On the 13th of May, the world celebrated World Belly Dance Day. This was the first time since I started performing five years ago that I didn't perform in the event held at Montana Family Market in Pretoria. And boy, was it weird to be part of the crowd . . .
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| My MiTribe sisters in action |
On the day, I gladly offered my near-expert false lash application skills to my dance sisters, just to feel part of the team again. I watched their bags, kept an eye on the programme and ensured that the ladies got backstage when they needed to be.
It was good to be useful.
It was aweful not to be dancing.
I felt out of place, unaccustomed to sitting still while music that I still knew the choreography for by heart played. My heart ached to be on that stage and I cursed this damned foot of mine for holding me back.
From out of this misery, something good came: Kgomotso.
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| Photo by Me |
The photo barely does her justice, unable to capture the joy and freedom she brought to the stage. And that's when I realised that I wasn't missing just dancing . . . I was missing the freedom.
Looking back to when I was her age, I could barely imagine getting up on that stage and doing what this gorgeous girl just did. I was painfully shy. I hated drawing any attention to myself and proudly wore the label of "geek." It wasn't until I was 27 that I gathered enough guts to attend my first Oriental Dance class. Perhaps, if I had Oriental Dance in my life as a teenager, I would have been able to achieve a totally different life for myself.
A young woman like Kgomotso has the whole world open to her, just because she has learned that the fundamental key to personal happiness lies in self-acceptance and self-love. I don't know her personally. I'm sure that if you talk to her, you'd hear of a totally different life of hardships and issues that she has had to deal with in her life. But you don't see that when she dances. You just see joy. You see confidence. You see a young woman who knows what she's worth and isn't afraid to demand it from those around her. I actually wish that I had the guts to go up to her to congratulate her, tell her mother that she's an amazing girl and ask for a photo, but I didn't. I didn't feel confident enough since I was dragging a crutch around and my foot ached almost more than I could bear due to the bitter cold of that day.
All of this lead me to a new realisation: we are all Kgomotsos. The age at which we dare it on the stage is not what defines us, but the freedom and joy we embody when we get the chance to dance.
At the moment I am still pretty much useless when it comes to dancing. I can't stand on tip-toes for very long and my balance is still shot. But it's been four months since my surgery. My recovery is slow and painful, but it's progressing. One day soon I'm going to reclaim that freedom.
What is four months compared to the 27 years before all this magic entered my life?
XxX
Marina
