D e s e r t E x p o s u r e
May 2008
One Arabian Night
Ever wonder what it would be like to try belly dancing? Our intrepid reporter bares — well, not quite all.
Story and photos by Donna Clayton Lawder
Zoe Wolfe swears that belly dancing is not what I think. "It's not about that! It's not about bared bellies or performing," the Silver City belly-dancing instructor and ceramics artist insists. "It's about moving and having fun!"
 |
Wolfe shouts "Happy spring!" in
a joyous release at the end of the class closing ritual. |
I'd heard about the fitness benefits of this Middle Eastern form of dance — core muscle toning, strength building, cardio workout. In fact, one story of belly dancing's origins says it developed as a form of exercise to prepare women for the rigors of childbirth. And it does sound like fun: I imagine those distinctive flutes and stringed instruments, the crisp ching of finger bells, interwoven with visions of Peter O'Toole (admittedly a life-long crush) in his Lawrence of Arabia garb. . . .
So, the next thing I know, I'm at Wolfe's weekly belly-dancing class at A Daily Practice Yoga Studio, prepared to suck it up — and maybe suck it in a little — and give it a try.
The other women gathered for class tonight — chatting, helping each other tie on a scarf or adjust a spangled brassiere — fit my vision of those Middle Eastern women of old: a coffee klatch, perhaps, but with spangles. They range from their early 30s into their 50s, from short to tall, athletic to stick-thin to voluptuous. They adjust their outfits while sharing their reasons for taking belly dance classes.
"I do it to get into my body. It gets me out of my head, out of the rest of my life and into this space," says one woman, a hand lovingly planted on her abdomen to emphasize her point. "And I just love it, too. I shimmy in my kitchen!"
"Me, too," says another student. "I do it around the house. It's really good for your waist."
A diminutive, silver-haired lady puts in, "It's great exercise and it's fun to do."
Most of these students have been taking this class for six months to a year or more. One has been Wolfe's student for all 10 years she has been teaching belly dancing in Silver City.
True to Wolfe's word, only one student shows even a flash of bare belly. One woman in a loose black skirt and sleeveless top tells another student, "I didn't wear my fancy outfit tonight." She ties a bright scarf around her hips, turning her simple garb into something exotic.
"Oh, you look fine," the other reassures her.
They both admire the flowing, tiered multi-colored skirt of a new arrival. Her hip scarf is an elaborate open-weave variety, made of shimmering threads and with long fringes. Another student has tied on a scarf with metal disks that resemble coins or large sequins. She gives her hips a vigorous shake to test out her jingle.
In my loose-fitting "genie" pants and black knit top, I feel plain, even under-equipped. Well, my clothes are comfortable for movement — and I have brought along my belly, after all.
Carrying several large shopping bags and an enormous boombox, instructor Zoe Wolfe sweeps into the room, calling out greetings, smiling broadly. Her eyes seem to snap with electricity from within. Dark, curly hair flows behind her in a long wave. Her form-fitting, midriff-baring outfit gives evidence of how slimming belly dancing can be.
Wolfe sets down her bags and boombox, warmly welcomes me and another new student, then surveys my outfit. With a warm and pleasant smile, she says simply, "You need a scarf."
An awkward wave of uncertainty washes over me. Is my outfit that plain? Do I really merit a fancy scarf on my first night — can I do it justice? My face must betray my doubts, as Wolfe quickly pipes up, "Well, we all need scarves, right ladies?" She hands me an exotic blue scarf that compliments my humble attempt at belly dance attire. She ties another, of the jingling variety, around her own hips.
It turns out the scarf is to help me, not just make me look fancy or authentic. "It makes you aware of your hips," Wolfe explains with a shake that punctuates her point.
Her eyes light up with something akin to mischief. "It also helps me get out of my street persona and into my belly dancing self," she adds brightly. As if instantly transformed into some exotic ancient creature, she waves her arms in a fluid, serpentine movement and gives her hips another energetic, jingly shake.
She advances to the front of the room, pops a CD into the boombox and calls the women together to form a circle. "Let's warm up!"
We start with micro-moves and proper posture: feet under hips, hips forward, neck circles, shoulder rolls to loosen up. So far, so good. Years of yoga and Pilates have given me some helpful body awareness and balance.
Following Wolfe's lead, we begin undulating our bodies like snakes. There are a lot of "snake" components to belly dancing, I soon discover; this sinuous movement is what gives the dance its characteristic flow. Though Wolfe and the others make it look easy — bringing to mind exotic cobras — I am aware that my own movements are coming off more like that of a New Jersey garter snake. No, that would be an insult to the garter snake.
Wolfe catches sight of my attempts at undulation, then breaks down the movement into segments so I can perhaps find the missing step in my process and catch the movement's flow.
"Hips forward," she says, "just hips," and demonstrates with a subtle move that suggests she has no vertebrae to work around — at least not stubborn vertebrae like mine.
I focus on the micro-movement of my own hips. Up, back, up, back. Soon I can combine the moves into a sequence that gives me that snake-like flow. I'm just about getting good at it — more cobra, less garter snake! — when Wolfe adds another move.
"Now step with it! One, two, three, four!" she calls out in time with the music. The others easily follow her lead and step toward the front of the room, keeping up their undulations. "Then back!" Wolfe calls, and all shimmy back into place with those quick little graceful footsteps familiar from belly dancing scenes in movies.
Of course, unfamiliar with the steps and calls, I miss even this basic cue and find myself still undulating at the back of the room, then trying to catch up with the little steps forward and back. No problem, it turns out — we're going to do this again and again. I work to reestablish my undulation and wait for the stepping cue.
"Now, step!" Wolfe calls, looking back over her shoulder in my direction, perhaps checking to see if I'm coming along this time. Indeed, I manage to approximate the stepping-forward part but lose my hip movements.
Wolfe ups the count to eight steps. Up, back, up, back. Hey, I'm getting the hang of this!, I think to myself.
My undulation is coming along. My stepping is in time with the other students and the music. I feel the effect all this hip stuff is having on my abs — feels healthy. Yes, this is going to be a nice little workout. I'm just starting to feel a sense of accomplishment when Wolfe switches gears to arm movements.
I have arms? I've been so focused on the lower parts of my body that I've become completely unaware of my upper.
"Snake arms!" Wolfe calls out.
Oh, great. More snakes.
The students begin a cobra-like arm motion. A couple of them, torsos and heads held perfectly still, seem in a trance, peaceful gazes directed toward some faraway point in their imaginations. Out to their sides, then in front, they move their arms in beautiful synchrony, creating a small sea of waves.
Me? Not so much.
I'm back to channeling my inner garter snake. I practice leading with my elbow, flexing my wrists, trying to emulate this rhythmic dance of the arms.
We switch to hands, a fluttering movement up and down. "Let the hands mirror each other. One follows the other," Wolfe says, demonstrating her own "hand dance." We move our hands up to a count of eight, then back down to another eight beats. We turn our wrists. "This enhances the flexibility of our joints."
Now it's time to shimmy. Using our various lower parts — feet, ankles, knees, thighs — one at a time, we shake or wiggle our hips. We start out slowly, then speed up the shimmying. Feet have one effect on the hip movements; ankles create a different depth of shimmy.
When we get to the knees, my hips really engage with the movement. I give myself over to the shimmy, you could say, and my entire ample hip, um, region commences a quaking dance of its own.
OK, as the old pop song goes, I definitely feel my "backfield in motion."
I'm feeling a bit self-conscious and even afraid of this particular depth of shimmy when Wolfe looks over, eyes my quaking with a smile, and calls out, "Ooh! You're a natural!"
"No," I shoot back. "I just have a big butt!" My classmates emit some good-natured titters.
Warmed by the flush in my cheeks — the facial variety, thank you! — I decide this would be a good time to head to the sidelines and take some notes.
Wolfe advances the class into more choreographed moves — stepping up and back in lines, moving in circles, pivoting — combining steps the students already know and adding new ones. It's all new to me, but I rejoin the circle and try to learn to pivot.
"OK, now add the shimmy and we're going to step it up to four," Wolfe instructs, essentially causing the dance to shift into double-time.
"Don't forget to float the rib cage," she says. She makes eye contact with one student and demonstrates the shift in her own posture. The discreetly singled-out student follows Wolfe's form, and instantly is transformed into an elegant creature seemingly at least three inches taller.
"Reach with the ribs," Wolfe calls out, demonstrating with her own fluid move and graceful posture. Then it's a "dipping" motion involving the hips and legs. "Dip, in. Dip, touch. This is a good thigh workout, ladies. Do you feel that?"
Trying to combine the steps I've learned this evening, trying to move my feet and simultaneously float my ribcage, I realize my arms don't look like anyone else's in the room. Surely I have to take more notes. . . .
Wolfe invites the students to take a breather. One opens a door for ventilation on this increasingly warm spring evening, and all run to take sips from their water bottles.
"I've been working on our choreography," Wolfe says. "I played with all these moves we've been doing, and I've changed them all just a little to make it interesting for us, so let's just try this." She changes the music, gives a demonstration at the front of the room, then invites the students to try out the new sequence.
At first the new movements confound the dancers, but they giggle and return to step one, try it again. Wolfe makes her own misstep and laughs at herself. After a few rounds, all have the new movements down and Wolfe focuses on posture and flow.
"Tiny steps here," she says. "Float the arms up, and don't forget the shoulders!"
Soon the class is flowing like a scene out of the classic 1942 film Arabian Nights. But at this point, Wolfe switches the music to something decidedly less than classic.
While incorporating traditional-sounding Middle Eastern instruments and keeping the same measured tempo, the music shifts intensity up a notch. A chorus of singers pumps out lines with a rap-like staccato, then is joined by a woman with a squeaky, almost chipmunk-like voice. Think rapping Abdullah and the chipmunks.
"Ooh, freaky baby!" a student yells out. The whole class becomes freshly energized with a fun spirit of funk.
Wolfe says it sounds to her that the singer is saying "squeaky baby."
"I think it sounds like 'freaky.' And I like 'freaky' better," the student replies with a laugh.
Wolfe explains that this style is a recent development in belly dance music. While most associate the dancing with zithers, lutes and whining strings, categories such as tribal, fusion, even gothic and industrial punk have joined in. And while many of those variations are American, this "squeaky/freaky baby" tune comes out of the Middle East.
"Let's see some beautiful posture now," Wolfe says as the class practices its choreography to the song. She leads through the new sequence in super slo-mo, then suddenly says, "That's it! OK, let's take it from the top now."
The class advances through the dance, the entire series of steps from throughout the whole night combining into a flowing art form to squeaky/freaky baby. "Nice! Nice!" Wolfe praises, then, "OK, ladies, I admit. That was a lot! A lot of new stuff and some changes, too. Good job."
Standing on the sidelines, taking my notes and photos, I'm aware of really feeling my abs. That's a good thing, right?
"Let's get into our circle," Wolfe directs. Another beckoning hand gesture to me. "Come on," she encourages sweetly. I give in.
In a closing exercise that's a blend of athletic, mental and spiritual cool-down, we all link hands and raise them above our heads. As a group, we perform simple movements together. Having spent the better part of this evening learning dance sequences, perfecting our individual bodies' participation, we now join as an entity, celebrating our various levels of success and our participation in a beautiful whole.
Wolfe offers closing words of praise and encouragement. Then, with a release just this side of ecstatic, she looks to the ceiling and shouts, "Happy spring!"
Classes are ongoing and open, Wolfe tells me as my fellow students trickle away. Though tonight's class involved a lot of new steps, some are more focused on stilling the mind, flexibility and basic moves.
"Sometimes I have an agenda about what steps I want to teach, or a new dance. Mostly I see who's in the room and then make choices from a few different options," Wolfe says. "But whatever we do, we always get a good workout, it always involves centering, aligning, and we come away with new ways to move the body. Oh, and it's always fun!"
Having enjoyed the company of some energetic, personable women and, yes, a darn good workout, I find myself humming as I step lightly up Texas Street. Will I try this again? I wonder. Could I master all those steps? And will I ever get this darn "squeaky baby" tune out of my head?
Zoe Wolfe's belly dancing classes are open enrollment, all levels welcome, Mondays 5:30-6:50 p.m. at A Daily Practice Yoga Studio, 104 N. Texas St., Silver City. $10/class, sixth class free. Upcoming special events include: "Sensual Spring: A Movement Meditation Workshop for Men and Women," May 17, 1-4:30 p.m., at A Daily Practice, $30. "Awareness Vacation: Belly Dance and Scarf Painting" workshop with Zoe Wolfe, July 12-19, in Panama, $2,249, www.awarenessvacations.com Wolfe's ceramic art is featured at Leyba & Ingalls Arts, 315 Bullard St., Silver City, 388-3910