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Let us be Myth Busters

Happy International Day of Myths and Legends, everyone!


In case you didn't know - and I didn’t either until the idea of Myth of the Month rubric as part of The Feral Dancer blog was proposed - it is celebrated annually on October 11th. This inaugural post was inspired by ongoing debate and attempt at “damage control” that a lot of us in the belly dance sphere engage in.

 

Lo and behold, the heavy weight of the belly dance world: “There is no sexual undertone in indigenous Egyptian belly dance!”.


Well, if you're still arguing this point - lemme ungracefully pluck you off your unicorn and bring you back to the planet Earth.


When it comes to professional performances, historical evidence suggests that there were sexual undertones and innuendos in all kinds of Egyptian arts way before “those pesky foreign dancers came to Cairo and ruined a venerable profession”. And don’t get me started on “being a belly dancer used to be a respectable trade until the infiltration of… (insert whatever it is you love to hate: foreign dancers, former strippers, gymnasts or whoever else you blame for the moral fall of belly dance)”. That’s a topic for another day - a day when synergistic effects of caffeine, nicotine, midnight air and kitty purrs give me an inexhaustible supply of patience.


Back to sex in indigenous Egyptian arts…

Foreseeing my Editor’s reaction, I’m obligated to say this… Buckle your seatbelt, Dorothy, ‘cause we’re up for another long one!


And speaking of long… 

Ever heard of Ali Kaka? Allow me to introduce you to the character most known in rural areas and among lower classes! The man, the clown, the legend wearer of a special belt that has a massive penis hanging off of it. See for yourself. Please note these are digitally enhanced and coloured stereographs, here’s another one from the same time, same place and it appears to be unaltered. Also note the two ghawazi dancers! You can see them riding Ali like a horse and dancing with what I might call tahtibs due to my unfamiliairity with the subject at hand. Pun intended.  This type of entertainment is by no means aimed at foreign visitors and tourists. This is a genuinely sha’abi way of having fun.


Sooo… we have penises (at least one on public display), we have belly dancers, we have an audience… All in one place at the same time! Is it too much to extrapolate that sexual jokes, banter and gesturing were normal parts of performances such as this?

 

How ‘bout some raunchy pop music? Gramophone pop music that is! Known as taqtuqa, this early 20th century recording is performed by the famous alma Bahiya al-Mahalawiya. The name of this well-known wedding song is “Ya nakhlaten fil-’alali” (Two tall palm trees). In the interest of brevity, I will spare you the full translation but this quote from Frédéric Lagrange sums it up quite clearly:

“An erotic gradation follows a vertical order, detailing the bride’s body from her hair to her most intimate parts, euphemistically referred to as ‘howwa’... Sung by women in front of other women, in the haramlik, this song presents the bride’s body as a merchandise offered to male desire, but a precious merchandise only women know the value of. The bride learns from the alma how to obtain the most in exchange for the man’s pleasure, since he is ready to accept any condition.” (Lagrange F. 2009. Women in the Singing Business, Women in Songs. History Compass)


Raunchy enough for ya? This is what the art of awalem in appropriate context appears to have been: a little sex education, a little life wisdom, lots and lots of fun. Keep in mind, the later versions of the “Ya nakhlaten fil-’alali” song were “sanitized” and are known to this day.


More sex ed coming up! This is probably the part of my rant that will leave some of you in awe and wonder (like, what the hell have you been doing with your dance life all of this time?..) since we’re about to embark on a journey that spans centuries yet feels relevant to any epoch.  I am quoting a non-primary source here, Heather D. Ward - researcher, book author and dance teacher. However, the primary sources she uses in her work, published in the first half of the 19th century, are in public domain now and are available in digital format on the interwebs. Being able to read French is helpful but not necessary since Google Lens does a pretty decent job translating to English (you can bet your ruby slippers I checked!).


“When two a’lmeh dance together, one of the two represents the lover, and they play

some silent scenes where taste and delicacy are not to be sought: the greatest skill

consists in finding the most licentious attitudes and gestures.” (Jomard, M. 1822. Description Abrégée de la Ville et de la Citadelle du Kaire. In Description de l'Égypte. État Moderne, Tome 2, Partie 2. Paris: l'Imprimerie Royale.)


“…two a‘lmeh went down into the courtyard, where they performed the most

lascivious dances, one of them imitating the man, the other the woman; and they

rendered, by movements too expressive in the eyes of a European, the attacks of

the lover, the resistance and the fall of the young girl; but the Orientals take great

pleasure in these faithful representations, and the young of both sexes freely

attend.” ( Du Bois-Aymé, M. and Jollois, M. 1826. Voyage dans l’Intérieur du Delta. In Description de l'Égypte. Tome Quinzième. Etat Moderne. Paris: l'Imprimerie Panckoucke.)


Now, before you get your pitchforks out and march forward shouting “Orientalists' fantasy!”, allow me to illustrate. (A word of caution: turn down the volume of your device as the sound quality might leave your ears bleeding) 



What you see is contextually appropriate and, more or less, expected by the audience.  Note the elements of reenactment of what's to come once this party is over and the two newlyweds are off to make new humans! The song “Elli Shatr Enhaa Tgannen” performed in the video by Umm Samah and her younger colleague, is a known wedding song, pretty much a manual for the freshly married couple, full of double meanings and sexual innuendos. Umm Samah performs this act with a dancer on occasion.



Convinced yet? Either way, here’s a performance to behold!  Not only does fannana (ghaziya) Fatma Bayoumi offer hands-on experience for the bride, she balances 3 (three!!!) chairs in her teeth! You’re welcome.


Let me say it again, this is a professional traditional Egyptian entertainer performing for mixed age, mixed gender Egyptian audiences. This is what she says into the microphone:


“Bridegroom…


Bride…


Take your time…


The time has not come yet…


Either way…


Take it slowly…


Calmly…


I mean you, bridegroom!”



In conclusion, the level of sexiness from zero to infinity of any belly dance performance depends on many factors, two of the major ones being context and the artist’s personal preference. The examples given in this post are more likely to be encountered in the context of lower social class weddings and other celebrations outside of major urban centers. Let’s face it, your chances of seeing a dancer hump a chair in Zamalek is pretty slim. But denying that sex had and still does have a place in indigenous arts is silencing all those local artists that perform what might be unsettling to some sensitive eyes and ears. If you continue to sanitize belly dance, you promulgate stigmatization of professional entertainers in Egypt. Instead, accept that what we call belly dance can be many things, and stop dismissing something historically accurate just because “I don’t like it!”.


As a last word to commemorate the first ever publication of Myth of the Month, I’d like to share something very important with you. The importance of such sources cannot be overstated in any attempt at constructive dialog within the belly dance sphere.


This is a German documentary film that came out in 1991, called “Nazla el Adel | Die Königin der Mohammed-Ali-Strasse | Queen of Muhammed Ali Street” .



Thanks to Shining Peacekeeper, we have the opportunity to watch this 1 hour long movie and see one of the very well known awalem Nazla el Adel, famous for her raqs shamadan performances, among other things. This is a relic of a bygone era since the awalem culture doesn't seem to exist anymore. I strongly encourage you to watch this documentary before it gets taken down for any reason.


If you didn't find my post convincing, or would like to continue the discussion, get in touch: askauntiehelen@gmail.com 

 
 
 

What's in a Name?

Allow me to adjust your expectations from the start and blatantly state that this post is not intended as the end-all be-all research sourced academic article aiming to answer all the controversy surrounding the use of the term “belly dance”. This is a mere teaser that hopes to send you off on your own journey into a rabbit hole or two.

So, what’s in a name? Well, the quick answer is “a lot!”.

Buckle your seatbelt Dorothy, ‘cause we're goin' places! It ain't gonna be a short ride!

Let’s begin by narrowing down the term geographically. According to some historical research, Egypt is the country of origin of what we, here in the West, call belly dance. I am absolutely unqualified to dispute that, so from now on whenever I say “belly dance” in this post I mean specifically Egyptian belly dance. After all, any 10 famous past or present day belly dancers I can name off the top of my head did or still do perform in either Cairo or Luxor. Also, it’s important to acknowledge the effect of Egyptian Cinema’s Golden Era (the 1940s-1960s) on the motion picture industry worldwide and Hollywood in particular. A lot of movies made in Egypt back then featured belly dancers, so by implication that kind of exposure brought belly dance into the limelight.

However, do not ever think that all belly dance is Egyptian belly dance. There is a rich history of this dance form in Turkey, Levant and North Africa. It’s absurd to think that regional boundaries were impermeable throughout the Middle East preceding modern times. People brought their art of entertainment with them when they traveled, they grew roots in new places and their art grew and evolved with them. If you are ever lucky enough to take classes in regional styles other than Egyptian, go for it! You will not regret it.

Chances are, you are familiar with the history of the name “belly dance” and its colonial roots. If not, here’s a brief overview.

“Belly dance” is the English version of the French “danse du ventre” which literally means “dance of the belly”. In its origin, the term was used as an alternative name for one of Jean-Leon Gerome’s paintings. His “Dance of the Almeh” sparked such scandal that in May 1864 art critic Charles Asselineau published a scathing review of the work, calling out the “nude and bloated belly” as the focus of the painting and advised the viewer “don’t go ask a scholar what this danse du ventre really was”. The French press ran with it, thus the name “La danse du ventre” stuck as an alternative for Gerome's work. As it stands right now, there is no recorded use of the term “danse du ventre” before Asselineau’s published review. Yeah, in case you didn’t know, the whole genre of dance is named after a stereotypical Orientalist painting created by one European man and mocked by another.

The English version “belly dance”, as well as “abdominal dance”, “stomach dance” and “ventral dance”, appear to have been used by international media during Parisian Exposition Universelle 1889 to promote the Rue du Caire (“Cairo Street”) exhibit.

The popularization of the term is credited mostly to Solomon Bloom, entrepreneur with the sense of ethics typical of the times, at The World's Columbian Exposition (aka Chicago World's Fair) of 1893 and his Algerian and Tunisian Village. Mr. Bloom is also credited with introducing belly dance to North America and the world at large by extension. The legacy that was created back then by the promotional material and press coverage is haunting. A quote from one of the review articles published in Princeton Union: “hellish contortions” and “abomination known as belly dance.”

You might be asking why in the world were they calling it belly dance and not by the name the dancers themselves used? Because nobody bothered to ask the indigenous performers what they call their form of art! Funny that. Also, “raqs” (Arabic for “dance” ) did not sell as well as “dance of the abdomen” in the post-Enlightenment prudish Victorian moral climate. Sex sells -  always has and always will. Any advertising agent will confirm that. The name “belly dance” was as raunchy and salacious as the societal norms would allow, yet acceptable enough to haul in profit. 

“Raqs” seems to be the term people of the area used prior to the British invasion. Terms like “raqs sharqi” and “raqs baladi” make their appearance in Egyptian history after the occupation by British military forces in 1882.

“Raqs sharqi” translates to “dance of the East” or “Eastern dance”. Now, before you get your knickers in a knot, “Eastern” does not mean “East of Europe” in this context! It has nothing to do with Orientalism as a scholarly discipline of the Western European and North American society. It is the way for Egyptians to assert their cultural and national self-identity as the “Eastern Arab world” and differentiate themselves from the “Western Arab world”. The geographical division of the Arab world into Mashriq (East) and Maghreb (West) is known since the early Islamic conquests.

“Raqs baladi” can be translated as “country dance”. Here Egyptians are asserting the indigenous origin of the dance. They are basically saying “the dance that is local to us, not of those foreigners in power”. Even though baladi progression is a staple in a repertoire of many modern dancers, to native Egyptians raqs baladi is what you do at a party or celebration. Primarily, raqs baladi is a solo improvised form of dance suitable for small personal space as opposed to the big and showy use of stage space, often choreographed, associated with raqs sharqi.

So here we are, in the new era of enlightenment, decolonization and grass-root movements. Why don’t we just collectively agree to rename belly dance to raqs? Well, it’s not that simple.

Firstly, who are we to name anything that doesn’t belong to us? Let’s not repeat the same mistakes.

Secondly, modern day Egyptians, especially those of the higher social classes, have much less anxiety around using the term “belly dance” in English. It is used freely to advertise belly dance classes at women-only gyms as well as performances at high end nightclubs. These advertisements are not targeted at tourists and foreigners - their primary audience is the local urban population with enough spare income to afford such activities.

Thirdly, Egyptians throughout history cared much more about what they call their professional entertainers than the names for the dances themselves. It might seem paradoxical to a westerner raised within the environment of hard definitions and stiff nomenclature. Just like any other culture, Egypt has outgrown some of the language used in the previous centuries. Among the obsolete terms are “jink”, “jariya”, “qayna”, “mukhannath” and so on. These names for entertainers pertain primarily to Medieval and Ottoman eras and are no longer understood by modern day Egyptians. There are still a plethora of terms used to denote a female entertainer of the current times: “alma”, “ghaziya”, “raqqasa”, “raissa”. Some dancers prefer to be referred to as “fannana sha’abiya”, “people’s artist” in English, because the word “ghaziya” carries negative connotations within rural communities of Egypt where they mostly perform.

Fourthly, as tacky and ambiguous as the name “belly dance” might be to most western ears, it does serve as the umbrella term for dances of awalem and ghawazi, the big stage theatrical raqs sharqi and social raqs baladi that forms the foundation of them all. To paraphrase the immortal description for obscenity test by Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart from 1964: “Egyptians know it when they see it”, and they don’t hesitate to call it belly dance.

In conclusion, are we stuck with “belly dance” for now? The answer is resounding “yes!” Would you sign up for a class that was advertised as “MENAT dances” instead of “belly dance”? If you were invited to a performance of “MENAT dances”, would you first google to find out what you’re getting yourself into? Would it spark the same interest at street festivals if it is no longer called “belly dance”? Shoot me an email, I really want to know what you have to say.

Change takes time, effort and willingness to compromise. However, there’s hope. More and more I see people in the English speaking dance sphere use the term MENAT dances - Middle Eastern, North African and of Turkic-speaking regions. ”MENAHT dances” is used as well, where H stands for Hellenic, or Greek, origin. However, the way belly dance is seen within Greece is a whole other highly contentious and controversial topic that falls outside of the scope of this post.

Will “belly dance” go the way of all the other obsolete terminology? We shall see. MENAT dances are not set in stone, unmovable, unchanging museum pieces. They are the extensions and expressions of vibrant personalities formed within a unique milieu of ancient history, foreign influences and one-of-a-kind self-identity. Perhaps, the dances themselves will guide us towards finding a unified and unambiguous English name for them.

There you have it! A very brief run down of the history of the term used to describe one of the world’s most fascinating forms of dance. I’m, like, a hundred percent unbiased here.

Since the post is not intended as a scholarly work, I will refrain from including the list of articles, research publications and books I used to compile this text. However, if you’d like to know my sources, don’t hesitate to get in touch via email: askauntiehelen@gmail.com


 
 
 

The Feral Dancer's Origin...

…and so it begins.


Hello. My name is Helen, and I have a confession to make.

I.. I am.. Oh, here it comes! I am a dancer. There, I said it, the Internet saw it and nobody can delete it now. Except Nico, she can.

Referring to myself as a dancer or a bellydancer still creates unease and tension in my chest as it elicits a certain level of confidence and experience one has with what is colloquially called belly dance these days. I much prefer to be referred to as "a perpetual student of dance" neither limiting myself to being an expert nor trying to shove something like Debke into the bellydance category. I see -  I like - I want to find out more.  


However, this is not how I felt in my first belly dance class years ago.

Unlike many of my fellow dance students, I had exactly zero experience in performing arts, organized sports or physical group classes for adults. Yeah, OK, a bit of basketball in highschool may or may not count.

So there I was, a middle-aged woman with no skills or previous experience in anything dance, taking my first ever belly dance class. I don't need to describe that experience in detail, but if I had to do it in just one word it would be "confusion".

That initial confusion gave me the momentum to grab onto what I could in class, then go home and research. I vividly remember the embarrassment I felt when I looked up the name of the song the class was learning the choreography to. To my great surprise "ney" and "oud" are musical instruments and not just quirky sounding three-letter words. (In case you're wondering, the song is Ney I Say Unto Oud by David Brown & the Krewe of Sound. https://youtu.be/l92Fz12HV2c?si=hKcSOVdFvqJdDQCl )

So, on top of being kinesiologically challenging, those beginner belly dance classes gave me plenty of food for the brain I had to tease apart and digest for myself.


However, it wasn't all unicorns and rainbows from then on.

Oh, how many times have I heard other dancers say "I fell in love with the music right away!" or "from day one I could see myself dancing on stage in one of those pretty sparkly costumes!"! Or, my favourite, "I have finally found my feminine side!". It always sounded like they fell in love with belly dance at first sight. Pass the peanut butter ‘cuz I'm so jelly!


I felt none of it and sure as hell I wasn't in love with everything belly dance. I was just... chugging along: showing up to class regularly and practicing the moves I was taught at home with mild enthusiasm. That's it. Bellydance wouldn't even qualify as one of my numerous hobbies at the time - just a side quest I felt I had to complete. After all, I did pay for it!  

And then something happened by the end of the 10 week term. The thought of having no classes between June and September gave me that strange sadness some of us get when days get cooler in the fall. The kind of sadness that makes us want to hold on to the sunny days and wear shorts in October. Not doom and gloom, but... I wished the term wasn't ending.

That's when everything changed.  

Within a few days, the book by the one and only Morocco ( https://www.casbahdance.org/shop/you-asked-aunt-rocky-answers-advice-about-raqs-sharqi-raqs-shaabi-oriental-folk-dance/ ) made it to my summer reading list. I could say "and the rest is history", but I shall say "Omg, Aunt Rocky, thanks for dialing my confusion to 11!" instead. Nonetheless, I've spent that summer reading, Googling, reading some more and getting pretty opinionated about certain topics on belly dance. When in-person classes resumed in September, I came in with guns blazing! Well, no. I was still a timid blob of confusion - only now I had questions. Lots of questions. Like, hours worth of questions! What's the difference between Shaabi and Baladi dresses? When is it better to dance on stage in relevé? Where does bedlah as a belly dance costume staple come from? How do I start playing zills? What makes the Golden Era dance style so special?  - these are but a few I had at the time. Thankfully, my teachers were more than happy to provide answers when they could and honestly admit they don't know when they couldn't. By then my incessant hunger for knowledge and understanding has crystallized into the fuel that keeps me seeking answers to this day. It also is a great source of tangents in class!

There will never be a shortage of topics within the art of belly dance where an answer to a question isn't simple, definitive and without some form of controversy. We humans are an opinionated bunch with crappy memories and enormous egos. The thing to keep in mind is that all opinions deserve to be heard, but not all deserve to be respected equally. Check your sources, keep learning and question everything. Never stop looking for the answer to the most important question of all: why do you dance? And if your answer is "'cause I wanna!", we are on the same page.


What's your origin story as a bellydancer? I'd love to know what brought you in and kept you coming back for more!


Hugs & kisses,

Your Feral Dancer Auntie Helen


Get in touch, share your thoughts.


 
 
 
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