I had only been belly dancing for six months when my classmates goaded me to don a stage name and enter the wilds of public performance. But eventually my curiosity overruled, and I began to seek out the appropriate venue to safely strut my stuff. Opportunity knocked one Saturday afternoon when recruiters from a charity organization visited our class and encouraged us to audition for their company. Volunteering as a Compassionate Camel, a troupe whose mission was to bring the art of belly dance to New York seniors, appealed to my do-gooder enthusiasm.
Here was a nice low-key way for me to road test my burgeoning desire to perform. Shortly after getting cast, our leader, Damascus, called a company meeting. She reached into her briefcase and pulled out a framed picture of herself shaking hands with Rudolph Giuliani.
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Our next performance was to take place at the Promenade, a ritzy senior living facility on the Upper West Side. What started as a cute homage to I Dream of Jeannie morphed into an epic plea for peace in Middle East. Rabab, our choreographer, was highly imaginative, but had extreme difficulty communicating her ideas. When we arrived at the Promenade, Damascus gathered the Camels into a huddle, her voice thick with disappointment.
Damascus and Simon went to the lounge to set up the music and props. With four musicians, their instruments, and the audience, there was hardly any room for the dancers. At the last minute, the band was relocated. We entered undulating our hips and shaking tambourines to rouse the sleeping residents.
I gazed over the room and my eyes settled on one woman who seemed particularly alert. Rabab circled the Camels in toe shoes. This was our cue to interact with the audience.
