Gut feel

Christina was waiting in a long black robe, just a hint of green chiffon peeking out. Curly black hair and an artfully made-up face were all I could see. The decorative sheeshas, urns and bright decor, made her seem quite at home, with a cup of Turkish coffee for company. Christina didn8217;t speak much English8212;8216;8216;We find you a dress, yes?8217;8217; she said, and whisked me up to her room, where we sorted through a rack of glittering costumes.

8216;8216;I like this one too much,8217;8217; she said, holding up a little piece of nothing in pink and purple8212;strips of chiffon for the skirt held together by heavy beaded belt and some more shiny beads that comprised the top. I can honestly say I liked it too, but wearing it was another matter.

8216;8216;You don8217;t have enough belly to be belly dancer,8217;8217; she told me with a rueful look. 8216;8216;Belly dancers have to be, um, fuller.8217;8217; Hey!

We rejected one fur-trimmed costume and a gorgeous Egyptian net dress with a matching veil. 8216;8216;Do you have something a little, er, more?8217;8217; the coward in me asked hopefully. Out came a sheer black catsuit, dripping with crystals and beads. I tried it on and it did fit8212;even the heavily embroidered bustier. Hmmm8230; quite nice. 8216;8216;I get all my costumes from the best designer in Lebanon, Ghada Njeim. I love her clothes8212;so rich,8217;8217; she smiled.

Wearing what full body armour would probably feel like and weigh!, we made our way back to Maroush. Christina, who is from Lebanon, has been dancing for eight years8212;she started when she was 25. 8216;8216;It8217;s beautiful and a tradition, not something cheap,8217;8217; she asserted.

The time for chit-chat was over as we were back at the eatery. The organist, Marwan, who performs with Christina every night, was all set to play some haunting melodies. Christina discarded her robe and revealed a forest green skirt, a tiny green and pink beaded bikini top and a floaty veil. And I realised what she meant by belly dancers being a little fuller. 8216;8216;Come on,8217;8217; she told me, as Marwan played some funky beats. With nervousness creeping towards hysteria, I told her to start so I could get a clue of what I was supposed to do. She didn8217;t need any more urging, so she stepped into the colourful light of a pulsing strobe.

And I watched dumbfounded as she transformed herself. With a blissful look she started off with a slight jiggle, only the hips and tummy moving. As the tempo slowly built up, she brought in foot movements, used her hands to make the veil float in a cloud of green, bent over backwards and whirled like a sandstorm. Then she beckoned me. Gulp! I sent up a silent thanks that the restaurant was unoccupied.

8216;8216;Start by moving only this,8217;8217; she said with a wiggle of the hips. I tried. Not bad, but I was definitely not as expressive as she was. Hand movements were then thrown in, and my black veil was soon swishing around. We tried that for a bit and then introduced feet. But when you have two left feet to begin with, and limb-numbing fright is nailing them down, there8217;s not much hope. As the music went on, I began to enjoy myself. The feet were still being difficult, but it was definitely fun.

After we stopped, I told her that she was fabulous. And I meant it. Christina said that I was pretty good, too. But since my tummy didn8217;t go jiggy like hers, I assume she was just being kind. Damn those toned abs!