Love Stories, by Astryd Farah deMichele

Cairo, Egypt is beautiful in a very dynamic sort of way. Equally, her people are beautifully dynamic. One such character is the incomparable Oriental dance choreographer, Madame Raqia Hassan. Full of life and energy, she is always “on.” For many years now I’ve had the pleasure of studying with Mme Raqia, appearing in two of her videos, Volume 7 and the most recently released, Volume 9.

While working with Mme Raqia on Volume 7 (2004), several epiphanies took place for which I can thank her and her profound sense of musicality. A new feeling emerged about how the music truly is the dance, and without the feeling behind Egyptian music, the dance is without a soul, and very importantly, vice versa. We dance the music so that it can be visually seen.

The song she choreographed and which I perform in Volume 7 is an eloquent love song from the 1950’s by Mohammed Abdel Wahab, titled “Koulli Dah Kan Leih,” meaning “all of this, why it happened?” Abdel Wahab sings asking why all the things happened after he saw her eyes…his heart was leaning toward her…and he was busy thinking about her.

Madame Raqia trained me to feel and sense how each opposite camel and vibration sings the music for the love song. The musical arrangement we worked to was a modern rendition without lyrics - yet we danced the lyrics anyhow - which is typical and normal in Egyptian Oriental dance (you will find many old songs played from singers such as Oum Kalsoum, Abdel Halim and Abdel Wahab used in nightclubs without singing, but with dancer and/or audience fervidly dancing/singing along). Working on the choreography for this particular song was a profound experience, through sweat and tears the music really became a part of me…and so did the choreography, the feeling, the sensation of the love story.

In Volume 9 she again had me work to a love song (I seem to be a magnet for dancing the love stories…or perhaps it’s just that so much of the most popular Arabic music is love songs!). She happened to choose one of the latest by my favorite modern Arabic singer, Fadl Shaker (Lebanese singer using the Egyptian dialect). The song is titled “Illi Enta Shayfouh,” roughly meaning “what you see [make].” A bittersweet song, he sings about a love story ending, with lyrics telling his lover to just break it off… “cut [break] my heart now, not later…no problem…I will cry two tears for you, for two days only…” Very impassioned, Fadl has one of the sweetest voices of pop singers out there – he is true, with talent and finesse.

Within the choreography Mme Raqia showcases many of her signature techniques, including opposite camels, arabesques, interesting footwork, gestures, shimmies, and of course snazzy hip and pelvic locks. She has her very own style, feeling and energy…emitting an earthy, strong sense (gathered by pushing energy up from the floor through the body), while keeping it soft and sensuous…emoting and enjoying the art of displaying the music. Performing her lovely choreographies is a “velvety” experience…the movements flow one-into-the-other, and each phrase gives the sense of the song.

Working with Mme Raqia has changed my dance significantly; helped me not only to gain more and better technique, but to allow myself to feel more, to express more, to delve into that mysterious place where art happens, and understand the musicality. Through her choreography she paints clearly a picture of the essence of a piece of Arabic music – whether old or new. Dynamic as Cairo herself, Madame Raqia is one-of-a-kind!

Pilawaar, by Kathy Gunson

Recently, Saturday mornings found five curious women learning the art of Pilawaar embroidery, a needlework weaving technique from the country of Oman. The adventure and forging of new friendship began with Mary Wheeler, and her desire to learn a new language.

In longing to learn Arabic, Mary started classes at the University of Oregon, where she met Mahfoudha al Balushi, a Fullbright student from Musqat, Oman, one of the most multicultural capitals in the world. Mahfoudha, pursuing her Master's degree in teaching English as a second language, is from a tribe of people distinguished by the name Balushi. The Balushi people inhabit coastal mountain ranges in Iran, Pakistan, and Afghanistan.

In the sultanate, each cultural group retains its own customs, food, and costumes, most obvious in the different dresses worn by the women. The most distinct part of the clothing is the embroidered Balushi dress, the Pandooli. The Pendooli is similar to the Salwar Kameez except for its prominent frot pocket (called pendool, which gives the dress its name) and gathered sides. The dress can be worn for every occasion, from housework to weddings.

Simple embroidery, a single thread color, to varying complex designs with 3 to 5 different thread colors may adorn the hems, cuffs, and yokes of the pendooli. Carved wooden stamps ink the trademark cross-thatched design on the garment. The woman sits quietly with her needle and thread, weaving beautifully intricate designs.

In today's markets, tailors can fill orders quicky through the use of machines, but Balushi embroidery must be done by hand. The elaborate nature and beauty of the work is unmatched. Sadly, Balushi hand embroidery may be dying out in Oman. The availability of lower priced dresses means most women buy from the markets. And employment and education are making the craft more of a hobby than a livelihood. Young women are rarely seen doing Balushi embroidery.

An embassador of her country, Mahfoudha was eager to teach the art of Pilawaar, a legacy learned at the knees of the elder women of her community. Tackling the intricacies of weaving small patterns with thin floss elicited giggles and aging-eyesight comments as we bent over our work. The quiet comradery settled around our shoulders as we mused on the gift of sitting at the knees of a generation of women, learning a beautiful needlework skill.

What an incredible time we shared, and thank you, Mahfoudha.