It’s Monday… and Maie, an attractive Egyptian in her late twenties, is in quite a rush as she gets home from her London office. She has to get ready for her belly-dancing class in less than an hour and, for her, this is a joy in itself. Ironically, she has got into her culture’s typical dance form when she moved to the UK.

 

“I always danced when I was little; this was the only type of dancing I knew then. I used to dance at family gatherings and parties. I would just get up and dance and nothing would stop me,” she says as she puts down her laptop case and grabs an apple.

 

As most young Arab girls, Maie was encouraged to dance all she wants until she was about seven. Her father, a traditional Middle Eastern man, had later forbidden his daughter to dance.

 

“My dad, who had bought me my first finger cymbals when I was five, didn’t like me belly dancing anymore. And I was scolded whenever I did,” she says while packing shimmering fabrics in what she calls her ‘belly-dancing backpack.’

 

‘Nice girls don’t dance in public is what Maie was told. A respectable Egyptian would not go showing off her shimmying talents everywhere she goes. So, she is better off without those ‘scandalous’ talents.

 

Asmahan, an American oriental dancer famous in Egypt in the 80s and 90s and now teaches in a Covent Garden studio, says that social factors have undermined belly-dancing especially that it is looked down upon.

 

She adds that this is slightly changing as the West is embracing the dance. “Dancing is always going to offend some ultra-conservative person. Not everyone in the world can be open-minded and free-flowing,” Asmahan says.

 

Maie says her father became so “uptight” when it came to her going to her friends’ birthday parties. “People dance at a party, that’s what they do. He didn’t want me going and dancing even if it was among my teenage girlfriends,” she says.

 

“I would have never thought I would take oriental dancing classes until I moved to London. If I had done that in Cairo, my friends would have laughed at me. ‘How vulgar is that!’ they would have said,” Maie reflects in the dancing studio’s changing room as she dons tight black leggings and a sexy tank top and ties a red hip scarf around her hips with dangling golden coins.

 

Asmahan says while rummaging through her oriental music collection: “Belly dancing is crawling out of the gutter. It’s the last dance to come up and be received with honour. It happened to flamingo and tango before.”

 

 

Sitting in her parents’ house in London before she goes back to Cairo where she dances at a five-star hotel, Liza, known as Liza Laziza (the delicious), acknowledges that belly-dancing has unfavourable connotations.

 

“It is a woman clad in very little. I can dance next to nothing; I can just wear a bra and a little skimpy skirt. It shows a lot of the body, it’s very sensuous, it’s very enticing, and it’s very sexy. I think it’s got a bad reputation because a lot of dancers do prostitute themselves,” Liza says.

Jacqueline agrees saying that some dancers do give the dance a bad name, which feeds into the stereotypical image that some people have of belly-dancers. “There are belly-dancers who will dance for stag parties. But they don’t dance, do they?! These parties only need a stripper,” she says.

 

Maie says that it will take time for people to look at oriental dancing more as an art form than a seduction. “This is how it has been looked at for years and years even in the West. When you say you’re into belly dancing, people would automatically assume that you’re a promiscuous woman,” she says as she leaves her class carrying photo-copied notes of her new dancing steps.

 

Amal, an Egyptian GP who’s been living in England for four years and a mother of a three-year old girl, winces at the thought of her daughter ever thinking of taking up belly dancing classes.

 

“I would never allow her to; it’s not a lady-like thing to do. I also think it’s even ridiculous when people argue that it’s ok to dance in private or for your husband. It reduces women to sex objects,” Amal says.

 

 

  

A belly-dancing class, like the dance itself, is hard work. As one of the most difficult forms of dancing, it can take months or even years to perfect your style. But not all students are there to become professional dancers.

 

Jacqueline Chapman, a British belly-dancer and professional teacher, says: “Everybody is different. I teach everyone as a unique individual. Some people are there because they like the costume, some want to improve their shapes, and others want to become performers.”

 

She says that 95 per cent of her students are people who want to get fit and want to have some fun while working out.

 

“People want an alternative to aerobics class or fitness class or ballroom dancing which a lot of people find boring,” Jacqueline says.

Belly dancing works the whole body especially the legs and the area between breastbone and knees - waist, hips, abdomen and pelvic floor, toning thighs, stomach and bottom. It can also help your biceps and triceps muscles if you are in Asmahan’s class.

 

“I do a veil routine; it’s very important to start to do that because it makes your arms strong, it gives you a sense of balance, and you start to use your hands properly. And it’s heavy. If you hold your veil right it really works your upper body,” Asmahan says about her foundation class training where students have to learn how to dance using a veil, which is part of their styling movements.

 

Jacqueline, who was a Registered General Nurse with obstetric experience before she became a professional belly dancer, has also set up what she called a Belly Babies pre-natal course to promote healthy child-bearing. The classes are then followed by a post-natal course to help her students regain shape and muscle tone after childbirth.

 

Unlike Jacqueline who accepts students of “all ages, shapes, and sizes,” Asmahan is a bit particular about who she teaches. “It’s not for young girls, it’s a women’s dance,” she says.
 

Liza Gray, an Iranian-born Briton who has performed for Prince Charles and Bush senior, says that she always asks her students what they want to get out of the dance. “I’ve had women saying ‘I just want to do it because I love it’. That’s all! Most of them just love it,” she says.
 

Liza, a UCL graduate who quit her law-firm job in the 80s to pursue her dancing passion, advises her students, ‘‘Dance like nobody’s watching!’