The Belly Dance Lone Ranger

These days, with satellite navigation, gigs are a lot easier to find. Still, more than their fair share are located on unnamed roads, marked by unlit signposts. I'm driving around what looks to be a park, there are no streetlamps, plenty of humps in the road and the occasional sudden turn. As I approach a T-junction I can't decide whether to opt for the visitors car park or to follow the noise of the party. Another pair of headlights approaches and a man with a walkie talkie gets out. "Are you Mia?" he asks. "I am", I reply, impressed. "Follow me" he says and escorts my car to the car park. I'm then led by two more security men who know my name to an empty gate house - curtainless, windowful.

I crouch down into a dark corner & change into my costume. It's my new red one, simple red with draped fabric and strings of glass beads, 1940s style Cairo with a hint bollywood. In the stark bathroom I put on my make up, my hand moving slowly, my mind focused. This part is my ritual, a quiet time to focus before the performance. My phone rings and I drop my liquid eyeliner into the sink. Its the client asking if i'm on my way, having missed my call on arrival. We'll come and fetch you she tells me. Thank you, I say, my answer a little clipped.

I have always maintained I don't get nervous before gigs. But my need to be quiet and stress-free ahead of a show indicates otherwise, and can sometimes make me seem detatched. Yet this is the nature of true performance, it requires an extreme level of focus and I need to purge my mind of worldly thoughts in order to be present for every moment of the show: listening intently to the music, sensing my way around and interacting with a room full of strangers. My friend, a violinist, says that, that musicians live for the high of the performance and everything in between is filler before the next one. My sufi teacher calls this heightened state the intelligence of the heart, a level of focus that bypasses the censorship of the brain, it is a satisfying - sometimes ecstatic - combination of alertness and relaxation.

The phone rings again and this time the entire content of my make-up bag avalanches into the sink. It's a number I don't know and I don't pick up. "Maya?" comes a voice from the stairs, "are you ready?". I emerge defeated from the bathroom, "hi, nice to meet you". We shake hands. These are investment bankers and the type is so familiar to me, from my former career, despite my costuming I go into "client facing" mode. I invite them to sit on the sofa and we make small talk about their jobs, the financial markets, they confessing their real aspirations as they hear of my transformation from the City to sequins. We almost forget about the performance as we discuss the history of belly dance and I share my insights. The girl is Muslim, intelligent, someone I could have gone to school with, her parents immigrants, eager for her to get an education and be succesful where they struggled. Her amibitions in a box never opened.

I suggest we go down to the party and we walk together over the gravel and stone steps to the main hall, me in my gold dance shoes with soft leather soles. The DJ is irritable. He wants to know which tracks to play from my CD, I tell him play them all until I say stop. DJs and restaurant managers do not like this. They are used to being in control. Many a time, usually just as I coax the most reticent person in the room to get up and dance, my music has cut out, dead and suddenly Celebrate Good Times blasts out accompanied by the flash of 3 coloured disco lights. Once at an Indian wedding the DJ MCed over my entire performance, introducing me as being all the way from Saudi Arabia and saying I wanted every male in the room to get up and dance with me. Then after a 4 minute song he cut the music and said "thank you and goodbye to the belly dancer". Outside the girl who had booked me was really apologetic, "I'm sorry" she said helplessly, "the DJ just took over". Obviously this post-modernist feminist belly dancer wasn't taking that. I went back in and insisted my CD be played again and got all the ladies up on the dancefloor. The personal is political after all.

Back at the wedding the security man is lingering, I am testing the flagstone floor for turnability, fidgeting and assessing the space. I want to get on with it. "Are you nervous? You seem nervous" he says with a French accent. "I don't get nervous" I say and glare at him. "How much longer" I ask the tetchy DJ, "when everyone is back in the room" he answers as we watch a trickle of people return from the buffet, he mutters about how nothig is running to plan.

The theme colour of the night is red, there are red chiffon drapes, red lights and everyone is wearing red, including me. I'm impressed that I unknowingly honed into the vibe of my clients - now that's service. The atmosphere is formal and a little stilted and I can't wait to break it apart with my performance. I love this, the ability to move energy, to tranform a room from cold to hot, from still to buzzing - this is the essence of what I do. Transformation through dance. One of my drama teachers once asked us, what acting was. It is daring to expose your vulnerability and your true self, demonstrating your freedom on stage in order that others may feel more free was his answer.

Its a tricky one but after the music has started I gradually start to melt the crowd, I'm not sure what to do about the headscarfed ladies on one side but I include them anyway. The ice finally cracks as I invite the bride up and she begins to work her hips and her parents nod approvingly. We have permission to go for it and its not long before the table of English girls are up and stomping around, hips twitching.

The DJ stops my music abruptly and I smile nonchalantly, beaming at him and then the audience. As Celebrate Good Times takes over everyone gets up to dance, in a circle facing inwards. Now I am on the outside and I begin to feel self conscious. My work is done and I slink away silently into the night, alone. Another good deed completed by the belly dance lone ranger. Until the next time.