not shown the proper amount of respect for her dance goals and so my wife had said that she would be finding someone more fun to go with. It's not that I had ridiculed her or anything, but I didn't immediately understand what she had responded to about belly dance that had inspired her to bid on the package and take the classes.

For better, or worse, we have been spectators: we watch others participate. Our work takes place mostly behind the scenes and then we get to watch others benefit from it. This was the first time in a very long time when either one of us had come off the bench and become a participant. It was unfamiliar and so I perhaps didn't respond as I should have.

What was clear from the beginning was that, for whatever reason, her decision to take these classes from this instructor was paying off. She came home from that first class with her hip scarf and zills--the finger cymbals--and she was completely engaged.

One class in and she had already assessed the other students and how she rated in comparison. Some of the skills taught in that class came easily to her--more easily than to others, she was pleased to report--and there were others that were more challenging. And the night that she came home and reported that she was able to naturally do a move that they didn't even teach until the second level class, my spouse was positively beaming. Mastering the various movements clearly meant more than acquiring the ability to do a chest lift or to isolate her rib cage.

We talked one night about the class and other things and she said that the class was one place where she felt closest to who she really is.

My wife experiences bipolar disorder and struggles each day to present herself to the world as "normal." She takes her meds so that she doesn't get too manic, too depressed, too anything and all the while she carries the responsibility of trying to live up to somebody else's standards. Even with the medications she still has to watch her behavior and her speech and be vigilant for indicators of how she is being received. The cost of not being compliant is the ever-present fear that her rights and freedoms will be taken away. She is acutely aware that she is perceived differently once people become aware of her diagnosis. Her opinions carry less weight and her experiences are discounted.

One night a week, she is freed of those responsibilities and expectations while she learns the art of belly dance. Like all great teachers, Ms. Chandara Gamal meets her students where they are in their lives, in their illnesses, in their body types and she teaches them that they each have the power to express themselves through this art.

As a person who has watched too many movies I had a sense of belly dance as being very monolithic: there was one style most closely represented by "I Dream of Jeanie." What I learned at Saturday's concert was that, like most things represented on television, this view was too simplistic.

The belly dance community is diverse with a traditional branch, a tribal branch and an Asian branch. The music used in each of the pieces reflected a similar diversity of influences. There was some of what you might call traditional Middle Eastern music, but there was also pieces choreographed to techno and to the Beastie Boys.

For all its diversity, it was also apparent how supportive a community it was. Dancers would watch and support other performers. And judging from the frequent outbursts of cheering, it was apparent that they were able to see and appreciate different moves that might have escaped the notice of civilians like myself. And when the evening was over, everyone was invited to stay behind and have an open dance with the live band.

I don't know the origin, but the definition of the word "hafla" is belly dance party. Saturday's concert was just that: not a party in which belly dance was a curiosity, but one where dancers were the guests and the entertainers, celebrating themselves and one another.

At the end of the evening, Ms. Chandara Gamal's students brought her to the stage to receive an bouquet of flowers. In her tearful presentation, one of the students spoke about how much she appreciated the classes and being taught that there were many different definitions of beauty. She thanked Ms. Chandara for making her feel beautiful.

I think she is also owed a debt for helping my spouse to see that there are many different definitions of "normal."

I came across an unattributed quote about Socrates. It is said that "Socrates learned to dance when he was 70 because he felt that an essential part of himself had been neglected."

After many years of looking, my wife has found her way back to an essential part of herself through belly dance and that is worth celebrating.

--Graham Campbell

Associate Director