When I found myself in Cairo in the 90’s, I wanted to see the pyramids, the golden sarcophagus, the ancient hieroglyphs, but what I most wanted to see was Lucy dance. Lucy rose out of poverty in Egypt to become a massive belly dance star and as I made my living as a professional belly dancer, I wanted to see one of the masters of the art form. There are certain dancers that are so breathtaking in their movements they will make you weep with a longing you didn’t even know you had.
Unfortunately, my time in Cairo was considered “off-season” and Lucy wasn’t performing.
I saw many other incredible things in Cairo, like the glittering gold and jewels from King Tut’s tomb, 3,000 year old mummies staring out at me from their bandages, peacocks swishing their tails through lush gardens, and curling glass perfume bottles that resembled a genie’s lamp.
Walking around Cairo was like walking through a Cave of Wonders–around every bend was another treasure.
On my last night, my friends took me out to dinner. A live band was playing Arabic music, and as we sat and ate, a woman with sassy chin-length dark hair and a warm smile stood up from her table. She raised her elegant hands over her head, and swayed her hips as she sashayed onto the dance floor by herself.
My friends nudged me, “It’s Lucy.”
I stood up so I wouldn’t miss a moment, and watched Lucy captivate the crowd in her street clothes: black pants, high heel boots, and a black top. She floated around the floor, her arms and hips undulating, subtle, intricate, and graceful.
She looked like a shaken champagne bottle as she danced, bubbling over with joy. I studied every move, trying to memorize the ones I’d never seen so I could take them home and incorporate versions into my own dancing. She curled one hip up in a move I’d never seen before, right on the drum beat so it was impossible to tell if the drum was compelling her, or she was compelling the drummer. Her movement was delicate and articulate, performed on her toes, and then she took it to another mind-blowing level as she bent her knees while curling her hips, all the way down, almost to the floor.
Recognizing her mastery and the difficulty of the movements, the crowd went wild, whistling, clapping, shouting, cheering, standing up and twirling their napkins in the air like cowboys spinning lassos.
Lucy popped back up and flung her head in a circle, her hair flying, her smile radiant.
I picked up my napkin and wiped the tears running down my face. Her movements had taken my breath away, spun gold out of thin air, as if King Tut’s jewels had just exploded over my head and rained glitter on me. I wondered if I had unknowingly rubbed a genie lamp somewhere and here was my wish: watching Lucy dance.
My friends made me take a picture with Lucy, and I’m glad I did or the night may have seemed like a dream.
