40 Days and 1001 Nights

Zanzibar- blog

2011-11-11T00:38:00.000-08:00

Wow! This last trip to Zanzibar was action packed!

I arrived in Zanzibar July 1st, after an amazing retreat where me, Denise Marino, and Fathe brought five women into Egypt's Siwa Oasis. That magical oasis never fails to present something new and wonderful. I always feel that I am truly living in the moment while rolling down a sand dune, being buried for a sand bath by Berber women in traditional dress, or drinking the deliciously syrupy Siwan mint tea at sunrise.

ORIENTALIA FESTIVAL IN ZANZIBAR, July 9, 2011

Immediately, after the Ethiopian Airlines flight from Cairo to Zanzibar, Suleiman Mauly of the Zanzibar Sober Houses and Maryam Ohlsen, event planner extraordinaire set about organizing the last details of "Orientalia Zanzibar" before the big group of international bellydancers arrived to spread sparkle and cheer in Zanzibar.

Orientalia is a festival, aimed at showing Middle Eastern dance as an art form that everyone can enjoy no matter if they are rich, poor, or if they have any notion of what our dance form means. It is to erradicate the silly thoughts about Oriental dance being "just for men."

We have done forteen Orientalia festivals, in Miami Beach, Buenos Aires, Hong Kong, and now Zanzibar. They are either free to the public or fundraisers for a good cause with free tix available for those who cannot afford.

Orientalia Zanzibar, 2011 featured the following artistss; Tamalyn Dallal, Bozenka, Zayla, and Malia (USA), Leilaa Hiromi (Japan), Aida (Taiwan), Susan Molina (Argentina/USA), Alessandra (Venezuela/USA), Simbiya (Brazil),, Angela, Nathalie and Bianca (South Africa). The Tausi Women's Orchestra (Zanzibar's first ever orchestra where women play the instruments), and the Ikhwan Safaa Orchestra (Africa's oldest band, formed in 1905).

This year's Orientalia was a dream come true. Imagine, nearly fifty musicians and Oriental dancers from around the world all under the stars in an ancint Omani fort in the center of Stonetown Zanzibar. We were all performing for a common cause- recovery from drug addiction. Those of you who read my book "40 Days and 1001 Nights" will remember the poignant story of my neighbor, who I called Taariq, but is actually Suleiman. I had previously changed his name for the book to protect his identity, but now he is a public figure and everyone knows the story of all he has overcome. In 2006, when I wrote the book, he was instrumental in helping me find my way around Zanzibar, mainly getting me in contact with the Ikhwan Safaa band, whose music I had been searching for. I was sad and shocked when he turned out to be a heroin addict since the age of 17 and seemed to have no hope for the future.

His story transformed into a happy ending. He went to Kenya to a recovery program as there was no help for the thousands of addicts in Zanzibar. (Zanzibar is a major part of the herion trade route that goes from South Asia to Europe and South Africa). He was successful in his recovery and through a miraculous set of coincidences went to the US to train with the Detroit Recovery Program. He started Drug Free Zanzibar and the Zanzibar Sober Houses. Also instrumental in this effort was a woman named Bi Fatma and a woman in California named Maggie who funded the first sober house. Soon this addiction recovery grew from a few guys being sent to the mosque to detox cold turkey through prayer -to hundreds of addicts recovering and several sober houses, Narcotics Anonymous meetings, etc. There is now a women's sober house, which I will tell about later in this blog.

The director of Detroit Revocery Program, Calvin Trent came to Orientalia 2011 and gave a speech. The director of MEWA, the program in Kenya where Suleiman came clean was there too. The director of Culture for Zanzibar and the Consul of Oman sat in the front row with Suleiman. The Omani Consul sponsored elaborate decorations for Orientalia Zanzibar. At least 500 people were in the audience. This included a group from the Bohori community. They are a conservative group who said "We came to support recovery, and never expected to like bellydancing. But now we give it our stamp of approval too."

We were informed that our costuming would have to be approved of by a censor, who never showed up. Anyway, all dancers dressed in covered costumes. The dances were just as beautiful in costumes that were deemed acceptable in this conservative culture.

The most special moment of Orientalia was when the stage filled with former addicts from the various sober houses, thanking Suleiman for saving their lives.

You can see this powerful and poignant moment on http//www.youtube.com/watch?v=M9twdjL2wTk.

THE BEST CULTURAL RETREAT EVER!

See this Youtube link; http://www.youtube.com/user/seicheese#p/u/16/fXsQvpHnfmY

It was my dream to share the beautiful culture of Zanzibar with music and dance lovers from around the world. After a year of planning, participants came from all over the world. Some were dancers and others enthusiasts. One was even an enthusiastic husband! I had a couple of nights of lost sleep due to people missing flights, and making sure everyone arrived safely.

The retreat began at 4pm, July 5th- "Shauri Ya Moyo", an amazing dance troupe, originally from the island of Pemba performed on the street, just outside Emerson Spice Hotel, nestled among the tiny pedestrian only stone streets of Stonetown. All the dancers and retreat participants were treated to a surprise as the street came to life with drumming and traditional stick fighting. They went inside and continued with an array of folkloric dances on each landing until reaching the roof- where gourmet island food was being cooked and the party continued in full force.

The following day, Bozenka and I started teaching four days of workshops at the Dhow Countries Music Academy. The class room was idyllic, facing the ocean with a wooden balcony. (see this Youtube link) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zLaDo2cpQkk.

Each night, we had different parties with amazing food and some of Zanzibar's best live musicians. One afternoon, we visited the Ikhwan Safaa clubhouse and watched them rehearse for Orientalia. Then we headed to an area called Mtendeni and saw Maulidi Ya Homu, a group of young men and boys who celebrate the birth and life of Prophet Mohammed PBUH through song and choreographed movements.

We were invited to visit some of the sober houses. Many in our group were moved to tears upon hearing the tragic stories of the women who were struggling to break free of addiction. (See these same women singing for the first lady of Zanzibar- It sounds like an amazing African version of the blues).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U5-epVujiD8&feature=email.

After Orientalia and an action packed week of workshops, parties and witnessing rare cultural art forms, we relaxed on a "spice tour". Zanzibar grows 70% of the world's cloves, plus a wide array of other spices. We went into the countryside to see all the trees and plants, and taste the spices as they came out of the ground. After a magnificent lunch of traditional, spice infused delicacies, the Fahari Acrobatic Troupe performed incredible feats before our eyes. We then rushed to the ruins of an Arabian palace (Mtoni) so the dancers could don their costumes and have a photo shoot with famed dance photographer Denise Marino.

The last event was a climax to a week where there was a climax around every corner; The Tausi Women's Orchestra held a home made lunch for us. The women played traditional Zanzibari taarab songs. We all danced together with them.

Bi Kidude, Zanzibar's eldest and most famous singer, dancer and healer was the guest of honor. She is approxomately 100 years old and an icon throughout Tanzania. She danced for us, finally going into a trance in a tiny crumple on the ground. It was one of those most rare moments that few are priviledged to witness.

SHARING THE FILM "ZANZIBAR DANCE, TRANCE, AND DEVOTION IN THE VILLAGES

After a smaller group of us went on safari in nothern Tanzania and everyone left to their own countries, I set about making sure everyone in my film got to see the finished product. Each group recived the film in its entirety, with permission to reproduce their part and use it for promotion. In one village they asked "What are we going to do with this? We don't have electricity or anything to watch it on!" That is when, along with Tawakal of Zanzibar Rent a Car, who had been an incredible help with the retreat and two years of filming, we brought a projector, generator, sheet, and bags of popcorn to each village. It was amazing to see the reactions. Lots of giggles when they saw themselves and their neighbors on the big screen (a sheet secured onto a wall with heavy rocks).

We traveled by boat to a highly religious island called Tumbatu where one needs a pemit and approval of the shaikhs to enter. Although the elders knew what the film was about, we were only allowed to show the devotional dances. Tumbatu is desperately poor, but the children were some of the most beautiful and pure that I have ever seen.

Finally, we had secured all the permits to show the film in Stonetown. Yet, there were a small minority of disgruntled naysayers who didn't approve of films being shown in public. They said "Once someone showed a film with people kissing. We don't know what your film is about. If you show it, we will break the projector and beat up the man who arranged this." We were urged to cancel, and did so to avert an incedent. I was disappointed that, after repeated success and several weeks of constant high points, the last moment was strange, to say the least.

Soon I was off to Ethiopia, on a week long stopover before going home. I met a man named Tesfai who teaches circus arts to children and teenagers, then sends these incredibly talented and focused kids around the world to perform. He really encouraged me to do my next dance film in Ethiopia.

While Zanzibar has been exposed to many cultures and is truly a melting pot, where traditions from Bantu tribes and the Middle East have melded together, Ethiopia seems to have developed in a vacuum. The dances, food and language seem unrelated to anything else in Africa.

I am still trying to decide whether the next "Dance on Film" will be in the province of Aceh in Indonesia (where many dances are done sitting down). Orphans from the tsunami of 2004 were instrumental in preserving traditional dances after the tsunami destroed villages and killed many of the masters of their dances. ...Or will it be in Ethiopia? If there is support and interest in preserving and sharing these unique dances, perhaps I should make a film in Ethiopia and another in Aceh, Indonesia.

Zanzibar Blog, Feb., 2011

2011-04-26T00:37:00.001-07:00

February, 2011

Whew! Getting to Zanzibar took some determination this time! Trying to get out of Egypt during the revolution was a challenge. My Ethiopian Air flight was cancelled- but there was no way of knowing till three hours before flight time. So I went on a Thai evacuation flight to Jordan, then bought a ticket to Dubai, then Dar es Salaam and Zanzibar. It took a couple of extra days and was expensive.

Yemeni Wedding in Zanzibar

The day after I arrived, I was invited to a Yemeni wedding.

Faiza, Aisha, and Afrah were among the Yemeni women I met in Stonetown, Zanzibar. People from different Yemeni tribes left several generations ago. I was told it may have been their great grandfathers time or even great great grandfathers. I've met people of the Yemeni diaspora along the coast of Kenya as well as in Indonesia.

What is remarkable is how strongly they adhere to their heritage and customs.

There are many tribes, including Al Mahra, originally from Hadramut, and Hazaram from Mahala.

The home I visited is one of the ancient stone houses in old Stonetown, Zanzibar. To enter, I rang a doorbell. Aisha pulled a string from the second floor to unlock the door. Everyone who visits understands. A woman cannot be seen opening the door unveiled.

Asaa, who works with Emerson in the house next door knows the family well. He was asked to stay downstairs, as it was Friday and Aisha was seated in prayer. I entered and she was wearing the white headscarf and body covering that is typical for women all over the Muslim world. After her silent prayers were over, she greeted me warmly. Asaa was allowed upstairs.

On my last visit, I had expressed interest in dances of the Yemeni diaspora. This was my first day in Zanzibar, and already there was a wedding for me to go to. They explained that it is not one with dancing as they usually do. This couple got married in Dubai, but wanted to do something in Zanzibar. They chose to celebrate with "Maulidi" a group that celebrates the birth and life of Prophet Mohammed. In most countries, I was told, they don't have mauled groups as wedding entertainment, but in Zanzibar it is common. I have filmed male mauled groups. But had never seen an all female group.

One of the women, who was visiting from Dar Es Salaam explained that there are many types of wedding celebrations. Many involve dance. In the past, one group of female dancers would perform at all the weddings. They did a "pearl dance" with strings of pearls on their ankles. The moves were generated by their feet, but the whole body moved. There are other traditional dances as well. These women in Dar know the dances, and they play drums. They are not hired as much now. Taped music is more popular. Also, weddings that used to last four or five days last one or two in these days.

She told me about a special style of Hazaram dress called "budel". It has a tail in the back. In the old times, budel were mid calf length in front and reached the ground in back. Women wore pants underneath. it was then decided that women should not show their pants and the dresses should be full length in front.

We were given passion fruit juice and cake, then i was told to return in the evening.

That evening, I sat with Aisha for a long time, eating all sorts of delicious Zanzibari breads. Eventually, a group of women came to take me to the wedding. Aisha was not feeling well and didn't come.

Most Yemeni women I met were married at 15 and started having children soon after. They were extremely heavy, though attractive. Being big seemed normal and not shameful for them. One of the women was expertly made up and coiffured. She wore the budel style of dress. It was black velvet, like a large caftan that was long in the back. It was adorned with elaborate rhinestone flowers. Her sister said that people get their dresses in Yemen, but have to special order ahead and have them made. The mother wore a bui bui (black abaya) and headscarf, but younger women wore an extra veil covering the face. When not in use, it was flipped atop the head.

A car was waiting to take us to "Batul Yamin" (House of Yemen). It was a small stucco building with pink writing. About ten teenage girls sat in a circle on the floor, playing frame drums and singing into microphones. They had matching dresses and woolen head scarves.

The room filled with large women in bright colored chiffon dresses, heavily bedecked with rhinestones. They were extremely glamorous, with all kinds of head wraps. They would shuffle up to the group of girls who sang qasidas (songs about prophet Muhammad, PBUH). With a bill worth 30 to 70 cents, everyone tipped the mauled group and did a very subtle shuffling dance in front of the group. Although these women are very private, especially when unveiled, two male videographers circulated among the crowd with bright lights, attached to long cords that everyone had to be careful not to trip on.

This went on for hours, until everyone stood up. Udi (Arabian inscence) was carried through the crowd. Everyone waved the perfumed smoke toward their bodies as the burner with charcoal and aromatic scents was put in front of them.

Another woman brought perfume oil and put it on the back of each attendees hand. A third had a bottle of perfumed water which was sprinkled on each of us. We were urged to sit again. Taped music was played and people did another shuffling dance from Dubai.

A tray of shish kebabs was passed around and everyone took a skewer. Later, as is traditional in Zanzibar, take away food is brought to everyone at the end of the party. One bag contained a soda and water. The other had a plastic container with several cakes and savory snacks.

The bride entered. She was beautiful and slender. Wearing a white wedding dress covered with silver rhinestones, she carried a large rhinestone covered circular amulet, stepping slowly and solemnly while being filmed. She ended on the stage, seated in a fancy chair. People took turns posing for pictures with her, three or four people at a time.

Finally, the groom entered. A tall, slender and handsome young man in a turban and robe with a long vest with gold cording. He took his place next to the bride on a chair. After more videotaping and photos everyone left.

Sadly, Aisha passed away ten days after this was written. I knew she had high cholesterol, among other health issues. What I didn't know was that she had throat cancer. She went to India for an operation, and passed away there. Her husband had passed not long ago. She had two grown sons and a twelve year old daughter. Her daughter is now an orphan. When I was at their home, ten days earlier, the daughter said she wanted to go to college. She said her father and grandfather had thought that good girls should only study till about 6th grade. She said her brother feels the same way as he adheres to the old traditions. She wants to go to college. Her mother agreed that she should be able to go to college. Without her mom, I wonder what will happen to her education now. I can only hope for the best and hope that she is determined to accomplish and follow through with what she wants in life.

Drug Free Fundraiser

I spent four days preparing the Swahili Sisters to perform at the Drug Free Zanzibar fundraiser. One of my former students, a well known dancer named Virginia in Miami donated a set of sparkly Egyptian beledi dresses for the Swahili Sisters to perform in. They chose a lively Arabian Gulf pop song and we made a skeleton choreography.

Trisha Tinsley, a dancer from Seattle and her husband James came to Zanzibar just on time for her to perform at the fundraiser. The whole event was a smashing success.

Touristy Stuff

After all these years in Zanzibar, I had not done the typical tourist sights; Prison Island and a Spice tour. After five years, I took my first rickety boat ride to Prison Island. Upon disembarking from the bumpy boat ride, we found ourselves in a sanctuary full of giant land tortoises, then swam at a pristine beach.

The wind picked up on our way back. Just after we landed in Stonetown a huge wind storm whipped up swirling torrents of dirt and dust. Pieces of corrugated metal flew from rooftops, and the electricity went out- for two days.

The famed Busara Music Festival, where I performed last year, started that evening. Last year there had been a complete blackout for three months. This year, they thought they had light, but no. They whisked in the generators and scrambled to get it under way as people waited in the dark.

We took a spice tour. This is where you go to a spice farm and see all the spices we find in our supermarkets- cinnamon, cloves, turmeric, nutmeg, and the like- in their plant form. We learned about how each one is used, and its healing properties.

Afterwards, Trisha and I took a cooking class. This was organized by a young man named Simai. He is trying to bring tourism to the outlying suburbs where people live in cinder block homes and have little contact, and even less financial benefit from the onslaught of tourism that pours into Stonetown daily. We made fish biryani, bananas in coconut milk- which involved half an hour of sitting on a special tool and rubbing a coconut against a saw like contraption, then adding water and squeezing the coconut meat until the water became white.

Part of the proceeds from Simai's tourist business goe to his center, where he teaches computers and English to people from his neighborhood. His is a self styled grass roots empowerment program.

Bellydancing

Trisha and I taught bellydance classes for the Tausi Women's Orchestra. We toured the four Sober Houses started by Suleiman Mauly and the organization he founded, Drug Free Zanzibar. What is amazing is that last year, the fundraiser that I performed in raised enough to open a second sober house. The year before, Mr Mauly opened the first sober house. Before that, there were thousands of heroin addicts in Zanzibar and no one to help them. Now, hundreds can be helped- and hundreds have become clean as a result of these sober houses. Another example of grass roots empowerment. Outsiders can bring money and try to do something good in Africa, but when it comes from the local people, even with few resources, but lots of heart, that is really effective.

Another good cause I visited was the ZAASO Donkey project. One woman from Holland's heart was bleeding for the abused donkeys of Zanzibar. She now has a large plot of land in the countryside where abused and ill donkeys can go for recovery. This has expanded to include dogs and cats. Once a week people can bring their farm animals to Zaaso to see a vet and get vaccinated. We saw a man who had been riding for miles with his goat in the basket of a bike. Farm animals and their meat and milk spell survival for many families.

"Zanzibar Dance, Trance, and Devotion"

I finished filming dances on my last trip. I went to Miami on three separate occasions to edit each dance segment. In all, there were 27 dances. Now, it was time to revisit each group and show them what I had edited. Much of this trip was spent revisiting each village and meeting with each local group. I filmed them watching themselves. They gave feedback on what they liked and what they would like to see changed. We also added a lot more information, including lyric translations for the songs in most pieces. When I return in July, I will go to each village with my portable projector and a speaker, extension cords, and a sheet to show the film in its entirety to those who took part in it. I hope it will elicit some of the wonder of traveling cinema of days gone by.

Every group was happy with their section, only suggesting minor tweaks here and there. One group was the exception. I had filmed the Mwaka Kogwa Festival in an area called Makanduchi last July. This is descended from the ancient Persian New Years festivities, but has changed over hundreds of years. Now, it is a three day event where cows are slaughtered, there is ritual bathing in the sea, special feasts, and people fight with banana stalks if they have a beef with someone. Afterward, they must leave past grievances behind. The festival culminates in the burning of a hut- with a man inside. Not completely covered in flame proof fabric, he runs out in the nick of time. There are rituals, ceremonies and meanings every step of the way.

Most places I filmed were a surprise. I didn't know what to expect, and was thrown into the middle of whatever each group or village wanted to show me. I often would not know if they were going to do a folk dance or go into a trance. But each group was in control of what they thought was important for me to film, and answered my questions afterward. Not so with Makanduchi. I was among the throngs of tourists, TV cameras and onlookers from other towns. I was told to talk to the head committee after I had the piece ready,, and something to show them.

When I saw people beating one another with banana stalks and singing bawdy songs, it all seemed so outrageous. Now, I met with the 22 "clans" (leaders), I was nervous. It was in their library, which was filled with books. There were positive affirmations in English all over the walls. Some of these leaders were retired teachers and bankers, who spoke English quite well. Not quite what I was expecting. They wanted to see every group in the film. In the end, they did not approve of their section. I was told that I had better guidance for the other filmings, and they wanted to be represented equally well, if not better. I was asked to return for Mwaka Kogwa this July and film again- under their direction. They said I must start a week before, with the slaughter of the cows, and continue through the three days of the festival- including the rituals and all customs. I want to- but the film will already be out. We agreed that I will film them, to add to a later edition of the film.

Orientalia and the Zanzibar retreat

In July, in addition to bringing copies of the film to everyone in it, and showing it in villages, I am planning to share Zanzibar with folks from the bellydance world. It is a week long retreat in which me and Bozenka will teach workshops, along with the Kariako dance Co. of Zanzibar. We will have dinners and experience many types of local dance and taarab music. Setting this up takes tremendous coordination. Already there are 17 people signed up, so the trip is full.

As part of this event, we are going to have a festival called Orientalia- open to the public at an ancient Portuguese fort- ampitheater. It will be a fundraiser in support of the Sober houses of Zanzibar, which are now five and will be six by the time the festival takes place. There will be about 14 dancers performing, and both taarab groups- Ikhwan Safaa and the Tausi Women's Orchestra will play.

This trip in July will be the last trip I have planned for Zanzibar, as my film project will be finished, and I don't have any more music recordings or filmings in the works for the island…But it will soon be revealed which will be the next place (from the travels of "40 Days and 1001 Nights") where I will film traditional dances.

One ever changing week in Egypt

2011-02-02T15:18:00.001-08:00

Revolution and a Peaceful Oasis
By Tamalyn Dallal
Cairo International Airport- As I said goodbye to my friend, Hiromi, chaos engulfed the airport. Crowds of Japanese stood outside the door of Qatar Airways, waiting for their flight to Tokyo. I was not allowed inside. Before walking away, I said "I'll get a room near the airport. Call me if you have any problems." It is amazing how quickly one's reality can change.
One week ago, we met at this same airport. Hiromi, a bellydance teacher from Kyoto, Japan, was with my friend and guide, Fathi, who had come to Cairo to take us to his town. He is from the remote Siwa Oasis, deep in the Sahara desert. We set out on a ten hour drive through nothingness- a flat desert with lots of rocks and an occasional camel. Yet, there were tea houses, where bedouin men sat, sipping tea, coffee, and smoking water pipes. Our minivan pulled up to a dusty structure where we sipped our first of many tiny cups of thick, strong desert tea.
When I saw familiar olive trees and date palms, I knew we were finally in Siwa. It was 5am.
Fathi asked "Anyone up for a swim?"
All I could think about was a bed. It was my second night of travel; One red eye flight from New York to Cairo and one red eye drive through the desert.
Fathi added "It's almost time for sunrise."
How could we resist?
Three adorable desert dogs, white with black spots, greeted us at the end of a dirt road. One of them had markings around his eyes like the mask of Zorro. They followed us, traipsing past Bedouin tents, through sand to a steaming pool of natural sulphur water bubbling up from the earth.
In Siwa, men use bathing trunks, but foreign women go in the water fully dressed. Local women never venture into the pools.
The dogs trotted happily toward an orange ball of sunlight which rose from behind a sand dune.
Suddenly, Hiromi exclaimed "Your shoe!"
Zorro was running through the desert with one of my fur lined Sketchers in his mouth. Fathi jumped from the water in hot pursuit - barefoot and wet in the frigid winter air. Hiromi and I tried to help, but it felt like we were running on ice. Fathi returned, triumphant, with my slobber covered shoe in hand. Meanwhile, I had discovered my other shoe missing.
The happy ending was that, it seems one of the doggies had carried it back to the car for me. The insole was ripped out, but at least I wouldn't spend the next few days hobbling around the oasis on one shoe.
In the town of Siwa, the hub of the oasis, we enjoyed a lavish breakfast in the shadow of an ancient mosque.
A young Berber waiter asked "Did you hear about the protests in Cairo?"
Hiromi and I looked at each other, then I joked "You got your shopping done just on time."
She had gone to the Khan el Khalili market in Cairo to buy bellydance supplies for her students.
Although Siwa is situated within the borders of Egypt, the Siwans are of a different ethnic group, speak a different language, and are governed by eleven tribal chiefs.
The waiter said "Nothing will happen in Siwa. We're not like Egyptians."
"We have our gardens, eat dates and olives, and we love life."
"Bab el Shal," where we stayed, is a hotel built from mud and salt. The lamps are made of pure salt. All furnishings are made from natural fibers. Another friend, named Helal, had chosen a two story suite for us. I fell into a deep sleep until late in the afternoon.
Upon opening one eye, I remembered where we were.
"We're going to miss the sunset!" I exclaimed.
Hiromi and I hurried out to climb the ancient "shali," which was once a five story maze of houses... a fortressed town where Siwans lived for centuries. In 1926, 3 days of rain melted the town. Now it stands as a monument, and an ideal vantage point from which to watch sunsets.
On our way down, we ran into Fathi drinking tea in a carpet shop. I asked if he knew about the demonstrations.
Later, at dinner, when several local guys arrived to drink tea with us, Fathi said "I didn't want to tell you, but a lot of streets in downtown Cairo were already closed by the time we left."
He added "Siwa is the safest place."
Hiromi changed the subject "Why are we the only women here?"
I later explained that in Siwa, men and women live separate lives. As foreigners, we can move between both worlds.
Day Two
Under the shadow of the shali, we lingered long after breakfast, drinking tea and reading the grinds of our Turkish coffee cups.
Fathi said "Dr. Mounir is here. Did you see him?"
Dr. Mounir Neamatalla is a wealthy, powerful and creative man. He built the hotel we stayed in, the hotel we ate in, the bus station, renovated the mosque, and has a luxurious ecolodge where presidents and film stars stay when visiting him in Siwa. Bespeckled with solid gold framed vintage style glasses accentuating expressive blue eyes, he invited us to sit with him. A French speaking Tibetan woman and her turbaned Sufi (mystic) partner were at the table too. Dr. Mounir invited Hiromi and I to his home in the desert for lunch and arranged a driver to pick us up the next day.
My Blackberry comes with me everywhere. It is an addiction. During lulls in conversation, I sneakily peek at my e mails. If there is no lull, I excuse myself to use the restroom and look, to make sure there is no unfinished business in some other part of the world.
Part of my purpose for being in Siwa was to arrange the details of a summer retreat where my friend, photographer Denise Marino and I will lead a group of international women to the Siwa Oasis to meet Siwan women, camp in the desert, and see traditional dance and music. Fathi will make all the arrangements.
The people who had already signed up sent alarming e mails "Is the retreat still happening'?" "Should I buy my airplane ticket or wait?" and "Are you okay?"
In Siwa, it is normal to see television sets on the street, surrounded by tea drinking men in turbans and long robes. The scene is usually peppered with cheers for a soccer game or wrestling match somewhere across the world. This time the men were silent. Images were not of sports. They were watching the demonstrations in Cairo.
Whenever I asked what was going on in Cairo, the response would go something like this "Stay in Siwa. It is safe here."
We spent the rest of the day at the home of my friend Helal, with his mother and sisters. We drank "karkade," a dark red concoction made from hibiscus blossoms, water and sugar. Women in Siwa have three means of making their own money; traditional embroidery, henna, and owning land, which male relatives work and administer. They often offer to sell the clothes they have sewn to visitors. Hiromi bought a beautifully embroidered wedding shawl. We got henna designs painted onto our hands. Many of the geometric Berber designs have lost their meanings, but we were told that the hand shape means Fatima (the daughter of Prophet Mohammed PBUH) who had healing hands. Another represented a fish, which is also lucky.
Helal took us deep into the desert dunes to ride up and down in his four wheel drive, like a roller coaster, finally stopping to watch the sunset from atop the highest dune. Hiromi brought silk and some red dye to experiment with sand patterns on textiles, at the request of a famous Japanese textile artist who wanted to see the result.
Day Three
Friday is the day of prayer throughout the Muslim world. Every day, one is supposed to pray five times. On Friday, many people don't work. It is urged to go to the biggest mosque and gather many people together to increase the strength of prayer.
This particular Friday was being watched carefully.
News commentators said "This is the day we will know if demonstrations weaken or strengthen. We will know how serious the situation is."
I turned to my Blackberry and searched for the CNN icon. There was no internet. I tried to call Fathi. There was no phone service. Most communication was completely cut off.
Serendipitously, Fathi appeared.
"We're back to land lines and faxes," he noted.
We pondered how dependent every corner of the world had gotten on cel phones and internet, and how quickly they had transformed our lives.
Soon after, Dr. Mounir's driver arrived to take us past Roman tombs, onto a road dividing two salt lakes. Behind a majestic mountain called "Adrere Amelal" (White Mountain). Dr. Mounir has a large earthen home, with every furnishing made of salt or natural woods and fibers. There is no electricity. Just candles for light.
He offered some fine wine and invited us to see the grounds; organic gardens, and saltwater pool, all in the shadow of the magical mountain. Dunes flanked one side and a salt lake the other. It was an atmosphere of peace and sheer contentment.
His Tibetan and Sufi friends shared a gourmet meal, much of which was created by his relative, a bearded Iranian- Egyptian taoist who lived traveling the world. Amin, the chef used us as guinea pigs for scrumptious new recipes that would be offered at Dr. Mounir's hotels.
After a languid and luxurious afternoon enjoying nature and earthly delights, we went to Fathi's village of Maraqi to visit his family.
In Siwan homes there are few windows. Dust is everywhere. Dust is a way of life in the desert. Windows would only invite more of the earth to invade. Walls of the mud homes are painted bright shades of blue, pink and green. Mats cover floors and guests sit on colorful flowered cushions on the floor. We drank tea, ate olives, and took photos with the children. In one room a 120 year old woman woke up and smiled at us. She was part of the extended family. Fathi said the oldest person in Siwa had recently died, at 132 years of age.
We stayed until late, sometimes surrounded by a room full of men, seated on the floor eating from pots of stewed vegetables and meats, using home made bread as utensils. Other times, we were surrounded by women. They removed their black veils, which cover the entire face, eyes and all, and shed the embroidered blue fabrics (tarfotet) that covered their backs. They wore voluminous dresses of silky fabrics with additional layers beneath. Their heads were covered by thick knit scarves to keep out the cold. Little girls wore braided hair with long ribbons tied at the ends, ruffled dresses, and often carried the smaller children. Everyone speaks the Siwan-Berber dialect, also known as "Amazigh". Some women know Arabic, though often the two languages are mix together. This was my seventh visit to the Siwa Oasis. The words I have been picking up might be in either one or both of these languages, or even in the Bedouin accent of people I have met along the way.
It is not unusual, when I get back to "Egypt" for my new fluency to elicit puzzled stares. I could shared limited conversation with women in some of my rudimentary hybrid Arabic, while Hiromi communicated more successfully with the children by letting them play with her camera.
Day Four
Telephone service returned, but internet did not. I was feeling a sense of relief from my Blackberry obsession- like a vacation. Hiromi's flight would leave from Cairo the next day. People urged us to stay in Siwa. She called the Japanese embassy and Qatar Airways, who assured that her flight had not been cancelled. We opted to leave. Along the way, I wanted to show her the beautiful beaches and fabulous foods of the Bedouin city, Marsa Matruh. There was no trouble there... Not yet.
We did last minute shopping, buying embroidered fabrics from Abdullah. Local women give Abdullah their handicrafts to sell in his shop. They name their prices and he adds a percentage on top.
Fathi offered to transport us as far as Marsa Matruh, and arranged another driver to take us further to Cairo. A handsome Kuwaiti tourist named Khaled came along to give Fathi company on the ride back.
We ran into Dr. Mounir at the last minute.
"Don't go yet. Wait until tomorrow." He urged….Adding "You may want to stay in Siwa for awhile."
We assured him that we would be fine.
The trip was truly dull, as expected. Nothing to see. We looked forward to our tea and bathroom stop.
Near the gates of Marsa Matruh, Fathi said he felt something odd.
"There are usually police guarding the city. Where are they?"
His phone rang repeatedly. Call after call came in. Unrest had made its way to Marsa Matruh. The police had abandoned their posts. In fact, police were stepping down throughout Egypt. Soon, local Bedouins were called upon to guard the city gates. Fathi took this very seriously. We didn't understand the meaning.
He took us to a hotel facing the ocean. The assistant manager showed us video from his mobile phone of burning shops and pillaging of an ATM machine. We wanted to find a place to eat, but he urged us not to go out.
"You are foreigners. Let the guys get food and bring it back."
He switched the TV to CNN just in time for us to see footage of the Egyptian Museum being looted and ancient antiquities broken. We drank tea and expressed mutual concern.
I phoned Fathi. He and Khaled were taking an extremely long time.
"It's bad out here!" He exclaimed breathlessly.
"We don't need to eat." I urged them to come back.
They arrived at the hotel lobby laden with two kilos of succulent lamb meat. It was the softest and best lamb I'd ever tasted. There were mounds of bread, and no utensils. Tanks rolled by on their way downtown. Two tanks parked up the block from our hotel.
Day Five
Early morning, we met our next driver, whose name I never got. He drove us for the last five hours through the desert to Cairo.
The gates of Marsa Matruh were blocked by dozens of turbaned men, some with guns. Others bore clubs or large knives. They smiled and nodded at us as we passed through. These were the local militias that had formed overnight. Their job was to protect the town. To me they looked like a group from one of the late English adventurer, Wilfred Theisengers books "Arabian Sands." I felt the time warp growing backward at a quickening pace.
Aside from an occasional peek at a turquoise blue sea from behind sand dunes, the drive was uneventful. So uneventful that I decided to finish reading the last few pages of my book about an Egyptian poet named Ahmed Rami. He had dedicated much of his life and his art to Umm Khulthum, the most famous Arabic singer who ever lived. By learning about the lives of famed artists of the Egyptian Golden Age (1930's to 1960's), I am better able to understand the country's social situation as it has developed from colonial times until today. I was reading the epilogue, which underscored the poet's feelings of darkness toward the future of his grandson's generation. Hiromi gasped.
I looked up from the last page of my book. Chaos had ensued at one of the many roadblocks entering Cairo. Young soldiers sat atop tanks bearing machine guns and bayonets with brutally sharp knives at the ends. They waved us through.
"Guys were on the ground at gunpoint. You didn't see." Hiromi said.
There were more and more roadblocks. People were walking away from vehicles with their suitcases in hand. Some discarded suitcases lay by the side of the road, unzipped with clothing spilling out. A few men were handcuffed or laying on the ground, guarded by bayonet and gun bearing soldiers far younger than they.
Our driver said "I will leave you at Carrefour (A huge supermarket at the edge of Cairo) to take a taxi."
We called Fathi, who told him he had to stay with us until we got inside the airport, even if we all had to sleep in the car.
Curfew was 4pm in Cairo. That was the time we arrived at the airport. Our driver was scared as he didn't have permission to transport people in Cairo. We gave him money for a hotel and told him not to leave until the next day. Hiromi's flight was 5:30. I never knew if she left or if she became stranded inside the airport, along with thousands of other people that were being interviewed in the news. I was not allowed in, as my flight was the following night.
All hotels near the airport were full. My only option was to to venture into town. The driver flagged down a lopsided Russian Lada taxi. Both drivers piled and tied my luggage on the roof. Just then, Hiromi called me from her Japanese number…repeatedly. I could only hear people yelling in Arabic. When I returned her calls, a recording would come on in Japanese. I returned to the airport but a guard told me, impolitely and in no uncertain terms, to leave.
We headed into town, toward the Windsor hotel where I usually stay. Mohammed from the front desk knew me well. He said the streets were calm and he had plenty of rooms.
The driver begged him to explain the route. There was no route. It was past curfew, but there were no police or military to enforce the new rule. Neighborhood militias had formed… Men and boys, as young as 12 years old, armed and in bands of up to thirty people. They bore baseball bats and nail laden clubs, swords and large knives. Molotov cocktails in soda bottles were at their feet. I asked the driver if I should sit in the back seat. He shook his head. I motioned to take my most important suitcase and put it inside the cab. Stone faced, he refused.
He said "When they see you, they let us through. Your bags show that you are a tourist."
There had been a prison break the night before. A thousand prisoners had stolen arms and munitions and were wreaking havoc on Cairo. Protests were not violent, but the escaped prisoners were. Militias were protecting their homes and families. They gladly let anyone who didn't look suspicious to go through.
We were directed to go the wrong way up an abandoned freeway ramp and encountered soldiers and tanks. He was happy to see them. The ramp led us to a blocked off area.
"Mashallah!", the driver exclaimed.
"Liberation Square."
That was the center of the demonstrations. We weren't allowed to go further. I saw a sign that said "Hilton" in the distance.
"Hotel…Any hotel" I pointed.
He dropped me off where a private guard with a large bomb sniffing dog helped me bring my bags to the hotel premises.
The Hilton jacked up prices- to $350 a night for a very average room with old plumbing and intermittent hot water. Everywhere I turned were people with cameras. The hotel was full of journalists. Their respective news agencies were willing to foot any bill for them to stay there.
For me, $350 was a lot, but a fair price for safety, as a hospital bill or losing my belongings would surely cost a lot more.
I chatted with reporters from Canada, Britian, and other western countries. Some bureaus hired Palestinians to cover the story. To them, this was another gig. For the westerners, it seemed like an adrenaline fueled way of life. They compared notes on the Tunisian uprising, which they'd covered weeks earlier, with that of Cairo. They had a hurried, sense of urgency and importance. The Palestinians did their job, then sat back to drink tea.
I met two frustrated Brits from "The Guardian." They had to fax their articles, as the only internet connection was at the luxurious Semiramis Hotel. Semiramis locked people in after the 4pm curfew.
I heard a woman in the elevator say "I'd rather be here with no internet. At least they let us go out and get into trouble."
She laughed.
A man from Canadian Broadcasting Co. asked "Is this your first revolution?"
I nodded.
He added "Everyone should experience one or two in their lifetimes. Revolutions are fun!"
Day Six
Much of the night, I was glued to CNN and BBC…Reruns of the previous day's news. Words didn't match the lips of BBC reporters. Al Jazeera reporters had been expelled by the Mubarak regime. Signals for that network were scrambled. 10,000 people slept in nearby Liberation Square, defying curfew and wanting to be early for the next mornings demonstrations. The hotel's front desk clerk made a point of telling me that my balcony faced away from the Square and that I would have a lovely view of the Nile instead. I wondered if the rooms overlooking Liberation Square were a hot commodity for foreign correspondents. News sources expected crowds to swell to 100,000 by mid day. Everyone, from both Egyptian and foreign press, was watching to see if President Mubarak would leave the country, just as the Tunisian president had done two weeks earlier. It was a waiting game. Today was relatively calm, in preparation for tomorrow's "million man march".
I called Ethiopian Airlines to enquire about my flight to Zanzibar. It seemed that I'd reached a call center in India. The woman informed me that my 2:35am flight would leave fifteen minutes late. She recommended that I get to the airport three hours ahead, but had no idea there was unrest in Cairo. She couldn't see why there would be any interruption to my flight.
I sat in the hotel lobby, drinking tea as usual, at four dollars for the same tea bag that costs twenty cents on the road to Siwa. Reporters were abuzz, coming and going, talking loudly on satellite phones to their editors back home.
One man shouted through crackling reception "The airport is in utter chaos! There are no flights in or out of Cairo."
I decided to try my luck and act as if I trusted the woman at the call center in India…The curfew was moved up to 3pm. The hotel arranged for a luxurious car to take me to the airport. This driver took out his frustration on the road, honking and speeding through groups of pedestrians at an alarming rate.
He said, breathlessly "I want to be off the road before the militias come out, or I'll never get home."
We arrived in record speed of twenty minutes. I was more terrified of his driving than of the impending revolution.
Inside the airport, people crowded in, but very few got on flights. The floor was full of days old garbage. Janitorial staff in light blue uniforms collected garbage, but their efforts barely made a dent. They came by with big mops, rearranging the dirt, as there was no place to put it. One employee tossed buckets of disinfectant water on the floor, creating dark brown rivers. Children played, pushing each other around on empty luggage carts. People staked out their spaces and sat atop piles of luggage. I parked my cart next to a family waiting for their flight to Libya.
"What time is your flight?" I asked.
"We don't know if there is a flight." replied the mother. I settled onto one of my bags, took out my computer and proceeded to continue typing this journal.
I sat for twelve hours. Nearly everyone I saw sitting on bags atop luggage carts topped over, onto the floor at least once. I was no exception. While typing, a young man accidentally kicked the wheel of my cart and sent me flying.
Two female toilet stalls serviced several thousand people. The stench was unbearable. Some women would looked at the long bathroom line, sniff and walk away. There was no place to buy food or water. Luckily, one of the stranded Libyans handed me a bottle of water. All I could give in return was some chewing gum. Toppling off a nearby cart was an American car company executive, who had come to Cairo for a meeting. He hoped to catch a 4am flight. We waited and waited, watching each others carts while the other went on an information seeking mission. There was no one to give any information. It was a futile effort, but a good excuse for stretching one's legs.
Suddenly, groups of Chinese people marched by. The Chinese embassy was evacuating it's citizens. A few commercial flights remained operational, but an increasing number were charters organized by embassies for their citizens. The exec and I were told to wait until three hours before our flight times to find out if we would fly. The American embassy's answer to it's citizen's calls was a secretary with no information telling everyone "Leave your name and number and we will call you if there are any updates."
I was headed to Zanzibar, and the first transit point was to be Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. Finally, after eight hours, the reader board read "Ethiopian Airways to Addis Ababa- Cancelled." In fact, all flights after midnight were cancelled. Airline offices were closed. There was no one present to answer questions. There was no way to leave the airport due to the curfew and safety concerns. Depending on how the next day's million man march would go, many said, flights might be cancelled for days. Some airlines had already cancelled all flights in and out of Cairo indefinitely. I found someone who worked for a Kuwaiti Airline. He suggested I wait until morning and try to go to Kuwait as a standby. There was also availability on a flight to Baghdad.
I wandered the airline counters. There was no information at all. A young man with a broom in his hand led me to a counter for the Royal Jordanian flight to Amman, Jordan. They were offering free transport to Jordanian students studying in Egypt. The agent gave me a price and said there were plenty of seats. I whipped out my credit card.
He shook his head. "Egyptian pounds only… Cash."
He suggested I go to the ATM and pointed to one forlorn little machine, with no electricity and no cash. He was sorry, but pounds were the only option.
Meanwhile, two men surrounded me, insisting that I travel to Amman with them. They wanted $500 one way. That was triple the normal round trip price.
A third man approached. "How much can you pay?"
After some friendly bartering , he made a call and knocked $100 off the price. He even said I could pay when we got to Amman, where I would be accompanied to an ATM and I would give him the money.
This fishy deal was probably my only option. Weighing that fact, I took him up on his offer. Suddenly, there were people from Thailand everywhere. I was led to the Thai embassy's repatriation flight for their citizens. The embassy had rented the plane for them and it would be stopping in Amman, Jordan.
The Thai embassy representative was furious that I was on their plane.
He scowled "I rented this airplane."
Finally he conceded. "Tell her to move to the back of the plane. I don't want to look at her."
At the Amman airport, the Jordanian staff tried to get me through the line quickly. It was five in the morning and I was only one person. The not very diplomatic embassy guy insisted that I wait until every single Thai citizen had passed through and their paperwork was finished.
Finally, it was only me and the man I had promised to pay $400 to left in the airport, standing in front of an ATM. There were no taxis into town. It was cold, wintery and raining. He kindly asked the friend who had come to pick him up to drive me to a hotel. We went all over Amman looking for a place that was between a five star $300 plus place and the fleabags that guidebooks recommended even the heartiest travelers against.
Day 7
By 6am, one week after my Egyptian adventure began, I was securely tucked away in a non descriptor, medium priced, middle class hotel room in Amman's trendiest area. By afternoon, I walked up the street to a travel agency, and purchased a ticket to Zanzibar, with a hotel voucher in Dubai thrown in for free.
I hailed a cab to go downtown.
The driver kept repeating "Welcome."
He pointed out his favorite restaurant and recommended that I eat "mensef." Mensef is the national dish of Jordan; a concoction of yellow rice and lamb cooked in yoghurt. The yoghurt is dried then re constituted as a broth for the lamb. He also directed me to a sweet shop to get sticky desserts and date filled cookies.
I went to a coffee house where men smoked shish and drank tea. The overhead TV showed nonstop news about Cairo.
It also informed us that "Due to demonstrations in Jordan, the king ordered a complete change of government and appointed a new prime minister."
The bustling streets and appearance of business as usual gave no indication of unrest.
I picked up an English language newspaper, which read "We are not Egypt…Our government has changed, but life will go on as normal."

Changing the subject...
Take a look at this video; Musicians from Zanzibar, dancers from 10 countries, including; China, Japan, USA, Bahamas, Chile, Colombia, Cuba, Argentina and more. I'm proud of it.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r-e7t7v0Sr8

Shanghaied!!!

2010-10-29T11:39:00.000-07:00

"Ni how" (Hello) from China.

China is full of unusual sights; cars on the sidewalks while people are walking in the middle of the streets- in their pyjamas no less! I keep threatening my friends that I will, one day walk down the middle of the street in my PJ's too. I have to get some nice fuzzy flannel ones first. He he.

Today I saw an old woman and a toddler lighting a fire on the top of a big can. I asked "What are they doing?" My friend and sponsor, Estelle replied "Twenty years ago that's how we all cooked." She explained that cooking over open fires inside tiny apartments was normal not long ago. Life has changed so much.

China is full of optimism these days. Sometimes I wonder about this bouyancy when the rest of the world is crying "crisis!" Yet, our standard of living is far higher than the Chinese. "Everything is possible in China" I often comment. This can mean anything from seeing dogs dressed in sailor suits (no kidding...The dogs wear all sorts of cute costumes and seem happy about it) to dunking ducks stomache linings in fiery hot red liquid at "hot pot" restaurants, or getting high fashion prescription glasses for $50. It has a deeper meaning too... a sort of optimism, where people don't define the doable as something that has been done before.

Back home in the US, we hear doom and gloom on the TV, radio and newspapers. Yes. The economy is in a downturn. The more we repeat it or the more we talk about how bad things are or the things we can't do, the worse it gets. The average American is still rich by most of the worlds standards.

It is amazing to be spending this month and next month in a place where home is still a simple place, but hope is a grand affair, and anything is possible.

I.E.

I teach weekend workshops around the world, but dreamed of doing something with more impact. Now, the Isis Club of Shanghai organizes a month long bellydance workshop for me once a year. Dancers from all over China, Japan, Taiwan and Singapore came to study intensively, 30 hours per week for one month. No one questions whether such a commitment to bellydancing is possible or not, or the impracticality of moving to Shanghai for a month to do this intensive study. Hence, with this crash course, each participants dancing improves drastically.

I taught the students about everything from the difference between Bedouins and Berbers, to tracing the Arabic diaspora in East Africa. We learned ten Middle Eastern rhythms, and how to interpret ten Arabic instruments, and who the musical greats of Egypt's Golden Age were: Umm Khulthoum, Mohammed Abdel Wahab, Farid El Atrache, and Abdel Halim Hafez. We watched DVD's of dancers from the 20's to the present, carefully observing the differences from generation to generation and what we could learn from them. We explored oriental concepts of energy within Middle Eastern dance. We discussed the similarities between Chinese instruments and those of the Arab world, searching for the links between them.

All activities led up to a final concert. This was called "Bellydance Through the Ages." Using original music with the finger cymbals played in the 1920's by Badia Masabni (founder of Oriental dance as we know it today), original vocals and compositions by the above mentioned greats of Egyptian music, and music of subsequent generations; 70's, 80's, until today, we were partially sponsored by the government to do an elaborate theater show. Dancers learned the value of proper lighting and seamless transitions to put our dance on the level of more commonly respected dances such as modern or ballet.

I choreographed five group peices for over twenty dancers. For solos, they were not allowed to use music they were comfortable with. Here in China, many people learn from DVD's, and they do the choreographies of other dancers with no voice of their own. I insisted that they create their own dances with music of my choosing that represented each era. Every piece was a challenge. Some were new students and this was their first performance. They were terrified. Others were seasoned- at what they knew. So I selected music that would make them equally terrified.

At every break, I pods in hand, headphones in their ears, the dancers practiced their solos without being told to do so. It was intense. There was exhaustion and a few tears, but each dancer came through beautifully, opening up new ways to experience the dance. These women from diverse places who had not know n each other one month ago, supported each other like sisters. They lent one another costumes, shared food, etc. The concert was a smashing success. it was commended by the governments Director of Culture. A representative from the League of Arab Nations was surprised and thrilled! He commented that we showed appreciation and understanding of Arabic culture and he thanked us for that.When it was over, no one wanted to leave. We went to a restaurant, then no one wanted to leave the resteurant until the workers were about to lock us in for the night.

Check out what I've been doing in Shanghai on Chinese Youtube
http://v.youku.com/v_playlist/f5073122o1p0.html

Hi. I'm back from Zanzibar- update

2010-08-05T23:21:00.000-07:00

Welcome to Planet Zanzibar as I Invite You Into Another World.

Every time I leave Africa, I feel like a tree, yanked from the ground by it's roots. There is a comfort in seeing all the people who once seemed so exotic to me; women swathed in black "bui buis" and head coverings, the men in white robes (kanzus), and elaborately embroidered hats (kofia). Indians in traditional dress, some in pastel ruffled frocks and frilly head coverings, much like Sally Fields version of "The Flying Nun". Now there are more and more Arabian women in rich, rhinestone studded "abayas" (like a bui buis, but from the Arabian gulf), and a recent influx of "Masai warriors," the young men who leave their homeland in the savannahs of Tanzania to know the world before marriage. They are wrapped in red cloth and wear lots of beaded jewelry with silver discs dangling. Many say they are city boys dressed as Masai to look more colorful as they work security for tourist hotels, and sometimes pose with spears as part of the wedding party when foreigners come to Zanzibar to get married. Then there are the foreigners- lots of us, running around with cameras or doing volunteer work. Other than a few clueless characters who defy the local's requests that they dress modestly and respect local customs, Zanzibar is a fascinating and congenial mix of traditions and modernity.

Tea (Chai)

In this blog I want to share daily life on this most recent 4 week trip to Zanzibar. It felt like a year had passed since I'd arrived, yet the time flew by far too quickly. The nightly ritual, which I rarely missed was "Babu Chai". Every evening the man who goes by the nick name "Babu" sets up a table in the street selling spiced tea and spiced coffee (everything is spiced in Zanzibar because it is one of the historical "spice islands" in the Indian Ocean.) He cooks omelets full of chopped veggies over an open fire, and tempts passersby with a plastic container full of chapatis, mandazi (Zanzibari donuts), or other goodies. An eclectic crowd sits on barazas. Barazas are stone benches built into the walls of old buildings… an integral part of the Arabian stye homes. The heart of Zanzibar town is called "Stone Town". Its narrow maze of streets are made of stone. They are not wide enough for cars, but these days more and more used bicycles and motorbikes are arriving, so you always have to listen for the beeping horns warning pedestrians to move out of the way. Meanwhile, street vendors push wooden carts of fish and ancient men collecting garbage push similar carts, like huge, flat wheelbarrows, in hopes of getting something before the cats and rats scatter debris everywhere. Cats are a common sight. It is not uncommon to see them running away from other cats with a mouse in mouth.

Sipping at Sunset

I was renting an apartment at the home of Emerson. Emerson, a native New Yorker who has lived in Zanzibar for 21 years, is the man who helped create all the major arts events in town, opened schools and clinics and three hotels. He has a taste for traditional Zanzibari furniture, wood carvings, and fixing up the most architecturally divine buildings. My apartment had two high wooden four poster beds. Zanzibari beds are built several feet off the ground so the area underneath can be used for storage. As part of the malaria eradication program, all mosquito nets on the island are treated with mosquito repellant. Everyone sleeps under a net, which is not just for decoration. The place had a balcony overlooking our small street, hand woven Middle Eastern kilims and a mirrored antique armoire. On the roof of Emerson's place was a tea house where we would watch the sunset. Another eclectic array of people would pop by to say good bye to the sun. I met a man from the US Embassy, a scientist who travels the world as much as I, researchers, business folks and the like. Always someone with lots of information to share.

Kahawa (Coffee) and Tangawizi (Ginger)

As if I didn't do enough socializing, I rarely went an afternoon with out visiting "Jaws Corner". It is a small plaza surrounded by barazas. An elderly man sells tiny cups of Arabian coffee, flavored with cardamom, and always served without sugar. A large woman swathed in black with a colorful "kanga" on her head would sell cups of sweet ginger boiled into a pungent brew and brought from home in a large thermos. Coffee cups and tea glasses were dipped in a pail of water then served to to the next customer. Arabic and Swahili men played lively games of dominos on a rickety wooden table, and a television was often set into a wall at night. Jaws Corner was known as a place where folks from the opposition party would hang out and discuss politics, but that has waned because peace and unity are just around the corner. A new referendum was voted on the day I left to unite both parties and give Zanzibar more autonomy from mainland Tanzania. I didn't meet anyone who was voting against it.

Three Weddings and a "Taarab"

One night, I had a special invite from the 105 year old Ikhwani Safaa, an orchestra specializing in "taarab" (Arabic derived music that soothes the soul).

It was a special evening of "old is gold", as people in Zanzibar often call their much loved music. Women in elaborate gowns and men dressed in casual attire filtered into the Haile Selassie school's courtyard. This outdoor space, surrounded by Arabic archways is where many a special event is held. The first impression of Taarab is that there are no women, only about thirty men playing instruments. It is quite a sight when the singers, mostly elaborately clad women in bright colors, jewels, and perfectly coiffed appear one by one from behind the orchestra. A row of such elegant women are sitting onstage, hidden behind the musicians at all times, but they are not seen until it is their turn to sing.

Women from the audience approach the stage, lip syncing their favorite songs, hands do gentle movements, holding 500 shilling notes (worth 35 cents) then putting them into the singer's hand and dancing with subtle hip movements for the rest of the song.

There is a table where the bills are recycled as change for more people to gather and bring tips. For all the times I have come to Zanzibar, and even been given a passport like membership card as one of the Ikhwani Safaa band, this was the first time I'd seen taarab played in it's true context.

The following week the band invited me to a wedding. It was a women's party, in which only the band, videographers and photographers were men. I worried about being under dressed, so I wore one of my bellydance skirts and rhinestone jewelry. The women surrounding me were dressed beyond what you would find at the Academy Awards. Colors, sequins, glitter and stones were astounding. They truly looked like princesses. Some even had dresses cut to look like princesses of days gone by. it turns out that clothing is a source of competition among women. One man told me "Many of them are poor." I asked how they could afford these clothes and he replied "Money from overseas. They have family in Oman who send them clothes. Those with family in England send them money to go to the 'fundi' (tailor)." I had noticed a disproportionate amount of tailor shops, often open doorways with someone pumping an old treadle sewing machine and scraps of sparkly fabric littering the floor. Their style of makeup was another interesting phenomenon. Pancake makeup several shades lighter than their skin was set off by bright pink eyelids, orange cheeks and other powders that matched the dresses. Elaborate hairdos and headpieces were also in vogue. Each woman was a work of art.

Every wedding experience was different. In previous years, I've attended village weddings on dusty streets outside cinder block homes. I still believe that those are the most common.

This time, I went to a most uncommon wedding party. It was for the girl marrying the son of an "Unyago" dancer. Unyago takes intensive training, and celebrates the art of love. Older women teach the young bride what to do to be a good wife. Movements are often done reclining or on all fours, showing eroticism with pride.

A cement courtyard was full of sparkling women, though no match for the elegance of the women who hired Ikhwani Safaa for their wedding. The bride, who was around twenty was escorted to the stage by her future mother in law and several older women. Four suitcases full of gifts sent by the groom were opened and a group of women hastily inspected the clothing, kangas, perfumes, toiletries, and so on. "Changas" which are beads that are worn around women's waists before sex are considered a must. A large woman took each item and demonstrated how it would be used, I.E. what parts should be shaved (literally all parts below the neck) while doing suggestive movements to recorded music. She modeled kangas, pretended to spray perfume on her special areas, etc. The bride was completely overshadowed. Only four men were present - all videographers shining blinding video lights on the dancer. She ended up laying on the floor, shimmying.

No refreshments were served until the end of the evening. It is customary not to serve food until people are ready to leave. They often take it to go. At this wedding, orange bags emblazoned with "Shop in Dubai" were given to each guest, containing water, a soft drink, and a box full of fried pastries.

The President's Son's Wedding

This wedding, at the home of Zanzibar's president Karume, was tame by comparison. A band of Tanzanians playing American country music and vintage Latin hits entertained on the lawn of the "White House". Strings of white lights were strung overhead. Then came the cover tunes, and finally, they played a famous Swahili wedding song that the president's daughter sang. There were no doggie bags. After a sumptuous buffet followed by waiters passing out trays of ice cream bars, the band played African songs for everyone to dance. On the dance floor I met the presidents of both Tanzania and Zanzibar.

Food

Food is one of the great pleasures of Zanzibar. Every morning, I had tea and a plate full of fruit for breakfast; mango, papaya, tangerines, tiny bananas, and avocado, washed down by milky, sugary tea.

Starch, oil, fish, and spices were the basic ingredients for lunch. There was a choice of Biryani or pilau, both essentially the same thing but one is rice, meat and sauce served separately and the other is the same ingredients mixed together. With a banana on the plate and oranges for desert, there was no need to have dinner. Other times, I ate lots of little green bananas boiled in coconut milk with tiny fried fish on top, or "ugali", a thick ball of cornmeal mush with fish, beans or spinach cooked in coconut milk on the side.

Every night, Forozhani, the garden area that was recently renovated by the Agha Khan foundation lights up with torches and fish vendors. A lovely soup called "urojo made with spices, coconut, "badjia" (dumplings), potatoes, kebabs and eggs, is sold as well as "Zanzibari Pizza". This crepe, with meat, veggies and mayonnaise in the middle has expanded into other varieties; chocolate, fish, etc.

Miraculously, with all the pleasures of Zanzibari cuisine and cups of sugary tea, I actually lost weight. I attribute it to walking everywhere and lots of steep staircases.

Film

I arrived n time for the eight day ZIFF (Zanzibar International Film Festival). What had been a festival that set the town ablaze with activity and excitement several years back has deteriorated into a lame affair. Most of the time attendance was spotty. I went only one day, with several local women. They were delighted because there are no movie theaters in Zanzibar. We sat through a couple of South African films that, though they were in English I couldn't figure out what they were about. My friends were smiling, so I asked if they understood. They didn't, but they enjoyed seeing the images on big screens.

My Film

One of my purposes for being in Zanzibar was to film an anthology of traditional dances. I managed to document over twenty dances, ranging from village traditions to wedding dances, professional dance companies, trance/ exorcism dances where people's "sheitans" came out to be on camera. Particularly compelling were "Maulidis", which are celebrations of the birth of Prophet Mohammed PBUH using trance like music, movements and vocals that can resemble blues or gospel.

It has taken multiple visits over the past four years to go as deep as I have into the Zanzibari culture. People involved in the filmings are enthusiastic as I will be showing them the edited versions of their dances, then giving each group the final copy.

Adventures included visiting the highly religious and traditional island of Tumbatu, where foreigners are not allowed unless the village elders approve them. I also went to Mwaka Kogwa. Mwaka Kogwa is a vestige of ancient Persian New Years celebrations in which they first bathe in the sea to remove all the negativity from the past year. If anyone is angry with another, they can beat them with banana stalks while singing aggressive songs. Then both sides must forgive and forget. All the year's troubles are cast away as a hut is burned. One man is inside and not allowed to exit until the hut has nearly burned to the ground. Then he runs so fast that you can barely see him.

This is my first plug for the film "Zanzibar Dance, Trance and Devotion." It will be available in June, 2011.

Belly Dancing

My second motive, other than eating, drinking, filming and otherwise exploring the culturally fascination landscape of Zanzibar is to be a dance missionary, spreading the joys of bellydance. Once upon a time bellydancing was taught in schools, but that was over 35 years ago. Now, few people remember the steps. They know the words to the songs and often sing along when I am teaching. Favorites are the original, Golden Age versions of Egyptian songs Aziza and Zenouba. Everyone knows the famous Egyptian singers of yesteryear. Most of my classes were at the home of Maryam Hamdan and the students were also learning to play music. Maryam and her husband, Mohammed Ilyas (Ikhwani Safaa's artistic director) lead Zanzibar's first women's taarab band. it is called "Tausi", meaning "Peakock." Zanzibar's most famous singer, the nearly 100 year old Bi Kidude, even showed up for some of the classes. Her talents are many, as she plays special drums for "Unyago" (see 'weddings' above).She teaches Unyago as a dance, has an extremely powerful voice that takes her around the world for concerts. Earlier this month she sang in Poland. And she is a traditional herbalist who is known for curing asthma in you children and remedying a variety of illnesses from ulcers to leg pain. One day i was sitting with her when a man came and she taught him how to boil special herbs for asthma. The first time she came to bellydance class, she practically taught the class. Later she was content to sit in a chair smoking cigarettes, jumping up periodically to tell students to "slow down".

There are enclaves of Yemenis from different tribes who have special dances. I am awaiting my next trip to Zanzibar in February when I will have more time to spend with these women. They are more secluded and private than the Swahili women. I was invited to a four day wedding on the mainland, but it conflicted with my flight home. But we have agreed that I would get to see and hopefully learn their dances next time, although I was warned "Absolutely no filming or photography."

Drug Free Zanzibar

I am pleased to report about the man I called Taariq in my book, who had had a heroin problem. He is now in recovery for more than four years and is busily spreading soberiety all over the island. Addicts call him "Mr. President", as he has spearheaded the recovery movement in Zanzibar. He has opened two "sober houses" where addicts enter and cannot leave while they detox for a month. He has introduced Narcotics Anonymous 12 step programs, meetings, and even soccer games. Recently, the using addicts played soccer against recovering addicts and those in recovery won. One day, while sipping coffee at Jaws Corner, a man complained that his brother was a heroin addict. I told about the sober houses, but he was resisting the idea. Just then two guys lifted their t-shirts, proudly revealing NA key tags attached to their belt loops. Another came and proudly proclaimed that he was drug free for 6 months.

Scores of people have come clean with the grass roots program "Drug Free Zanzibar." There is still a problem with drugs but, one day at a time, they are helping each other to heal. This is the beginning of a happy ending.

Exiting in Style!

The final week was busy with social engagements to say goodbye. I had a lovely assistant named Bikombo, who worked hard translating and helping me set up over twenty filmings of dances. She was also one of my students, as were her three younger sisters. They invited me home to their cinder block house outside of town. We ate lunch of beans, rice, fish, and boiled bananas, then the sisters put on a bellydance show. I was so happy to see that they had been practicing since my last visit in February. They invited a neighbor to come and draw traditional Swahili designs on my hands, arms, feet and legs with "pico" (Chinese hair dye that mimics black henna). The rest of my stay in Zanzibar, people on the streets called out "Harusi" (bride), "Ume pendeza." (Beautiful.)

One evening, I planned to meet Juma, who had been the musical director on my first Ikhwani Safaa recording in 2006. He now has a trio of musicians called "Baba Tatu" (Three fathers), that play trumpet, guitar, violin and maracas. Their music is a combination of old latin songs; Besame Mucho, etc., Zanzibari taarab, reggae. Egyptian, and Indian film songs, all with a Cuban-Zanzibari flavor. Earlier in my visit, while attending an Egyptian TV producer friend's birthday party on a dhow (Old Arabian style sailing vessel), Baba Tatu played songs by Amr Diab for me to do my bellydance show. Among my last evenings in Zanzibar, Juma was waiting on the baraza below my apartment. He said "The others are coming." Little did I know that they had planned to serenade me, as they put it "to make sure you come back to Zanzibar."

Kwaheri (goodbye in Swahili) to Zanzibar. Tuto a nana tena (See you soon).

Getting back to the US from Zanzibar often takes two days. including a night spent in Dar Es Salam, Tanzania's main metropolis, a five hour layover in Egypt, a night in London, and a transfer in Philadelphia. It is on the flight to Philly that I am writing this blog.

I had the gracious hospitality of a Zanzibari family I have known since the days of "40 Days and 1001 Nights," the book I wrote in 2006 about life in the Muslim world. They showed me around Dar. Indians set up plastic chairs all over the sidewalks and cook chicken tikka with chips. We then went to Oyster Bay- more Indians selling yummy street food- and had hearts of palm stuffed with mashed potatoes, coconut chutney and chili. It was amazing! The culinary tour included a visit to an American style shopping mall complete with fast food.

Although Tanzania is not exactly first world, I felt a bit of culture shock at my re entry to the modern world. Every time, after leaving Zanzibar, I cannot believe that such a magical place exists. It is as if it lives a completely different rhythm… like being in a parallel universe that is caught in a time warp. One hardly knows whether they are in Africa or the Middle East, whether they are in a bygone era or the computer age. It is like stepping into an alternate, highly seductive, mysterious and ancient world where one is part of the earth. You dance in the earth, sit on the earth, wear fancy dresses that drag across the earth. You smell the earth everywhere and it does not smell dirty. One even smells like the earth, and upon leaving, the scent vanishes, like it was only a dream.

Until the next Raqs Africa Update (March 2011).

Please feel free to read past issues of this blog. It goes back to 2005 and you can find so much depth and so many changes in perception along the way. You are welcome to ask me to use any quotes from the blog entries and share them with your friends.

Tamalyn Dallal

Raqs Africa report, Feb., 2010

2010-03-15T22:47:00.001-07:00

Raqs Africa Report, 1st Quarter, 2010

I just came back from spending one month in Zanzibar to initiate the concept of "Raqs Africa". Read on and stay posted in the future, as I will be going to Zanzibar again in July, 2010 to continue what I started.

Objectives:

1. To re- introduce the art of belly dance to Zanzibar, offering an image of belly dancing that would be compatible with the values of Muslim society and the standards of modesty instead of clashing.

2. To film traditional local dances of Zanzibar

3. To begin research on a book chronicling the history of 105 year old Ikhwan Safaa, the oldest band in Africa

I arrived in Zanzibar February 3rd, 2010. The island has had a blackout, which means no lights and no running water (due to pumps being unable to function). After debating the wisdom of starting the Raqs Africa project under those circumstances, but after careful consideration I decided to go ahead with it. If around one million people can live this way, I can be supportive of their island, contribute to the local economy by spending my money on housing, food, etc., and show that I have not given up on the place. The lights were supposed to go on February 20, but the date was pushed back to February 28. The lights finally came on March 8. I was gone by then, but got word that the people are really happy. .

The apartment I usually stay in was occupied. I had contact with a man who had several apartments available, but when I saw them I really didn't want to stay. Not only was there no electric or water, but they were filthy and not very appealing. Luckily, I went to "Emerson Spice," an unfinished boutique hotel to look at the roof top where I would start teaching bellydance classes. The manager wanted to show off the two luxurious rooms that were already decorated. "Too bad we have no water or electric, otherwise you could stay here." He said. I seized the opportunity "No place else has electric or water. I can stay.' The owner couldn't believe i would stay under those conditions, as most fancy places had generators. He gave me an amazingly low price, sent a woman to carry two buckets of water on her head to my room each day, gave me some candle holders and small kerosene lamp and I was set.

Objective #1:

For the first ten days, I only had one student- Leila, who is a cello player from the music school. She performs as a dancer in hotels and was eager to learn belly dance. Along with a genius musician named Matona and members of the Ikhwan Safaa band we were scheduled to perform at "Busara," an internationally acclaimed music festival that takes place in Zanzibar every year. We had applied for the festival to play the innovative mix of Zanzibari Taarab, Arabic Tarab, and western classical music that is on the CD I produced with the same ten musicians last year. I was to bellydance with some of the songs.

Rehearsals:

Every night around the sunset, we practiced on the roof of the Ikhwan Safaa clubhouse. It was too hot to practice inside. The rooftop would fill with neighboring children. One day a group of kids scolded Matona for arriving late. These kids were often the only ones to arrive on time. They sat in neat rows and applauded at the end of each song. Women watched from windows in apartment buildings surrounding us. We didn't see them, but there were cheers and Zaghareets (ululations) when they particularly enjoyed our pieces. The show opened with the orchestra playing Ravel's Bolero with taksims (Arabic style musical improvisations.) I was then to dance to a typical "barshraf" (instrumental piece with Ottoman-Arabic structure) while using finger cymbals. This was followed by "Carmen in Africa", a rousing Zanzibari version of La Habanera from the opera Carmen. I came on again to Scheherezade L'Andalous, which begins and ends with part of the Scheherezade Suite, with the thousand year old Arab- Andalous song "Lamma Bada" sandwiched in between. This opened with a veil and i wore a long, loose red silk caftan with beaded accessories. Next, the band played "A Rainy Day in Zanzibar", which was created especially for the CD and became a favorite of the president of Zanzibar. It combines Pacchabel's Canon with an old Zanzibari favorite called "Ni Pe Pe", meaning "Fan me", so it is quite sultry and romantic. I showed Matona my favorite dance piece on DVD- a 1970's performance by famous Egyptian dancer Azza Sherif in which she dances a Tunisian dance surrounded by drum playing men who interact with her too. One night, Matona said he woke up with an inspiration. Long ago in Zanzibar, they used to play an instrument called "Simsimeya", which was popular in one form or another up and down the east coast of Africa, all the way to Egypt. It is a harp like instrument that is often played by sailors. When they used it in Zanzibar, gay men would dance, shaking their hips in the middle of a circle. Zanzibar's most famous singer, the nearly 100 year old Bi Kidude, often sang an old simsemeya song welcoming the Arab sailors to port. She had worked at the port when she was young and as a child she would board the Arab dhows (Sailing ships) to hear their music. The plan was for Bi Kidude to be brought on as a surprise guest artist at the end of the show, but for the first time in decades she would be accompanied by Matona playing a real simsemeya. He had obtained this one while on a trip to Ethiopia. I would come out and dance, and involve two of the musicians to dance with me.

The Big Day:

Busara was held in a 15th century Portuguese fort. A giant generator had been obtained, which rescued the festival and actually brought tourists to Zanzibar to pump up the economy for a few days.

February 11th, opening day, was our debut. All I can say was that the show was a runaway success and made waves across town. Being onstage with ten acoustic musicians playing music blended from three long held traditions, I was in my glory and filled with inspiration. I wore simple, covered costumes. No one missed the belly or any other show of skin. The dance never showed skin in the Arab world until colonial values took over in the 1930's. My dance was completely recognizable as belly dancing and people appreciated that I respected their culture with the way I dressed. When I got the DVD, I realized that this may be the best belly dance show I have seen in many years. Now, in Egypt, although there are good dancers, their art is overshadowed by breast implants tucked into tiny bras and mini skirts. The music is often overly amplified with a dominating synthesizer. The shows in Egypt can cost one month's salary for an average worker to attend. I was proud of our show. It wasn't because I was doing the dancing. It was the context in which the dance was presented that made it culturally acceptable. And a ticket for locals to enter Busara cost only $1.60. It was accessible to local people. It was not for one part of society only. The final straw that sealed our success was the surprise appearance of Bi Kidude. The audience went wild! She stood, calmly controlling the audience with her powerful voice. Although everyone knew the song she sang, as she has sung it many times over the years, each time is different. She creates new verses, improvising in and out of the structure with her powerful voice.

Afterward, we were asked to go to the news room for interviews. I know that we were in several papers from the mainland Tanzanian city of Dar Es Salaam, but never saw them. I never saw a functioning TV set either, except when a generator powered television was placed in the street to show a sporting event and groups of coffee sipping men would sit on benches to cheer. For two weeks afterward, I heard that our performance was played over and over on TV in Dar Es Salaam and the neighboring island of Pemba.

Swahili Sisters:

The Busara Festival had sponsored a hotel room for me for three days. I didn't need it, but they didn't need it back either. It was a little old place, shaking with the loud buzz of a generator. I had the bright idea of charging my phone, computer and video camera in my room. Unfortunately, none of the plugs worked. I went home to get my shampoo, determined to give my hair a good washing. The water barely trickled out of the faucet as it was turned off for much of the day, but on my way to the hair washing attempt, a special thing happened. I got lost. That is normal as Zanzibar is a maze of tiny midieval looking streets that takes years to learn to navigate. I saw a group of women clad in black bui buis (covered robes) and head scarves. I asked "Wapi hotel Kikoni?". (Where is the Kikoni Hotel?)

They had no idea but we walked together in a big group asking people until they got me safely to the doorstep. One of the women, named Bikombo spoke English. We exchanged phone numbers and promised to become friends. I called her a few hours later to let her know that I had gotten tickets for her to see my show and they would be waiting at the Old Fort. She came with one of her sisters. The next day we got together for sodas. I told her I was teaching bellydance classes on the roof of Emerson Spice. Usually no one can get into Emerson Spice, but groups of tourists always stop outside to ogle at the magnificent building. Suddenly, lots of well to do white folks were showing up for my classes. I told them that classes are free but whoever has money to donate to the local drug program "Drug Free Zanzibar" could drop whatever they wanted to donate into a basket. A nice chunk of money was collected the first few days, but soon my class consisted of Bikombo, three of her sisters, a friend, and my friend Sarah, an Israily woman who has lived in Zanzibar for several years. I was requested to teach a men's bellydance class, which ended up with two steady students. One was Sarah's son, Bar and the other was an African dance teacher named Mohammed. These two guys picked up very quickly and took the class extremely seriously. I taught them three months worth of finger cymbal patterns in one session. Every afternoon, my students and I relished our time on the roof top of Emerson Spice. Although we were exercising, this was the only time of day that wasn't excruciatingly hot as there was a breeze and a beautiful view over the rooftops of the old city. One day it rained hard as the sun shone. Every day we would have to turn off the music during the call to prayer, although we could still do stretching exercises, you cannot play music other than the call to prayer during the five daily prayer times when the muezzins call from mosques all over town.

Drug Free Zanzibar Fundraiser:

My friend Suleiman was once a heroin addict in Zanzibar. There are currently approximately 4000 heroin addicts in Zanzibar. Since Suleiman went through rehab in Kenya four years ago, he has decided to help the people of his own country. He makes his living working with an American NGO, teaching intravenous drug users how to avoid getting HIV, as well as several other initiatives. In his spare time, he created his own volunteer projects, teaching classes about recovery and relapse prevention as well as setting up and conducting 12 step meetings. He set up an NGO called Drug Free Zanzibar, which he is the chairman of, and a "sober house" that is like a live in rehab center on a very grass roots level. He planned to set up a second sober house, and his friend Farid wanted to help. "Let's do a fundraiser!" he exclaimed. With the help of a local events organizer/ shop keeper named Maryam, some sponsorship from other business to hire a DJ, set up decorations and make posters and T shirts, plus Sarah on the computer and me in charge of entertainment, the fundraiser moved into action. An unfortunate clash of dates occurred as it was February 27th, the same night as the famous monthly "Full Moon Party" that takes place in a village north of town where most people who can afford to go to a party go. We wondered if anyone would show up! I prepared the men to do a dance combining Arabic, Salsa, and African dance. A trio of guys called "Baba Tatu," who mix Zanzibari and Cuban music came to play. Sarah and the Swahili Sisters did a veil dance that we practiced hard for, and the sisters created a play to illustrate the importance of helping drug addicts. Sarah has studied theater and gave them coaching. I agreed to dance a couple of solos, and the rest of the night would be modern Arabic music.

The Africa House Hotel, which has elaborate Arabian and Swahili decor overlooking the sea at sunset slowly filled up. Former addicts sporting Drug Free Zanzibar T shirts welcomed people at the door as the Baba Tatu trio played in the entrance. Tiny cups of Arabic coffee and a local sweet called "haloua" were served. Slowly, people from all walks of life filtered in. From high ranking government officials to Indian shop keepers, local women, and a few hands full of tourists. The event was a resounding success! People loved the show. Suleiman and one of the other former addicts gave a speech, as well as the head of the government's Department of Drugs. The party lasted until the wee hours of the morning. Many of the dances and clubs in Zanzibar tend to fill up with guys on the prowl looking for female tourists. The dance floors are often filled exclusively with men. The Drug Free Zanzibar fundraiser was different. it was local-women friendly. Groups of women in sequined gowns and caftans danced together. Groups of men danced as well and occasionally someone exuberant got on the stage to do an impromptu solo. This party was fun, informative, and inspiring, but most of all, enough money was raised to open the second sober house!

The Tausi Women's Band:

"Tausi" means "peacock." many years ago, there were female taarab orchestras in Zanzibar. Instruments were played by men while women sang.These women's clubs became extinct. In 2009, Maryam Hamdan, who plays the qanun and has a powerful position in the government, and her husband, a well known singer and band leader named Mohammed Ilyas started Tausi, the first ever all female taarab band, where the women play and sing. They train nearly every day, learning to play all the traditional instruments. For the last nine days of my stay in Zanzibar I spend every morning teaching belly dance to the women of Tausi. Maryam said "We used to have belly dancing in Zanzibar." She showed me some steps she had learned as a little girl. When I taught them about the popular Arabic song from the 1940's called "Aziza," Maryam said "we're going to learn to play that song and dance to it too. It was one if the top hits in Zanzibar in the early 1950's." I taught almost all of my eight week course in eight days and they promised to practice until I returned in July. They were enthusiastic about learning to belly dance as part of their programs. While many of the women came in black bui buis, removing them to show jeans and big T shirts, some showed up for class in beautiful caftans with scarves tied at the hips. I explained that they already have the costume for dancing and should always try to dress feminine when they practice.

Objective #2- Filming Traditional Zanzibari Dances

The name of this film will be "Zanzibar Ngoma." This means "Drums of Zanzibar", but the word ngoma can also refer to dancing. Some of the practices I have begun to film are not dances at all. They range from spiritual practices to folk and wedding dances.

I began filming a group of young boys who practice "Maulidi Ya Homu," a form of devotional singing and movement to drums that helps keep boys off the street and teaches them skills. It was amazing, as they do most of the movements sitting on their knees, chanting and sometimes shaking their heads and shoulders and sometimes making a growling sound. I spent three evenings filming and gathered information via interviews and written materials.

A woman named Asha, who leads the government folkloric company agreed to take me out to several villages and arrange for them to do their traditional dances for me. One was a group called "Makonde," whose heritage is from Mozambique. The group of elderly women did a war dance with wooden guns, and another with dried leaves to educate the youth about avoiding HIV. They showed how they fix the drums by melting pieces of bicycle tires over a fire and sticking the deer skin onto the wooden base. The women had geometrical tatoos on their faces, made from cutting the skin and rubbing in charcoal.

Next, we visited a village called Bumbwini, where herbs were being added to a wooden vessel of water. Packets filled with sayings from the Qu'ran were tied around a stick for luck and protection. A group of men sat on the ground shaking cow horns with bells as young boys of the village started running in circles. After a few minutes, the young boys left and women wearing bright "kangas" (traditional clothes with Swahili sayings written on the bottom) ran in circles instead. Suddenly, some of the men and later some women fell into trance. They writhed on the ground and fled like wild animals, so fast that no one could have crawled that fast unless possessed.

It was unbelievable. They hardly looked human anymore. This went on for quite awhile. Sometimes Asha would come behind me and guide me to avoid the people who were practically flying close to the ground. At last, they all descended on me. I was scared but she told me not to worry. "They are friendly spirits." I shook hands with them, they retreated and came out of the trances with shuffling foot movements.

Another trance like dance in another village appeared to be staged, but the men were good actors. They played rhythms with two sticks. One was dressed as a shaman in red and white while others drummed and crawled on the ground. In that village some people had light green eyes. I asked if they were mixed with Portuguese as the Portuguese had brought green eyes to parts of Indonesia and India. The local leader said. "No. We are pure Bantu. Our green eyes come from God."

We stopped in a village called "Bambi to see a dance called "Benibati." Men dressed in old military clothes from generations gone by. Their clothes were worn according to their rank in the dance and music group. Women wore early 1960's style dresses in military colors. Many wore old fashioned sunglasses ranging from 30's to 70's. I asked the meaning of that and was told "During colonial times, the British wore sunglasses and we considered that to be a part of being well dressed." The leader would step, shaking a cow's tail while members came out to dance and show their skills. The last man did an interesting series of summersaults, landing flat on his back each time.

Asha then had the government dance troupe perform for my camera. They did four dances ranging from a harvest dance from the island of Pemba to "Kidumbak", a sensuous and popular dance consisting of elaborate hip circles and shimmies.

I plan to resume filming, with at least twelve more dances to go, in July, but will start editing this month and have a few pieces to show by April.

Objective #3- Researching about Zanzibari Taarab music and writing about it.

The proposed name of this book is "Qanun". The qanun is a 78 stringed harp like instrument that lays flat across the player's lap. Taarab is the Zanzibari version of Arabic "Tarab", meaning to be enchanted by song. A man named Muhammed Ibrahim went to Egypt in the 1870's to learn to play qanun. The sultan so appreciated his playing of Arabic music that he commissioned him to teach different Arabic instruments to ten musicians. After 1-1/2 years, they were ready and played at the sultan's palace every evening after dinner. As time went by, the concept of social clubs that played and taught taarab took hold. In 1905, Ikhwan Safaa, meaning brothers who love one another was formed and in future years more clubs were started. Ikhwan Safaa is one of the two major taarab clubs that remain. I have started to interview the club's teacher, Mawalem Idi Farhan. He is in his 80's and says that keeping busy teaching art and music, as well as walking everywhere he goes instead of riding in a car keeps him healthy. We had two meetings in which he told me about the history and shared his collection of reading materials. These are so precious that they can not be taken out of the club house, so in July I will be spending hours every week reading thick manuscripts and making notes. For now, This book will be narrated by the voice of the qanun with quotes from her friend, a 12 string instrument called the oud. Thus, I am reading as many books as possible about Egyptian tarab music in order to find a way to give a personality and a voice to these instruments. They will tell the stories of the band and all the changes it has gone through through out history.

Finally...

I can say that these 25 days in Zanzibar were blessed and I achieved my goals. In July I will be back to continue teaching dance to all three groups, researching for the book, and filming dances. I plan to attend the "Mwaka Kogwa" festival in the village of Makanduchi. This is where they celebrate new years in July. They say it comes from Persian Zorastrianism, which is an ancient fire worshipping religion that still exists in parts of India. Now, they don't know much about the Zorastrian heritage, but say it definitely came from the "Shirazis" (Persians) who came to Zanzibar long ago. It is a festival for cleansing and letting go. Elders do divinations for the upcoming year in a hut, then there is a fake fight and the hut is burned down. Ikhwan Safaa plan to celebrate their 105th anniversary in July and Tausi plans to introduce bellydance performance into their show. It will be a busy time, and I sincerely hope the month of July will be as productive as this past month was for me.

Stay tuned for the next installment of "Raqs Africa" later this summer.

If you would like to help support this project, please go to my website www.tamalyndallal.net and purchase a copy of the DVD "Citizen of the World", $30. All the proceeds go toward helping with the expenses to do this work. Also, I am accepting donations of the following second hand instruments to bring on the next trip; Finger cymbals (lots of sets), 2 violins, 2 accordions, 1 trumpet, strings for the following instruments; violin, cello, double bass, and oud.

Blog entry

2008-12-30T12:48:00.001-08:00

Happy New Year!

Amidst the worlds financial crisis, global warming, and the like, my heart still feels that 2009 will be a blessed year. I am sincerely looking forward to our new president, Obama and am happy that I will be in the US on January 20, when he takes office. I also look forward to my "Back Roads America" dance and book tours. The trial run will be January 16-18 in Eugene, Oregon. I will be setting up workshops and booksignings, filmshowings, etc. all across America, in towns both big and small to share the "40 Days and 1001 Nights" project deep into the heart of America and share my experiences living among Muslim people. Of course, if you would like me to do something in your town, let me know.

I just returned (last night) from Zanzibar, the magical little island of sultry music and tropical rains, tiny stone streets and old men selling Omani coffee to passersby who always stop to sip and share the latest news.

We recorded a new cd, arranged by Zanzibar's most popular musician, Matona, and played by musicians from Ikhwani Safaa, the oldest band in Africa. Entitled "Made in Zanzibar", it will be ready in February. The cover models are kids that were my neighbors during the writing of the book in 2006. They are in my film, and now you will see them on the cd. Very cute!

The young man I called Taariq, in the book 40 Days and 1001 Nights is on his third year of recovery from heroin addiction, and worked as my assistant on the project. He is doing well, conducting classes on addiction recovery, assisting addicts on finding places to detox, and he started Narcotics Anonymous meetings. Last October, he was flown to Detroit by the Detroit Recovery Project as part of a task force to tackle the widesperad drug problem in Zanzibar.

I stayed in an old palace, with a tea house on top overlooking Zanzibar. Most of the time, we were in rehearsals with the band. It was a really challenging project for them as "Made in Zanzibar" is a mixture of Arabic music, Zanzibari taarab, and classical songs; Scheherezade, Carmen, Pachabels Canon, Bolero, and Dance Bachanalle from Samson and Delilah. They had never heard western classical music, and played by ear using Arabic instruments and Arabic scales. Very interesting and experimental indeed!

On my way from teaching workshops in Asia, I spent six days in Oman. What an amazingly beautiful place! My friend and former student, Anubis Nirvana lives there and along with her husband, Anup, and son Athilio, they took me on lots of road trips.

Anubis has a dance studio, from which she teaches bellydance, salsa and Bollywood dances. She called the press to tell them that I was in town and there was a big writeup in the English language magazine "Hi", as well as "Y" with photos of both of us.

Asia was also amazing. Three of Miami's top dancers; Samay, Alexandra, and Roshana, as well as photographer Denise Marino came to Hong Kong for the Orientalia Festival. Then most of us continued on to Shanghai, for sightseeing and more dancing. Kaeshi Chai of Bellyqueen met us in Shanghai and took me with her on the most over the top, luxurious workshop tour of the hinterlands of China; Zhenzhou, Changsha, and Chonqing. We were treated like rock stars. At the airports, there were camera crews and entourages of people holding banners with our names. The shows had everything from fireworks to soap bubbles, and we were treated to grand meals with dozens of exotic dishes laid out on lazy susans. The bellydance is booming in China. Every little town has its bellydance schools, and each one has its press people, business managers, etc. The new generation of Chinese do everything in a big way!

Leaving China, on my way to Thailand to teach a workshop and visit dear friends, my plans were derailed. Mobs of protesters closed the airports demanding a new government. Their ploy was successful and the government was forced to step down. Meanwhile, I was stuck in a Chinese border town called Shenzhen, waiting to see if the airport would open. It wasn't exactly torture. Shenzhen is a shopping mecca, and known for massages and beauty treatments, so I shopped, got a makeover, but missed my show and workshops in Thailand.

It is amazing how widespread the love of bellydance is becoming. Several women who were flying to Thailand from the Phillippines changed their schedule and flew to Malaysia instead. That is where I taught the next week, and we had a wonderful, sold out workshop, plus a Moroccan dinner and film showing of the "40 Days and 1001 Nights" documentary...Then I headed out to Oman, which you can read about above.

Latest blog entry

2008-10-26T04:53:00.001-07:00

Summer, 2007 was not so long ago, but to me it seems like light years. I was in Egypt, then Mombasa, Kenya, finishing the last touches for the first edition of my book "40 Days and 1001 Nights". After two years, it was so much a part of me that I didn't know what I would do with myself once it was over.

The final paper went to the publisher, authorizing my credit card to pay for the printing from a remote island called Lamu in Kenya, where streets are barely wide enough for two people, and the only form of transport other than one's own two feet is cute little donkeys, who usually ply the streets on their own when not hauling loads on their backs. There were two barely functioning computers in the town's fanciest hotel, and they did have a fax machine, so I could fax my credit card info to the printing company in the US.

Meanwhile, a sudden onslaught of offers for me to dance and teach came in from all over the world. Just in time to pay for the final publishing expenses. I guess I was doing something right!

This year has been up in the air....literally. 2009 kicked off with a gig in the tiny Canadian island of Lasquity, that is powered by electric generators and reached by a rocky passenger ferry, then Panama, including a side trip to spend time with the Kuna Yala native people, who have been given their land back to live as their traditions dictate, in the islands formerly known as "San Blas" off the coast of Panama.

My island hopping adventures were followed byan event filled visit to Miami, South Carolina, then Switzerland, where I broke my leg and was laid up for a couple of months.

By mid May, I was on the workshop circuit again, leg brace and all, in Santiago, Chile, followed by Buenos Aires, South Africa, Zanzibar, Kenya, Spain, Switzerland, Egypt, Monterrey, Mexico, Athens, Georgia, Seattle, Victoria, BC, Trieste, Italy, Poland, Colombia, and now Indonesia. Sometimes, including time changes I have been en route for three or four days at a time. Okay it is tiring, and at times I found myself on the verge of burnout, but it is amazing. A gift I could never have expected a few short years ago. Soon, I will be off to Hong Kong and a dance tour of China, then Thailand, Malaysia, and points beyond.

Back to the present moment. I arrived in Indonesia, after four flights from Seattle, and three flights just before that from Colombia. Christine Yaven, who is in my book with her two white dogs now has a studio called "Bellydance Jakarta", and she organized a Teachers Training Spa Retreat, in the rainforest of Java. The classes I taught started at 8am, which was a challenge for all of us bellydancing night owls. It left time for us to enjoy our twice daily spa treatments; Manicures, massages, facials, body wraps, etc. and get ready for the evening events; Indonesian dance lesson, video party and dance party.

Dancers and teachers came from the hinterlands of China, Malaysia, Singapore, Khazakstan, and Norway, as well as Indonesia. What a treat! The only drawback was the 5:30 am waterfall hike in which I was attacked by three leeches. I am still itching from those slimy creatures.

The people of Indonesia are so hospitable that when I decided to go to the arts city of Yogyakarta, there were three people waiting to greet me at the train station, a friend of Christines friend, her boyfriend, and brother and they have been showing me to the palaces and introducing me to artists of all genres since I arrived.

Next week, I head to Hong Kong, the place that inspired me to start traveling in the first place, so many years ago (2001) and made me fall in love with Asia. We will be holding the 15th annual Orientalia dance festival, which was in Miami for many years, and in Buenos Aires one year as well. This time it is a benefit for the Indonesian migrant laborers, who are often ruthlessly exploited when sent to work outside their country. In addition to the wonderful dancers of Hong Kong, dancers are flying in from Indonesia (Christine of Bellydance Jakarta), Estelle from Shanghai, and more. Thanks to the famed Miami Bellydance photographer, Denise Marino, who encouraged dancers from Miami to join the festival, Roshanna, Alexandra and Samay will also be performing and teaching. I can't wait!

Okay, you may be wondering what ever happened to my book, which housed the ideals of intercultural understanding and releasing fears and predudices about Muslim cultures.

While Estelle from Shanghai was visiting me in Seattle to take my week long workshop, we went on a little Washington state road trip. Road trips are one of those quintessentially American things to do, and share with foreign friends. They always make me fall in love with America once again! I'd been mulling over the idea of a "Back Roads America" book tour, but hadn't had the time to get started. I was too busy being a globetrotting bellydance teacher.

While showing Estelle how to eat tacos in a trailer in Yakima, drinking colorful milkshakes at a drive in that held over from the 1950's in a cowboy town of Cle Elum, and drinking locally made wine by the fireplace in a lodge part way up Mount Ranier, I realized that the back roads were calling. I have to stay grounded long enough to drive to the little towns and encourage people to understand my book and share the wide slice of life I experienced while writing "40 Days and 1001 Nights".

I have set aside May, 2009 until the beginning of September, 2009 to dedicate to the back roads. If you know anyone, or any book store, cafe, school, community center, town hall, etc. in any neck of the woods that would like a film showing, book signing, dance performance, etc. that can help sell books (and make sure people read them), please send me an e mail with suggestions, and contact info.

Here is the general ittinerary:

May; Along the northern US, from Seattle to New York

June; Along the East Coast, from New England to northern Florida

July, South East US

August, South Western US

I've already scheduled a test run in Eugene, Oregon and Vancouver, BC in January, plus South Florida in March, and Wisconsin in April.

Another way you can help is to contact your local public library and suggest that they carry my book. They can go online at www.40daysand1001nights.com to get it.

How is the book doing? Well...A back roads trip is in order for America, but I can say that it is doing well overseas. Foreign rights have been sold to India, where it has gotten good reviews in newspapers around India, and Russia, where it is being translated as I write this. There are negotiations in the works for other countries as well. It is carried in stores in Singapore and Zanzibar, and gets ordered online quite a bit after each overseas visit I make. "40 Days and 1001 Nights" was written for Americans, with love, and if I say so myself, it is a really good read. I hope 2009 turns the tide towards Americans reading my stories of daily life in the Muslim world.

For those of you who have already read my book, many have asked what happened to my neighbor from Zanzibar, Taariq Ali, who struggled with heroin addiction, a common affliction of young men in Zanzibar, and surprisingly in many countries that we think are too pious for modern day problems, such as Iran and Pakistan, the coast of Kenya, Tanzania, and more. I see it as a near epidemic in some areas, afflicting young men in a weak moment- being too young and impressionable to realize the dangers.

The amazing news is that the young man I call Taariq in the book has stayed clean since April, 2006. Overcoming addiction takes intensive soul searching and the opportunity for treatment. As there was no help available in his own country, he went to Mombasa, Kenya just as they developed the MEWA Drug addiction center to include after care.

Now, he is back in Zanzibar, determined to help other young men overcome addiction. He was brought with a delegation to Detroit for two weeks by the Detroit Recovery Project, who have formed a partnership to start a recovery program in Zanzibar. When Taariq told me he was sent to the American embassy in Dar Es Salaam to be interviewed for his visa, it was in the middle of my week long workshop in Seattle. Several dancers were staying in my house in the little burb of Redmond, Wa.; of many faiths, from Buddhist, to Christian, Hindu, non denominational, and New Age. We sat and had a prayer circle for Taariq to do well on his interview and to receive his visa. We focused our energies, each with our faith in the way we best know how to embrace it. Soon, we received the good news, that he was accepted. I don't know if our little prayer helped nudge the universe, or if it was what they call in Arabic "Maktub" (It is written). A virtually unattainable dream for a young African man to get a visa for the US...To be drug free when all hope might have been lost, and to cast his energy in hopes of helping others along the rocky road to recovery. It will be a long road for both Taariq and for the young men of Zanzibar, but there is hope. If there is hope for the most disenfranchised of Africa- the heroin addicts, then I believe that hope can spread. There is no darkness too dark that the light of hope cannot illuminate. I sincerely wish for light and success for Taariq and the men of Zanzibar, and for Africa. Everything starts with a thought, and a dream. If you dare to dream, dreams can and do come true.

See me dance on http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rYeP-Pca5aQ

Siwa Oasis

2008-08-18T02:15:00.001-07:00

The Siwa Oasis Revisited, August, 2008

An e mail read "I'm in Egypt, studying Arabic. Your chapter on the Siwa Oasis inspired me a lot and I hope to go there. It would be great to go with you. If you ever come to Egypt, you're welcome to stay with me." It was from Danielle, a dancer from Vancouver BC who had taken a workshop and a private class with me.

How serendipitous, I thought, since I was headed to Cairo in two weeks. I had hoped to get to Libya, but the visa process was too drawn out, and I cannot have my passport tied up for weeks at a time. I did need to visit the Siwa Oasis and give some money to Nama, the little girl on my book cover. She lives in a tiny mud brick village outside Siwa, past a mountain of Roman tombs, a salt lake, and a controversial archeological site that many believe contains the remains of Alexander the Great. No one in her village fully comprehended that her photo would be on a book cover, or that I was writing a book and that it would be about their unique Berber culture. I feel it is only fair that she receive a modeling fee, because there are 4000 books, 5000 flyers, and a blog with her photo on it. (You can see Nama and I a year later in the photo taken in 2007 on this blog.) We took more pictures this year, She is almost as tall as me now.

Danielle was utterly surprised when I wrote back that I was headed to Egypt and would be going to Siwa if she cared to join me. She wrote back warning "We want you to stay…but I must warn you that our apartment is a dump, so if you don't mind roughing it, we'd love to have you." Soon after she wrote again "Last night a cockroach crawled across my roommates face. That was the last straw for us. We moved to a much nicer place, so you're in luck."

I arrived in Cairo at 4am and a driver took me to the suburb of Maadi. Danielle and Maria lived in a middle class community of towering high rises. Lest you think I had landed in the lap of luxury, I must add that every building in Cairo is blanketed with a thick layer of grotty dirt. Once inside, every surface is covered with dust. That is the universal reality of Cairo, across all socio economic strata. The elevator was frighteningly slow, noisy, and shook all the way to the 25^th floor. I occasionally have elevator nightmares, so I prayed all the way up.

Day one in Cairo; The light was out in the elevator but I refused to go down 25 sets of stairs. My elevator nightmare was even closer to becoming reality. I bought bus tickets to Siwa. What had once been a dusty parking lot full of "West Delta" busses is now a spanking new bus station. I kept walking back and forth past it, looking for the familiar grimy haven for honking busses and ticket sellers calling out the destinations. Someone finally pointed out the hulk of a building and said "That's the bus station."

I wandered to the Windsor Hotel, where I usually stay when in Cairo. There is no employee turnover there, so as I left it last summer, and the three summers before that, it remains…An old bathhouse that was the British officers club during colonial times. As in years past, my favorite taxi driver, Masri was sitting in one of the many tea houses set up on the sidewalk. It was like a homecoming. Masri sat me down and ordered fresh lemonade. Soon I was reading his fortune from the bottom of a Turkish coffee cup. Soon a line of men from the different tea houses showed up with cups in hand and I spent the rest of the afternoon reading the patterns that emerged from their coffee grinds.

Early the next morning Danielle and I were off on the long and boring bus ride to Siwa. Where there had been nothing but sand and distant turquoise waves, modern buildings were popping up all along Egypt's north coast. After a delicious lunch of fresh fish and a side trip to majestic turquoise beaches outside of the Bedouin city of Marsa Matruh, we got to Siwa late at night. In the desert, people take long naps at lunch time and stay up into the wee hours of the morning. The oasis was bustling with business at midnight.

Danielle got to see life in Siwa as it has taken me years to be able to penetrate. We went to Nana'a's village, sat on mats on the floor and drank tea as her family presented us with gifts of mud clay pottery. On the previous days long bus ride, I told Danielle about last years sand bath experience. She said "I could never do that!" As the hours passed, she got more and more curious, until I had to ask my friend Helal to take us to the desert for a session of Siwan torture…"Good for health."

During the hottest hours of mid day Saharan sun, we were buried up to our necks in sand, Once baked sufficiently, we wrapped ourselves in thick winter blankets and stayed in a virtually airless tent for the next hour drinking helba. Helba is an herbal tea that facilitates sweating. Still wrapped in blankets, we were taken in the back of a pickup truck to the local hotel to lie in bed drinking hot soup and lemon juice and left there to sweat. Danielle asked "When can we leave?" Helal replied "When you stop sweating."

Many cups of strong Siwan tea and a couple of days later, it was time for Danielle to go back to school. I couldn't face the long trip back to smoggy, chaotic Cairo yet, so I opted to stay a bit longer.

Last year I made cookies for Helal's family. This year his mother asked me to teach her how. Last year the local "Pepsi store" sold slabs of butter. This year we had to settle for a can of ghee. Otherwise, the toll house cookies made with M & M's were a smashing success.

I am captivated by Siwan embroidery. It is one of the only ways women in Siwa can make money and it is truly a unique art. Siwan wedding dresses are voluminous caftans that are intricately embroidered in the front. They come in black or white fabric with orange, yellow and green silk embroidery, buttons, cowrie shells, amulets, and rhinestones. I bought a black one to be made into a one piece bellydance dress. Helal's mother adorned my dance pants with embroidery along the sides. The designs are traditional Berber symbols, but the meanings have been lost over the centuries.

BLOG

2008-07-14T09:22:00.001-07:00

July, 2008

Back to Africa

I have been bitten by a Zanzibari bug...Or could it be a Swahili spirit. Maybe it is the spirit of music, the 103 year old sound of Africas oldest band, the Ikhwani Safaa Musical Club.

In June, I was teaching workshops in South Africa, Johannesburg and Capetown. It was cold and wintery, but all went well. The workhops were well received, and people loved the show. Aside from an orphaned lion cub chewing on my shoe and the sight of an occaisional ostrich or rhino while driving in the countryside, it was a pretty western experience, like going to Europe, Latin America, etc. ...with extra security because of the high crime rate.

Johannesburg is a big city with lots of traffic. Many activities take place in huge shopping mall complexes with passages leading above the streets from one mall to another and security guards surrounding the parking lots.

The organizer, Angela was kind and more than hospitable. We became fast friends as she ferried me around town through traffic on all my errands. I found out a musician friend of mine in Zanzibar needed a guitar. Since I sold all my books and cd's, there was room to take the guitar on the plane with me. What sounded like an easy task turned out to involve days of searching on South Africas version of E Bay, which is called "Bid or Buy". I found just the right guitar...sold by a woman who asked us to meet her outside an AIDS village in an industrial area at the edge of town at rush hour. She always conducted her instrument dealings in such unexpected places because of the security issue of carring around sums of money. Mission was accomplished in the back of her van as Angela sat patiently by, waiting in her car.

Capetown is gloriously beautiful, though many precautions remain in place. The studio owner, a beautiful dancer named Tenille, took me to the "Cape of Good Hope", which is the southernmost tip of Africa. It looks just like one would imagine from the map. We also walked along the beach where wild penguins congregate. I couldn't stop taking pictures!

Meanwhile, in Zanzibar, the electricity had been out for a month. Imagine! an entire island of one million people living in darkness- no refrigerators, no lights...Nothing! It barely made the news anywhere in the world and there is still barely any help for the economic recovery of this island.

A few days before leaving South Africa, the lights came back on in Zanzibar. What a relief! I flew ten hours to get there, and stayed in the refurbished old palace where Emerson, an American vanguard in arts promotion lives. He was in New York, so I had the place to myself. My purpose was to meet with the famed musician, Matona and the 103 year old Ikhwani Safaa Musical Club of Zanzibar about creating a new CD. It will be bellydance music, based on opera classics; Carmen, Sampson and Delilah, Salome, etc., with a uniquely Zanzibari flavor. This is the first such project to take place on the island and the plan is that we will record in December.

Within an hour of setting foot in "Jaws Corner" ( a small square where people sit and talk, while drinking traditional Zanzibari coffee), news of my arrival had spread and old friends, Juma (the violin player and artistic director of my last cd, "40 Days and 1001 Nights, Bellydance Music for Tamalyn Dallal"), Abeidi, the amazing tabla player who snaps his finger by bending it backwards (see it in the film "40 Days and 1001 Nights, Seeing the Islamic World through the Eyes of a Dancer" with your own eyes) came to greet me. Khamis, the environmentally protective artist who recycles paper into cd covers introduced me to a man in the market who sells solar powered cooking devices that don't require charcoal, thus saves the trees. Plastic bags are still banned in Tanzania and although there is a black market supply and the authorities may look the other way, the problem of plastic bags swirling at ones feet as we walked (mentioned in my book and shown in the film) has improved.

I learned what it is like to be gouged at Zanzibars airport when my entry visa cost $100 and the airport tax to leave was a whopping $60. Next time, I may take the boat. Anyway, a few days in the magical isle from days gone by was worth it. Next, I was off to Kenya.

As those of you who read my book recall (If you haven't read it, please order a copy at www.40daysand1001nights.com), Taariq, my nice young neighbor suffered from an affliction that, like the blackout in Zanzibar, has been ignored by most of the world. Heroin addiction has reached epidemic proportions along what they call the "Swahili Coast" (Zanzibar, mainland Tanzania and Kenya). There is a route through India and Pakistan where the drug is obtained, and carried to Africa. Eventually, it either makes its way to Europe or South Africa, causing massive destruction in its wake; Adolescent boys getting hooked at an impressionable age, especially in Zanzibar where prospects for work are scarce and laws against drug dealing are not enforced. This drug money, as it bulldozes across Africa finances war, such as the ongoing violence in the Congo that utilizes child soldiers.

The good news is that Taariq has been living in Mombasa, Kenya for over two years, where he went through drug rehabilitation and is active in Narcotics Anonymous. He studies computer engineering in college, and during his vacation is now in Zanzibar setting up Narcotics Anonymous meetings. Unfortunately, drug rehabilitation programs are desperately needed in Zanzibar, but like the month long black out, who is listening?

On a lghter note, the food in Mombasa is absolutely delicious . I spent an afternoon with ladies in the suburb of Kisaouni learning to make "biryani", an Indian influenced traditional Swahili dish.

Recipe for Biryani:

Chop and fry pieces of goat meat, add tomato paste and fresh tomatoes, onions, green peppers, and lots of spices ground with a mortar and pestel (cloves, cinnamon, cardomom, peppercorns, fresh ginger). Add yoghurt and simmer.

Serve over rice cooked with tumeric.

Thinly slice a salad of onions, peeled cucumbers, tomatoes and salt. Serve alongside the rice dish.

The tastiest dish I ate was "Chana Batata", a soup made with potatoes, peanuts, coconut, unidentified crunchy things, and topped with hot sauce and coconut chutney...washed down with spicy chai.

My flight to Madrid, where I was to continue on my workshop teaching tour, left out of Nairobi, an overnight train ride away from Mombasa. It was amazing to wake up for breakfast and watch the animals migrating right outside the window; zebras, wildebeasts, ostriches, ghazals.

My "Swahili henna", which consists of elaborate patterns of black and brown henna in flower designs all the way up both arms and covering both feet, halfway up the legs is a big hit in Spain. Too bad it only lasts a couple of weeks.

Till the next time.... as "40 Days and 1001 Nights" continues. Read the book...See the film...and hear the music www.40daysand1001nights.com

See me dance on http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rYeP-Pca5aQ

Indonesia Revisited

2007-11-16T09:47:00.001-08:00

Hello everyone.

I began my book, film, music, and dance project in Indonesia what seems like ages ago, in September, 2005. The concept of an American belly dancer who was then from South Miami Beach trying to build a bridge of understanding with the Muslim world may sound far fetched, but in Indonesia, the people are highly appreciative.

I gave a talk at the Bandung Islamic University, and wound up dancing (very covered) and being showered with gifts and a huge bouquet of beautiful white flowers. I also danced for a spiritual group who was celebrating after the Ramadhan fasting and was invited to the home of Bambang, the Islamic lecturer who greatly helped me with information for my book.

I taught at the new and very beautiful studio of Christine Yaven, the bellydance pioneer of Jakarta. She is also featured in my book, with her little white dog "Naughty". Now there are two playful little fluff balls, bouncing to greet me in her home in Jakarta. We are planning a spa retreat/ teachers training bellydance workshop in the Javana Spa outside of Jakarta in October, 2008. I'll keep you posted.

I revisited Banda Ache, the tsunami ravaged northern tip of Sumatra that much of the Indonesia section of my book takes place in. Most of the foreign aid agencies are puling out as their work is considered finished. There has been a lot of building- and the aid groups have added to the local economy. I saw many identical little cement houses scattered throughout the tsunami area. Some were inhabited and others lay abandoned or unfinished. Green grass and weeds have grown over the barren land, which softens the impact of so much tragedy that occured with the big wave.

The amount of vehicles on the road has skyrocketed. People are rebuilding their lives, and finding ways to get around. Such a proliferation of motorbikes, becaks (motorbikes with a wooden basket aongside for passengers), and SUV's make the roads a scary place to traverse. I wondered how many people actually had licences and by what criteria they were gotten. It was like the wild west with motors; giant autos tailgated within a half inch of motorbikes containing entire families, including babies. I sat in the buggy of a becak which tried to wind between the bikes and SUV's, and slosh through the mud as the rain poured around us. Acehnese women were famous in history as warriors and herons in battle. They often drive motorbikes, headscarves blowing from beneath their helmets, but when I was seated behind a man, it was expected that I would not hang onto him. Instead, I should have my hands neatly on my lap as I sat sidesaddle in a long skirt. I am alive today to tell about it though.

Where there was little food when I went in 2005, now there are carts and little restaurants everywhere. The food is amazing! Unfortunately, the biggest, shiniest, and most visible are: Kentucky Fried Chicken, Pizza Hut, and A&W. I didn't meet anyone who had tried them. Acehnese are very attached to their traditional way of life.

Through the "1001 Nights Fund" ( which comes from donations and ten percent of the sales of " 40 Days and 1001 Nights" books, films, and dvd's), I was able to send boxes of childrens books written in Indonesian to be distributed in villages that still have very few resources.With several guys from the FBA, which is the local NGO I volunteered with when I was writing the book, we traveled to many small villages visiting the children and auditing the donations given by a German company for their schools. Of course, we ate all the local delicacies along the way; giant crabs over noodles by the side of the road, and rice surrounded by small dishes of extremely salty dried fish, fermented chiles, etc.

In 2005, internet was barely existent in Banda Aceh. There were internet cafes, but they had signs on the door "Rusat" (closed), as the tower was damaged by the tsunami. To my surprise, I plugged my computer in at my hotel and a wireless signal popped up. I sat as the rain poured down outside, swatting huge mosquitoes that were eating me for dinner, and got caught up on correspondance.

I met the head of a dance group formed mostly of orphans from the tsunami, who are learning traditional dances. He invited me to their rehearsal. Many of the dances are done seated, with frame drums and trance like head tosses. I also noticed that they use a variation of the African Jembe drum, which they call "Jimbe". The world is truly small and culture has been traveling for generations, even without the internet.

The music and dance arts of Aceh are fascinating and beautiful. They are strong, trance like and heavy on rhythm. It is a dream of mine that some of these wonderful sights and sounds will be shared with the outside world and become familiar to everyone. We discussed having the 1001 Nights Fund help his group create promotional materials: DVD's, multilingual flyers, and hopefully, one day, a website. Unfortunately, I have yet to find an arts group in Banda Aceh that has a website, or even checks e mail.

Now, I am on my way back to the US, which involves long layovers in Singapore and Hong Kong...sipping "teh tarek" (yummy tea with hot, frothy milk) from a plastic bag and straw while typing to share my latest experiences. I am in Singapore, which feels like a shining oasis of modernity and organization. Once I arrive home to Seattle, it will be time to turn around and fly to Rimini, Italy to teach at yet another bellydance congress. For now, it is not goodbye to the lands of "40 Days and 1001 Nights", only "A Shufak Badayn" (See you later, in Arabic). Scroll way down to read my first hand impressions of Indonesia from 2005. Also, if you haven't done so already, please log onto the official website www.40daysand1001nights.com.

The book is available, "40 Days and 1001 Nights", One Woman's Dance Through Life in The Islamic World, by Tamalyn Dallal

Take a look at my new site www.40daysand1001nights.com.

...

2007-11-10T08:28:00.001-08:00

The magic carpet ride continues. I am in Banda Aceh once again, but let's rewind a moment...How did I get back here after two years?

For the past two months I have been on tour, dancing and teaching throuhout Asia. The first stop was Seoul, Korea. My friend and fellow dancer, Gino organized workshops and classes in both Seoul and Jeju Island, in the south end of the peninsula. Although Belly dance is relatively new to Korea, the dancers are quite proficient. Their hand movements are really graceful, because of the hands in traditional Korean dance.

The most amazing treats were "Jinjelban". You pay the equivalant of ten dollars, and enter an area of hot and cold pools and saunas. After that, the men and women join together and enter mineral lined saunas, each with their own healing properties: Crystal, jade, sulphur, etc. line the walls. They are open 24 hours and people often spend the night, so there are lots of snoring bodies laying about. Also open 24 hours are the "Massage by Blind" centers where you drop in at any hour and adept blind men give great massages.

Korean food is the most gourmet, as well as unusual and unidentifiable that I have tasted. I wasn't so sure about biting into a sea slug or chomping on a bowl full of chicken anuses, but everything else was amazing!

Next stop: Shanghai.

Wow! The Isis Bellydance Club has 1200 students with branches all over this gargantuan city. Shanghai is a mix of Jetsons style modern fantasy buildings with traditional Chinese, European colonial, and a combination of the two architectural styles.

The hospitality and food in Shanghai were really a treat. Each afternoon and evening, I was treated to two hour communal meals with a wide array of unidentified and delicious dishes swirling about on a lazy susan. We toured the culinary delights of Shanghai, Canton, Schezuan, and Xinjiang.

You can see some samples of the evening performance on www.youtube.com. Just type in the name Tamalyn Dallal. You can also see teachers from the Isis Club perform- Sophie and Estelle. Beautiful! I got a great write up in the Shanghai Daily. Log onto http://www.china.org.cn/english/LivinginChina/228213.htm.

Hong Kong was next on the agenda. The city invited me and a tribal dancer, Susan Frankovich from California to take part in the opening of the Mediterranean Festival, which involved two weeks of performances and workshops. They made a giant back drop for one of the stages with our photos blown up to hypersize. and we shared the stage with Hong Kong's own Mey Jen and the Oasis Dance Co., as well as Flamenco dancer Clara Ramona, who was flown in from the Phillipines along with her musicians.

As the sky grew dark, the Hong Kong skyline behind us came alive with lights as each building collaborated in the most outragious light show on earth: Multicolored lasers lit the sky, and animated multicolored characters danced across the buildings.

Of course, the best part is Hong Kong itself. I had the pleasure of showing Susan all of my favorite haunts and introducing her to my friends. There is nothing like a hike (yes, there is hiking in Hong Kong) across Lamma Island, a lush green paradise that one must take a boat to get to. Around every corner is a surprise, farms, views overlooking a sea of sampans, tiny villages, and lots of great local food along the way.

Onward to Singapore, and Samra's Pyramid Dance School. Singapore is a lively, pastel painted city where everything is in order, tidy, but not so dull as the islands pristine reputation would suggest. All events were held in "Kampong Glam", the traditional Muslim quarter where streets have names like "Ali Baba", "Arab Street", and "Kandahar". A big mosque dominates the area and old shophouses offer beautifully sequinned and embroidered textiles, Persian carpets, Turkish lamps, and of course,Samras bellydance store with everything sparkly.

Singapore is alive with three cultures, Malay, Indian, and Chinese, as well as four religions: Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, and Christianity, following their traditions peacefully side by side. Of course, the food is out of this world! Every neighborhood has at least one "Hawkers center", like very exotic food courts where you can share plates of all of the above delicacies.

Although Indonesia might be mistaken for one big traffic jam (too many cars and not enough infrastructure), it is a highlite of this trip. I have been revisiting the people from my book: If you haven't gotten this far in "40 Days and 1001 Nights", please take the book and start reading it....Incredibly, one Indonesian woman bought the book and read it all in one night! She was awake enough to to talk about all the people and places with me the next morning.

I gave a talk and showed the book and film at the Islamic University in Bandung, where Mr. Bambang, the Islamic lecturer written about in my book teaches. Everywhere I went, he proudly exclaimed that "Tamalyn is a bellydancer who wants to help America understand that the Muslim world is more than what they see on the news." I ended up bellydancing everywhere we went as well, but in quite covered attire. People were very receptive and showered me with flowers and gifts.

In Jakarta, Indonesias over sized metropolis, Christine Yaven has really made her mark, introducing the art of belly dancing to her country. She now has a beautiful school and while I was there she sent dancers to explain about the dance on national television, lectured and taught movements for post natal women, and organized shows in neighboring cities.

Two decadent days were spent at the posh but very affordable Javana Spa. We were treated by massages, body wraps, facials, and the like. We hope to be able to organize an Indonesian Belly dance- spa retreat for next October- Will keep you posted.

Now, I am in Banda Aceh, meeting up with the folks at FBA and discovering even more talented local musicians and dancers. I'll save that for the next installment.

Until then, enjoy the book. If you don't have it yet, log onto www.40daysand1001nights.com and press "Buy Now".

Tamalyn Dallal

The book is available, "40 Days and 1001 Nights", One Woman's Dance Through Life in The Islamic World, by Tamalyn Dallal

Take a look at my new site www.40daysand1001nights.com.

My new book is out and the website is up

2007-08-21T16:46:00.001-07:00

Hi.

I am proud to announce that my new book, "40 Days and 1001 Nights, a Woman's Dance through Life in the Islamic World" is available online on my new website. Please take the time to read about the project, which includes a book, film, dance concert and music cd, as well as charitable fund. Log onto www.40daysand1001nights.com.

This very timely project is important for everyone in America to read- not because it tells you anything sensational, or uncovers a terrorist plot. Rather, it tells about real life and real people in five Islamic countries: Indonesia, Egypt's Siwa Oasis, Zanzibar, Jordan, and China's Xinjiang Autonomous Region. If we communicate and know more about one another's every day lives, peace is possible.

I took the past two years out of my life, and nearly all the money I made teaching dance workshops to do this project..Not as a business or money making venture, rather because I felt that it was something someone had to do. Please look over the website and give support by purchasing the book and letting people know. This is not limited to dancers, and my greater hope is that this book gets read by the American public at large.

US influence extends around the globe and has affected nearly every culture on earth, but what do we know about everyone else? This book is light and fun, full of juicy, enlightening, and fun information, culture, food, art, men, women, children, comments on how they see us...and more.

One more thing, if you buy the book, which I sincerely hope you do, the most important thing is to read it. Estimated reading time is ten hours, but if you want to get a clearer picture, you can add the documentary film DVD to your cart and feel like you are there in person.

Tamalyn Dallal

August 4, 2007

2007-08-04T09:42:00.001-07:00

August 4, 2007

40 days is only the begining. Revisiting the lands of "40 Days and 1001 Nights" are like the book on fast forward. I just returned from a week in the Siwa Oasis and am sitting in a cafe in Cairo once again and leave in a few hours for the US.

So much that you will read about in my book (available as of August 10) continued to unfold in this summers travels.

First is the story of Yahya. I was supposed to stay in the home of a family in Maraqi, a village outside of Siwa, past ancient tombs and what they say is the final resting place of Alexander the Great. Unfortunately, their 21 year old son, Yahya had disappeared. As my book gives mention, police brutality is rife in Siwa, but this case went beyond, and the people of the oasis rallied together. As one man said "It's 'normal' to beat people, just dont leave any marks". That is a resigned approach if I've ever heard one. Anyway, the fact that 21 year old Yahya was burned over most of his body gave the local Berber population the power to unite, take the police to court and gain massive publicity in an effort to curb police brutality in their oasis. The police are Egyptian, and the local population are of a completely different culture with a different language and a tribal system of justice.

A couple of weeks before I arrived, Yahya was called into the looming and modern police station that dominates the mud brick oasis and asked to provide information on what he knew about a recent theft of government property. He was not a suspect, merely a person they thought might be able to give some information. He was mum, so they poured flamable liquid on his feet and played with a cigarette lighter near his shoes, not expecting them to light up. Needless to say, his long robes went up in flames and the officers didn't know what to do.

They whisked him to a hospital in Alexandria, then after his scars had dried sufficiently, he was driven over to Libya and dropped off in a town where he didn't know anyone. A report was made that he had escaped during questioning. Luckily, Yahya had a brother living in Libya who he was able to contact and the story blew up around the region. The police were tried in court and now it appears that three officers will go to jail and two, including the head general of the area will be dismissed. Yahya's wounds are scarring over and his village is abuzz with reporters and well wishers. Police brutality is so commonplace in Egypt, even more in this tiny minority oasis, and we can only hope that this will be the beginning of an end of such rampant abuse.

The visit was not all that tradgedy. I spent three days in another village called Dakrur doing the "over 40 spa treatment". It is actually what people do each summer after the big 4-0...Spending three days sweating and eating, sewing and getting hennaed together.

The famous Siwan sand bath involves being submerged up to ones neck in scorching summer sand in the Sahara at mid day for 15 minutes, then wrapped in a heavy blanket and put in a tent to sweat for over an hour as you drink herbs that encourage further sweating. Then a pickup truck takes all of the blanket clad bodies to the village and puts us in rooms under mosquito nets, where we sweat some more in our blankets drinking broth and lemon juice for a couple more hours. That happens every day until the smell gets unbearable. We are not alowed to bathe for four days. People claim it has cured bad knees and back problems and that the sand outside this village has special healing properties. I asked how this custom started and was told "About 150 years ago, a girl who couldn't walk was buried in this sand and started to walk again." Anyway, they say it is quite rejuvinating, and if nothing else, encourages comraderie. I sat for three days with families from Alexandria and a group of Bedouins swapping stories and sewing sequins, finalizing with some girls putting henna designs on our hands and feet.

Finally, I did some cultural exchange with another Siwi Berber family. I'd had a chiffon evening dress made by a tailor in Zanzibar. I brought it to Siwa for some traditiopnal embriodery and beadwork, which was done in grand style by four women all working on the dress at once. On the final day, I was in their home too, and continued my own sequin sewing on a new costume that I am making out of Somalian fabric. They cooked dinner and I made cookies. I had promised to make toll house cookies... but there were no chocolate chips in the Siwa oasis. Luckily, they didn't know about chocolate chips, and we spent part of the afternoon wrapping cookie dough around some coveted Droste chocolate pastilles that cost a small fortune from the refrigerator of the "Pepsi Store". Brown sugar does not exist either, nor do they have the same measurements as us, so I was concerned about how edible my concoction would be. Happily, these new Siwan-American sweets were a sucess. That can be determined by a universal expression of appreciation- a young boy with an impish grin and chocolate surrounding his lips telling his mom "I don't know what happened to the cookies".

Out of Africa

2007-07-24T06:06:00.001-07:00

July 24, 2007

The book, "40 Days and 1001 Nights" is done and being printed as I write this. It will be released on August 10, at the film showing at Atlanta's Southern Fusion Fest, then available on my websites soon after: www.tamalyndallal.com and www.40daysand1001nights.com.

All went well with the instruments headed for Zanzibar. I ended up going alone, with double the weight allowance, headed to Zanzibar. When the manager at Kenya Airlines saw the instruments, and realized that my request for additional weight that had been approved when I bought my ticket was not logged onto the computer, he actually gave me another ten kilos for free and an extra seat to strap the oud in for takeoff.

The Ikhwani Safaa band was grateful and invited me to hear them play at the club house, presenting me with gifts of traditional carved wood for myself and the donor who made the instruments possible, and made us both honorary members of the musical club.

In addition to the donation for instruments, I had many more donations in hand, mostly from people who heard about my project. Those went to help with repairs to the crumbling club house so that the top floor apartment will be in good enough condition for the band's elder teacher and mentor, Mawalim Edie to be able to move in and work with his musicians again instead of being so far away across town and unable to get to the club. Also, the "1001 Nights Fund" sponsored one young man in his studies to learn website design, a field that is rare and sorely needed in that part of the world.

I stayed in the home of Emerson, an American man who was involved in most arts organizations in Zanzibar; including the ZIFF Film Festival, Dhow Academy music school, Busara Music Festival, and an initiative for crippled people to have work, driving tiny three wheeled "tuk tuks" as taxis through the tiny streets of Zanzibar. Unfortunately, he has been ill and in the hospital in New York for multiple surgeries. He generously allowed me to stay in a beautiful apartment in the former palace where he lives.

I met amazing people, such as the lady behind Ikhwani Safaa's 100th Anniversary celebration, Maryam Hamdan, and her wonderful singer- husband Mohammed, who is the current artistic director of Ikhwani Safaa. His other taarab group, "Twinkling Stars" are about to record a CD with a German producer. Another amazing person was Hamisi, a creative and innovative artist who now designs the CD covers for many local musicians, and makes them out of paper he recycles himself.

The next adventure was Kenya. I didn't go on safari, as one would expect. Rather, I stayed along the coast, in Mombasa, where I visited one of the people who figures highly in the Zanzibar section of my book. He is written about under the name of Taariq, and is currently in recovery from heroin addiction. He has been drug free for the past 15 months. Heroin addiction is prevelant in Zanzibar, affecting nearly every family on the island. Unfortunately, there are no facilities for rehabilitation in Zanzibar, and neither the police or government do anything to curb the flow of drugs on their way from Pakistan to Europe via Zanzibar, coastal Kenya and Tanzania. Instead, many pockets are lined with the profits, at the expense of local society.

The "1001 Nights Fund" was able to help fund the treatment of another man who did not have family to help him, as well as buying small items for the MEWA Rehabilitation Center, such as a hose so they don't have to water the garden with a bucket, a soccer ball, door mats made of rubber instead of rotting twine, a clock, and a whole car load of other items that the director deemed neccesary. It is amazing what a small shopping trip, like the trips we make to Target on any weekend to get little things for our homes, can mean to a small group of men living on the fringes of society. One of the men in recovery who is now a counselor told me "One time someone from the American Embassy brought us five chickens. We ate them and three hours later they were gone. Now, we have things that will last us for years."

The "1001 Nights Fund" began with $2110 and now has $410 remaining. The $1700 that was spent affected dozens of lives in small ways, via direct aid. I have gained a lot by beginning to learn about what is needed.... Really, only scratching the surface. In Africa, there are needs every day, everywhere you turn. The most important thing is for the money to go where it will help people grow and put in their own efforts and not foster dependancies.

In Mombasa, I learned three ways to make the famous Swahili dish, "Pulao", and went to an elephant reserve where giant African elephants dwarfed our car, in their natural habitat by the side of the road. If one of the animals had chosen to get mad, I wouldn't be here to write about it.

I visited the beautiful island of Lamu, where there is only one car and no roads wide enough to accomodate it. The Magistrate goes the one block stretch from his home to office along the waterfront in this car. Otherwise, the streets are plied by donkeys, and the waters by traditional "dhows", a style of boat that has travesed the Indian Ocean for hundreds of years. These are made by hand of mangrove wood.

The donkeys of Lamu are so gentle and cute! They don't hee haw or kick, and roam the streets as free as people do. They know to go to their owners at feeding time. The town is small, so when someone needs their donkey for transport, they just ask the neighbors "Have you seen my donkey?". Streets are so narrow that only two people can walk side by side, and all is made of ancient stones. Women wear their black bui buis and often cover their faces for more anonimity, but at home, when they dance, they do incredible hip movements. They love Swahili music, Reggae, Indian Bollywood songs, and Arabic belly dance music.

Now, I am back in Cairo, trying to digest all of my experiences over a cup of Turkish coffee, whose grinds assure me that there are many roads ahead.

Tamalyn Dallal

40 Days and 1001 Nights update

2007-06-30T06:45:00.001-07:00

It's been nearly two years since this project began and finally, the book is on its way... Like a baby after a 22 month pregnancy!

I'm in Egypt at the moment, at the yearly Ahlan Wasahlan bellydance festival. It's bigger and more sparkly than ever! In contrast, right before the festival, Denise and I led a group of ten women through many varied and amazing deserts for five days, sleeping under the stars and seeing dance from three different oases. We called it the "Million Star Hotel." Even a five star hotel cannot compare to sleeping in the Sahara.

The White Desert is always the most amazing part- You can read about my first visit to the White Desert by scrolling down to the Siwa Oasis, January, 2006 entries of this blog. That was in the winter. In summer, mischevious little desert foxes love to cause mayhem. Last year, they broke my glasses in half. This year, I walked way out into the desert, past two of our group members posing on rocks in bellydance costumes. I walked on and found two mis matched sandals- one pink and one gold, belonging to the dancers. The foxes had stolen them from our campsite and I was lucky to happen upon them. The matching gold one had the sequins chewed off, and the matching pink one was never found. The foxes were so cute that we couldn't get mad at them.

The 1001 Nights fund is on its second project, bringing instruments from Egypt to Zanzibar for Africas oldest band, the Ikhwani Safaa Musical Club. Along with Luka from Loony Bin Films, and his assistant, Bozak, we went to Cairo's famed Mohammed Ali Street, where all the instrument makers live, and obtained violins, flutes, percussion instruments, and an oud, which I will carry to Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania on Monday night. The group still needs a cello and a double bass, so if anyone knows of possible donations or ways to get those instruments from the US or Asia, please let me know.

Have a great summer and keep checking in. I'll update this blog every week or ten days while on the road.

P.S. The documentary film, concert DVD, music, and al of my other DVD's are now available on my website through Paypal. www.tamalyndallal.com

Film showings

2007-04-08T23:14:00.001-07:00

Hey everyone,

The book is coming along. It takes a lot of patience, but hopefully that will make it even more exciting when it comes out.

The musical documentary film, "40 Days and 1001 Nights", will be shown at the following cities in the next few months, and I will be there to speak afterward.

Toronto, Sun. April 22

International Middle Eastern Dance Conference

Seattle, Sat./Sun. May 5-6, 12 noon

Grand Illusion Cinema

5001 University Way N.E.

$12 adv./$15 at the door

Hollywood/Fort Lauderdale,Fl., Sat., May 14

Lotus Dance studio

Gainesvile, Fl. Mon., May 21

New York City

Early June, Details TBA

Buenos Aires, Argentina

June

Contact me for more details (206)226-3882 or tamalyndallal@yahoo.com

Don't be flakey. Get Yahoo! Mail for Mobile and
always stay connected to friends.

Update on the project(s)

2007-03-09T00:43:00.000-08:00

The book "40 Days and 1001 Nights" is scheduled to be released in May.

From Tamalyn Dallal:
After over a year of travels and living for 40 days in each of five Islamic countries, I have spent the last few months diligently producing the film, dance concert and soon to be book resulting from my travels. It is very exciting, and a lot of hard work. Please scroll below to read about the projects, and farther below to read my travel blogs.

The dance concert, "40 Days and 1001 Nights, Dancing Across The Lines", with an all star cast interpreting music form the five countries Ms. Dallal visited (Indonesia, Egypt, Zanzibar, Jordan, and the Xinjiang Autonomous Region of China), was sold out with ticket scalpers lurking out front. It can now be seen on DVD. Contact tamalyndallal@yahoo.com

The film, "40 Days and 1001 Nights, Seeing the World Through the Eyes of a Dancer" was shown twice at the Miami Beach Cinematheque on Jan. 13, and sold out both times. It received a wonderful review, which can be read on www.miamibeachsunpost.com, by going to search, archives, 1-11-07, film previews.
It has also been shown in Dayton, Ohio, and willbe in Seattle in April, Gainesville, Fla. in May, and New York and Buenos Aires in June. Please contact tamalyndallal@yahoo.com if you would like to show it in your area.

The "1001 Nights Fund" (See below), was inspired by Ms. Dallal's meetings with Jordanian Gypsies and also Zanzibari composer, Ali Abdella Buesha in Dubai, whose father was one of the founding members of Africa's oldest band, Ikhwani Safaa Musical Club" of Zanzibar.
To date, the fund has made a donation to the Kamileh Breast Cancer Fund that helps fund diagnostic equipment to save lives of Egytptian women.
Now, the fund is being replenished to purchase instruments in Egypt for the Ikhwani Safaa Musical Club, as a show of appreciation for the beautiful music they have created and preserved. Ms. Dallal hopes to focus the fund on artistic and primarily music projects. She believes in the power of music and that no one is too insignificant to make a difference. "The world can change, one note at a time."

Updates on the 40 Days and 1001 Nights Project

2007-01-30T21:47:00.000-08:00

"40 Days and 1001 Nights" is a multifold project, that now includes:

The completed documentary film, "40 Days and 1001 Nights", available now.

This is a visual and musical journey through Indonesia, Egypt's Siwa Oasis, Zanzibar, Jordan and the Xinjiang Autonomous Region of China. ($50)

DVD of the dance concert "40 Days and 1001 Nights", Dancing Across the Lines", Ms. Dallal's finest production to date, starring Tamalyn Dallal, Amar Gamal, Bozenka, Kaeshi, Bellyqueen, Hanan, Montseratte, Francesca, Alexandra, and a cast of over 30 dancers. During her travels, Tamalyn Dallal sent music and costumes, as well as descriptions of her experiences back to the above dancers in Miami Beach, New York, Buenos Aires and Massachussets, received backing from the city of Miami Beach and Miami Dade County Cultural Affairs Council, and commenced the long distance music and dance collaboration that spanned five continents in which dancers in this show would perform to pieces from Zanzibar, Banda Aceh, Indonesia, Egypt, Xinjiang, and Jordan, then the DVD would be sent to musicians and dance teachers in their land of origin so they could see how their music reaches the American people via dance.

This DVD is available now! ($50)

Music CD

"40 Days and 1001 Nights, Bellydance Music for Tamalyn Dallal" was produced as a collaboration with the Ikhwani Safaa Musical Club of Zanzibar, Africa's oldest band, founded in 1905. This utilizes musical techniques rarely found today, and is quite classical and complex. Instead of getting tired of the music, it gets better and more interesting every time you listen. This is the music used in the first half of the show "Dancing Across the Lines".($18)

The book, "40 Days and 1001 Nights" will be available this spring- keep posted on it's progress.

Also, the new website www.40daysand1001nights is under construction, complete with beautiful photography!

Ten percent of all proceeds from the book and DVD sales are going into the "1001 Nights Fund", to help grass roots projects in the countries she has visited. First recipient, for the month of January: Kamileh's Breast Cancer Project, helping diagnose and prevent breast cancer in Egypt. After that, stay tuned for more info on how this fund will add to the beautiful music of Zanzibar!

We won't tell. Get more on shows you hate to love
(and love to hate): Yahoo! TV's Guilty Pleasures list.

40 Days and 1001 Nights

2006-10-04T10:21:00.000-07:00

October 4, 2007

With much sadness, I say goodbye to the many adventures and eye opening experiences I have had in the Islamic world, Indonesia, Egypt, Zanzibar, Jordan, and the Xinjiang Autonomous Region of China. I will relive them again and again while compiling my stories into the book, "40 Days and 1001 nights, A Woman's Dance Through the Islamic World", scheduled release date April 8, 2007.

I hope to share this beautiful slice of the great big world through my

Film: "40 Days and 1001 Nights, The Islamic World Through the Eyes of a Dancer", premiers January 13, 2007 at the Miami Beach Cinematheque),

Performance: The theatre show, "40 Days and 1001 Nights, Dancing across the Lines", inspired by music of my travels will take place January 21, at the Colony Theatre in Miami Beach, and via

Music: The cd, "40 Days and 1001 Nights, Bellydance Music for Tamalyn Dallal" is out and available through all the major bellydance suppliers plus the Mid Eastern Dance Exchange in Miami Beach.

At least my re-introduction into my old life was fun- sharing a wonderful Chinese dinner with a handsome Polish photographer in the Chinese border town of Shenzhen. The following day, I shopped for silks, had my hair done, and drank capucchino in a chi chi setting. Shenzhen isn't Hong Kong, but the hyper modern architecture and dazzling lights make me feel that the world is celebrating the impending debut of "40 Days and 1001 Nights".

How low will we go? Check out Yahoo! Messengers low PC-to-Phone call rates.

40 Days and 1001 Nights

2006-09-30T01:16:00.000-07:00

September 30, 2006

What a week of adventure! Xinjiang is the largest province in China, about the size of Alaska, so when I decided to head south again, to the town of Hoten, I opted for a 24 hour sleeper bus, solely for the purpose of seeing the Taklamakan Desert along the way. I found it odd that there was no such beautiful scenery as the guidebooks promised. When I got to the end of the line, it was not Hoten either. I showed the driver my ticket, and gathered a crowd of helpful people, though I had no common language with anyone. What happened was that on the way out of Urumqi, we had had a small accident with a truck. After waiting for the police for two hours, the bus finally ended up at another bus station in the same city. What I hadn't realized is that being so late caused us to trade routes with another bus. No problem. Seven hours later, via a small schoolbus looking contraption and a taxi, down poplar tree lined roads full of horse and donkey carts toppling with produce, along with a partial refund from the driver, I made it to Hoten.

Hoten has the most amazing Sunday Market, where villagers from all over come to trade jade, which is collected in the river that runs through town, Atlas silk, the famous multicolored tye dye looking silk that was famous along the Silk Road, carpets, animals, and vegetables. The town is like a dust bowl. Everything is covered with a thin layer of dust.

I continued my quest to learn about Uyghur Traditional Medicine, and learned that in addition to being linked to Arabic medicine, and the ancient Greeks (possibly via Alexander the Great), there had been exchanges with traditional Tibetan, Mongolian, and Chinese medicines. I stayed in the home of an Uyghur herbalist and his family, and shared the Ramadhan breaking fast, and waking up at 5am to eat the last meal before the sun rose.

Continuing onward to Tashkurgan, which is a small Tajik town on the border with Tajikistan, China, Afghanistan, and Pakistan, was another adventure, but I finally got there. The latter part of the trip was past majestic snow covered mountains, lakes, two humped Bactrian camels, lots of yaks, and Kirgiz villagers selling their wares by the side of the road. In Tashkurgan, I loved the way they dance so graceful and smoot, with all the movements representing eagles in flight. I met a film maker from Beijing who is working on the movie "The Kite Runner", partly filmed in Tashkurgan. If you haven't read the book, it is excellent. I can't wait to see the movie.

How low will we go? Check out Yahoo! Messengers low PC-to-Phone call rates.

40 Days and 1001 Nights

2006-09-19T10:50:00.000-07:00

For more juicy details, see Melissas blog. We have been travelling together since August 26. http://fitnessforsmartpeople.blogspot.com.

Do you Yahoo!?
Get on board. You're invited to try the new Yahoo! Mail.

40 Days and 1001 Nights

2006-09-18T09:06:00.000-07:00

September 18, 2006

Grapes, grapes, everywhere. grapevines grew over streets, cafes, performing stages, and served as tourist attractions. I've never seen so many grapes in my life! Farmers give away armloads of grapes. Roadside vendors sell dozens of dried varieties, from rose scented red raisins to "Scent of a Woman", "Scent of a man", "Raisin King", and "Mares nipple", to name a few. There were tiny ones made from what we call champagne grapes, and long ones, golden, brown and very dark. One gets grape and raisin overload fairly quickly, but it subsides enough to start eating them again the next morning.

We went to a birthday party and a circumcision. Uyghurs have their celebrations in big halls and restaurants, serving dozens of dishes on a lazy susan. You never have to pass the dishes.Sometimes there are so many things to eat that they don't all fit on the lazy susan and they have to stack the plates.

Boys get circumcised at the age of seven. In this case, the mother was dressed in a fluffy white dress with poofs and sequins, with her hair done in a hard mass of curls and glitter.Her sisters dressed likewise in light green, flanking her on either side as she greeted the guests. A keyboard player plays the local cover tunes and everyone dances. Men and women can dance together, but it's not proper to dance with the same man three times unless you're married. If the hostess likes someone's dancing, the men are given traditional hats and the women receive scarves.

Yesterday, we visited "Toyuq", an Islamic pilgrimage site that is very intense. You go into a tomb, which is of the first Uyghur to embrace Islam. Nearby are ancient Buddhist caves, from before the area was Islamic. Men chant while everyone prays, their palms toward their faces. We went into a cavelike opening in the tomb where the praying continued with such emotion that all the women were crying. You must back out and down the stairs, then wait your turn to be hit with a cloth covered stick. There was much we didn't understand, but the energy could be felt by all.

Talk is cheap. Use Yahoo! Messenger to make PC-to-Phone calls. Great rates starting at 1¢/min.

40 Days and 1001 Nights

2006-08-06T15:00:00.000-07:00

"40 Days and 1001 Nights'
A Womans Dance Through the Islamic World"
New book project
By Tamalyn Dallal
www.tamalyndallal.com
e mail: tamalyndallal@yahoo.com

September 13, 2006
Suitcase recovered and mission accomplished. After sixteen days of getting people in three countries involved, my suitcase was successfully transferred from Pakistan to China. A word of advice: If you are taking two airlines in remote parts of the world, don't count on your bag being checked through and transferred from one airline to another. Without my travelling partner, Melissas Chinese language skills, and the help of a Chinese woman who works in Abu Dhabi, I would have written the whole thing off.
We went to Urumqi, the main city of Xinjiang for a few days. One would think that the hinterlands of western China would be simple and exotic, but Urumqi is a thriving, sparkling metropolis whose industrial sprawl never seems to end. The shopping is great, and it is very multicultural. Not many westerners go there, but in addition to tour bus loads of tourists from Beijing and Pakistani traders, there are thirteen major ethnic groups in Xinjiang whose presence are felt: Khazaks, Uzbeks, Tajiks, Mongols, Hui (Muslim Chinese), and of course the Uyghurs. As well, there are Han Chinese from other parts of China who were sent by te government to settle, making a stronger Chinese presence, and quelling any separatist temptations the locals might have. The tension that creates is felt in Urumqi, and the Chinese, hyper developed areas are worlds away from the exotic local bazaars and street markets just blocks from one another.
Now, we are in grape heaven. A 2-1/2 hour bus ride out of Urumqi lies a small city called Turpan where collonaded streets are covered by grape trellises with grapes hanging overhead, and the industry in many homes is drying thousands of bunches of green grapes, strung from the ceiling in the front room. Fields of grapes extend as far as the eye can see. It is amazing, peaceful, clean, friendly, beautiful, and every superlative one can think of for a place where we teach and learn dance under grapevines every morning, go to beautiful places in the afternoon, and watch traditional dance peformances in the evening.

September 4, 2006
As a dancer, of course I am going to report in with the local dances. We have seen traditional dance in performance, which uses elegant long dresses with full skirts, pants beneath, at least five long braids, and square caps. Red roses often adorn one ear, because Xinjiang is known for red roses. The movements are elegant and lifted, using elaborate hand and arm movements with shoulders and head slides.
There are two plazas, one in super modern Chinese style lined with giant red lanterns, multi colored, high tech fountains that change colors and water patterns, and Chinas largest statue of Mao Tse Tung. The other is constructed in Islamic style near the ancient It Kal Mosque. Every night, the men dance traditional Uyghur dances, simply for their own enjoyment. We also went to restaurants that are like banquet halls where you order a lazy susan full of food that is more than anyone can possibly eat. They feature a keyboard player with several singers, one after another, and everyone dances, from tiny toddlers to grandparents. Traditional dance is popular, as is the waltz, which men often dance with men and women with women. It is common for women who are sisters or friends to dress alike, so you see a lot of double vision. We also went to the disco. For $5, which is serious money here, you get soft drinks, dried fruits, nuts and microwave popcorn. Once again, there is the keyboard that sounds like an entire band and a singer, but the sound is very young and hip, still keeping the Uyghur traditional dances and waltzes, and most of the people are under thirty.
There are many traditional herb shops and a hospital for Uyghur Traditional Medicine. I wanted to learn about this, so I interviewed one of the hospital administrators as well as a man I met grinding pungent green plants into a paste near the plaza. Interestingly, this practice is a descendant the medicine of ancient Greece, and is based on the idea that everything on earth pertains to four elements: wood, fire, water, and air. These elements must be in balance to maintain good health and illnesses stem from these elements being out of balance. Melissa was told to eat milk and honey while I was instructed to consume more meat and sheep fat.
The update on my missing suitcase is that this has been a lesson in ineffieciency and how to get a runaround in a system where people will never lose their jobs no matter how badly they do them. Some travellers refer to this as the "Great Wall" of China. I have literally spent hours on several occaisions with all sorts of translators, and people helping out in three countries. My suitcase quest may become a running saga throughout this section of the book.It is in Islamabad, but getting it here is the problem that should be simple, but isn't.

August 28, 2006
Hello from the Xinjiang Autonomous Region of China, with another dancer from New York named Melissa, who speaks Chinese, and is a great partner in the search for dance, music and sparkly things.
Yes, there are Muslims in China. This area is predominately Uyghur, who are a Turkic speaking people known for being extremely beautiful and having elaborate music and dance. Everyone knows how to dance and on the plaza, where I am in the town of Kashgar, the men and boys dance nightly, very elegant, graceful, and masculine, with lifted chests and delicate hand movements. There are maze like bazaars selling everything from dried fruits and nuts to local Uyghur herbal medicines, sequinned fabrics, silks, and more.
Lamb and mutton is the staple food, and at the Sunday livestock market, farmers come to trade the cutest "fat butt sheep". They have big fat pouches on their rear ends and are shaved all except little tufts of fur on each hip bone for decoration. Women wear many varieties of dress, but most are less stringent than other Islamic countries. They wear loose transparant scarves, long skirts, and often donn sequins even during the day. Sequins sparkle magnificently in the sun. Maybe we should try it in the U.S.
On my way here from Jordan, I stopped for a couple of days in the United Arab Emirates, where I interviewed a famous composer from the Ikhwani Safaa Musical Club (see my previous entries about Zanzibar), Ali Abdullah Buaishi. He composed my favorite song that inspired me to go to Zanzibar last February and record a CD. Now, he lives in Dubai and graciously invited me to his home for dinner with his wife and three daughters.
The following day,I met my pen pal of thirty two years. Ravi and I have been writing letters since 1974, but never met. He is from Sri Lanka, but lives with his wife and children in Saudi Arabia. They came to Dubai to meet me and it was one of lifes very special and memorable moments.
Unfortunately, the flight from Abu Dhabi to Kashgar, here in China lost my luggage somewhere in Pakistan and I am not having much cooperation in finding it. I am a bit concerned since it contains a beautiful dance costume, all my paperwork, two boxes of CD's and the clothes I would like to be wearing. Wish me luck.

August 21, 2006
Much of Jordans population were originally Bedouins. Though some are rich and own a lot of land, which is at a premium price due to the influx of rich Iraqis trying to get their money out of Iraq, many are desperately poor as well.
I went to a Bedouin poetry competition in a little town where contestants hailed from around Jordan, as well as Kuwait and the United Arab Emirates. I didn't understand anything, but the dance group that came after were interesting. There was more to hear than see as a row of men simply swayed. One had a sword, and another a staff. The music consisted of only their voices and occasional hand claps. Sometimes they sang words for the King, and other times it was like mystical incantations and one part sounded like synchronized grunts. It was amazing to hear, so I hope my recordings come out good.
Another day, I stopped in an open area with scattered tents and livestock roaming around. These were tents of Bedouin shepherds, and they were very poor. In one tent made of plastic, and I met Fatme, the mother of three sons,who shared a bit about her life with me. Her family travels to one area with their sheep in the summer, and moves to the Jordan Valley in the winter. Winter is cold because they only insulate the tents with plastic. Her husband was out tending 30 sheep, which they sell when they need money, and in the winter, they sell the milk. There was a small tent with a mother chicken and chicks, a bunny rabbit, two goats, and a turkey. Though there is no electricity, they hook the television up to a car battery which is recharged every so often.
A program called "Beni Hameda", a cooperative that employs Bedouin women from 14 villages to make carpets, candles, and furniture, has greatly improved the lives of these families and encouraged women to seek out more in their lives. Young women are more ambitious to continue their education and have careers, and the ancient weaving techniques have been preserved instead of being allowed to die out.
I had a very interesting interview with Halime, a Bedouin woman from Beni Hameda who drives a pickup truck, talks on a cel phone and is in management of the co op. She then pointed out the ruins of a castle on a distant hill, which turn out to be where Salome danced for King Herod, thus John the Baptist was killed. Of course, I headed straight there, and climbed to the top. This place is in the most spectacular location. With the Dead Sea in the background, dry terraced mountains are caused by rock formations as well as ancient terraced farming. Many caves dot the area,and it is apparent that people once lived in them. The castle itself is being restored, has several columns and a dungeon where John the Baptist was held, remnants of an ancient staircase climbing the mountain, and a walled walkway leading up to it.
The person who brought me was Jordanian, but had no idea this place existed. There was not a soul around, so I don't think it gets many visitors.

August 14, 2006
Happily, the war next door to us has ended. Unfortunately, over a thousand innocent people- most notoriously, children, were killed and an entire country was laid to waste while nothing discernable got accomplished. Isn't it time that we realize that there is no longer a noble purpose for war and that it needs to be made obsolete once and for all?
I just got back to Jordan from a couple of days visa run in Syria. It is beautiful. Much more asthetic than Jordan, but though the people are nice and hospitable, there is more reserve. Whereas in Jordan, anyone from anywhere gets a big hearty "Weelcommme", and you are invited to share their lives,in Syria, the welcome is there, but it takes more time to come forth. What everyone, everywhere I meet has in common is that they don't want war and feel that war does not represent or benefit the people, only political interests. They like Americans and see us as separate from our countries politics.
I went to the most amazing wedding in Al Ramtha, on the Jordanian side of the border with Syria. Rows of women in elaborate caftans embriodered in tiny cross stitches danced "dabke" in an open lot, then the men took over. Since men and women can't dance together, a couple of men dressed as women and covered their faces. A man beating a big drum twirled and jumped. The guys serving sweet date drink that tastes like cough medicine from a huge flower laden jug spun, as others hoisted a giant photo of King Abdullah to represent that he has the humility to be with them in a village wedding. Men danced atop each others shoulders as fake snow showered overhead during the putting of henna on the grooms hand.
Some people don't admit that bellydancing is part of Jordanian life, but I have seen some of the best bellydancing in homes and womens parties, and learned some new moves to teach when I get back.

August 6, 2006
Another day, another adventure. The belly dancers in Jordan are from overseas and I have met wonderful dancers from Russia and France. Luna, the French dancer told me about Gypsies in Jordan and suggested that we go looking for their camps. I called Ahmad, a knowledgable and intelligent man, who took us driving around vacant lots until we found a huge camp of bright colored tents in a dusty, industrial area. These nomadic people call themselves "Turkmen", and speak an ancient form of Turkish. There is no electricity, so the women make all of their brightly colored clothing on hand powered sewing machines. Men dress like other Jordanians, mostly in jeans and t shirts, and sell inexpensive Chinese goods like sunglasses on the street. Women wear ruffled pants and long tops. With long braided hair and oftentimes red spots on the forhead, they look Indian, but say they came to Jordan in 1948 from Palestine. We are still hoping to see dances and hear their music, which is supposed to be wonderful.
I also spent time with the 68 member Circassian dance group El Jeel, ages 16 to 22, who preserve some of the oldest dances of their culture that only exist in Jordan. Circassians came to Jordan after a war with Russia in which Russia got the land and the people were dispersed through the Ottoman Empire. They are from the Caucuses mountain region and their dances are beautiful and acrobatic.The music is majestic, based on a stringed, violin like instrument, percussion, and a special type of accordion. Unfortunately, most cultural events in Jordan are cancelled because of mourning for Lebanons war victims. El Jeel were scheduled to dance at the Jerash Festival, which is held yearly in an ancient city of Roman Ruins, and includes artists from around the Middle East. Unfortunately, it was cancelled too.

July 26,2006
Jordan is like a peaceful oasis in the midst of several warring states. It is strange to see the highway signs that say "Iraqi Border, 120 Km, or to look across the water and see Israel. The violence in Lebanon has torn many people apart, since so many civilians have been dying and many people escape Lebanon into Syria. The wealthy leave Iraq for Jordan. There is a strong Iraqi presence both economically and with regard for the arts. The Iraqi music is great.The women dance tossing their hair like the "Zar", and all the little girls here immitate the Iraqi girls from Arabic MTV. Due to modernization, there is less Jordanian music than before, since the music of Jordan is rooted in it's Bedouin heritage.
I have been seeking out Bedouin weddings. Last night, I was near Petra, the magnificent ruins from 600 BC Nabateans. Until 1984, hundreds of Bedouins lived in the caves at Petra, but due to archeological excavations and tourism, the government moved them to settlements nearby. I went to a wedding in one such settlement. The party was for the grooms family. Men were in the yard and it looked a bit boring. The womens party was inside a nearby house and it was a lot of fun. Teenage girls danced different variations of Debke. There seemed to be two mothers for the groom, since the father had two wives. One was Egyptian and the other local Bedouin. The women sang wedding songs, then played Egyptian bellydance music on a stereo. The Egyptian mom was a big woman wielding a big stick. Once I got up to dance, she refused to let me sit. I danced with a very old woman who wore 4 tea glasses on her fingers, clicking as she danced.The bellydancing was good, and all ages danced. I am hoping to see a traditional woman's sword dance done to the chanting of men's voices.

July 17, 2006
Due to increasing violence in the region, my plan to visit Syria for the next 40 days has been diverted to Jordan. There is no way to tell if Syria will come out unscathed, or if this will become a nightmare. Anyway, it is only a bus ride away, so if all is well, I will sidetrack into Syria during my 40 days in Jordan.
I arrived last night, knowing little about the country, since I was not planning to be here, but here are my impressions in my first 12 hours:
Jordan is expensive. After trotting around the third world, where western currency is strong, and a couple of dollars buys a good meal, I went to the exchange booth in the airport and learned that the Jordanian Dinar is worth fifty percent more than our dollar.
My flight out of Cairo left characteristically late. I almost didn't get on because I arrived at the airport with less than an hour to spare and the counter was closed. After much insistance, a representative came and led me through security and into the waiting room.
Back to Amman, uniformed helpers abound, so you don't have to lift a finger to fetch luggage or hail a cab, and it is all at the governments expense. My taxi was modern with leather seats, and the 35 km ride into town along a smoothly paved highway was a pleasant shock after spending a month being bumped and jostled, barely averting running over pedestrians, donkey carts, bicycles, and facing busses head on in Egypts chaos.
It was 3am, and the hotel most reccomended by "Lonely Planet", "Fondouk Palace" was full, so the driver took me to one with a similar name, "Fondouk Amman Palace" down the street. A monolithic dive with no sheets and an overpowering aroma of mothballs, for almost $40, the desk clerk offered me half price not to move out. Luckily, a room vacated at the "Palace" by morning.
I set out walking, and found lots of fresh juice stands, shops with beautifully emroidered caftans, and learned that nobody speaks English, so I will have to be more serious about my Arabic and try to remember what I learned in school. All the buildings are the same sand color, jumbled together, and quite nondescript. That doesn't matter because I am not writing this book to be wowed by beauty around every corner. I want to learn and share how everyday people live, and the people seem quite nice.
I found the most delicious felafel and hummus at "Hashems", in an alley full of men, where all they serve is felafel, hummus, beans, and french fries, on squares of paper with no utensils, accompanied by sweet tea. Being the only woman in sight, I started out feeling like a martian, but the staff were friendly and really appreciated my badly spoken Arabic.
65 percent of the people here are Palestinean, refugees from the wars of 1948 and 1967. Most others are Bedouins. Jordan is a kingdom, and is considered one of the more moderate countries politically. People are holding silent vigils with candles in the night to protest the attacks on Lebanon and express their sorrow for the civilian deaths.
____________________________________________________________________________________
The CD is out! "40 Days and 1001 Nights", Bellydance Music for Tamalyn Dallal, by the Ikhwani Safaa Musical Club of Zanzibar.
Last January, as part of this book project, I was in the Siwa Oasis of Egypt, when a Bedouin man who sells bootleg music in the plaza asked me "Do you want to hear music from Zanzibar?" "Why not?" I responded. The song he played was called "Ifkar" was perfect for bellydancing. Enchanted by the song,I made my way to Zanzibar soon after. My first day on the island, I was trudging through the dark rainy alleys shen a young man asked "Can i help you find something?". I asked about the music, and he led me to Nadi Ikhwani Safaa, which turned out to be the first musical club formed in Zanzibar in 1905. The Sultan Barghash would send musicians to Egypt to study, and a new variation on the Arabic music called "Taarab" evolved. It turned out that this was the band that created the beautiful song I had heard in the Siwa Oasis. I came to the club many nights, which was like an African version of "Buena Vista Social Club", and one day it dawned on me to ask them to collaborate on a bellydance cd. Now, May 25, 2006, I am in Seattle, and 1000 CD's arrived from the factory yesterday. They are truly amazing, and they are available at all of my workshops, on Amazon.com, or at the Mid Eastern Dance Exchange (305)538-1608.

"The Muslim World" (from "Introducing Islam", by Tien Wah Press, Ltd.)
The Muslim world straddles the global middle belt: from the shores of Senegal and Morocco to the Pacific ocean and the islands of Indonesia, and north to south from the mediterranean coast of Turkey to Somalia. It consists of 52 sovereign states, incorporating more than 60 languages, with ehtnic backgrounds as diverse as those of the Arabs and Indians, the Turks, Chinese, Malays, Uzbeks, and Hausa people of west Africa.

I once read a quote by a French explorer, "You cannot know a people until you spend 40 days with them".
In these days of misinformation about the Middle East, and the millions of people whose spiritual path is Islamic, we Americans should start to learn about life on the other side of the perceived divide, where for many, fear prohibits us from venturing.
How do the women live? I am a dancer, so I want to know how they dance, and under what context. What do they think? We may think we know, but who in the western world ever asks them?
Do the people of these countries want to be saved by us or is there a need to bridge the gap between "them" and "us"? I do not know the answers, but I invite you to join me on a year long quest for knowledge and objectivity, behind the veil in five Islamic countries.
Stay posted as I travel, revealing the countries I am in from September, 2005 through October, 2006. I will share photos and excerps from my upcoming book, "40 Days and 1001 Nights', A Womans Dance Through Life in the Islamic World". It will be published and available as of January, 2007, but I invite you to share the journey and the process, which I think we can all benefit from.

Notes from ZANZIBAR, February to April
April 9,
Heading to the airport (out of Africa). I went on a great Tanzanian safari where we saw all the "Lion King" cast, and more. Zebras, giraffes, wildebeasts, warthogs, hyenas,a sleepy lion by the side of the road, and much more. Read past my event list for all of the travel excerps from Zanzibar, Egypt, and Indonesia for my book and film project "40 Days and 1001 Nights", A Woman's Dance through Life in the Islamic World. For this project, I am living 40 days in each of 5 Islamic countries. Next stop (In July) will be Syria.

April 3, 2006
Hello from the island of Pemba. This is the other half of Zanzibar, a lush, and rural island full of clove plantations. It is beautiful, but very poor, with no infrastructure, so getting around is a challenge. Luckily, there is a quaint hotel called "Swahili Divers" that arranges whatever you need. There are only 3 of us in the place, since it is low season.
When I arrived on the night boat, it was very early in the morning, completely dark, and pouring down rain. One guy ran with my suitcase. Another gave me his jacket, and before you knew it, we were on a daladala (like a truck for passengers) to the town of Chake Chake. Luckily, the rain stopped and I was able to rent a bike and find a beach. Today, I went along with some divers on a very rough boat ride into the open sea to the island of Misali, which has beautiful beaches, wilderness trails, and caves that are considered magic, in which each one has it's own native healing doctor to work with the ghost that dwells within and heal peoples sicknesses.
Since I have little time remaining in Zanzibar, I have focused on exploring outlying areas a bit. Last week, I visited Jambiani, a small village where women farm seaweed. When the tide is low, they go out and tend to their crops, which are carefully arranged and strung to wooden sticks. They carry the wet seaweed on their heads to let dry in the village. Two companies buy the dried seaweed for about 4 cents a kilo. I really don't know how they can survive!

March 27, 2006
Wow! This week has been intense. I was inspired to produce a belly dance CD using these amazing musicians from Ikhwani Safaa, which is a musical club, kind of like Cuba's "Buena Vista Social Club". They adapted "Taarab" songs for me and made them into really special music for belly dancing. This was a real cross cultural artistic collaboration. They have never played for belly dancers, nor are there any belly dancers in Zanzibar, but a couple of the musicians did a pretty good bellydance when inspired by the drum solo. "Taarab" began over 100 years ago, and is influenced by classical Egyptian music. The flavor retains that old style, but has since added some interesting twists. Whereas, in Egypt, the modernization is making it hard to find new bellydance music I would want to dance to, this old "Taarab" style added something beautiful to the music.
The CD is called "40 Days and 1001 Nights, Belly Dance Music for Tamalyn Dallal, by the Ikhwani Safaa Musical Club of Zanzibar". I am making a new costume from "Kangas", the local fabrics worn by Zanzibari women, to introduce this music to the belldance scene with.
On Sun., May 7, the new cd will be introduced at a fundraiser at the Mid Eastern Dance Exchange in Miami Beach. This is to help the nonprofit organization raise funds operational funds so they can continue to be the most amazing belly dance school around. Each dancer will perform to one of the peices from "40 Days and 1001 Nights". I will wear my new Kanga costume, and we will be cooking Zanzibari food. Call (305)538-1608 for more info.

March 20, 2006
"Kibuki" is the Zanzibari version of what belly dancers call "Zar" in Egypt. 93 year old Biashura, who looks thirty years younger, leads these traditional healing ceremonies that channel warrior spirits from the Comoros Islands. I had the rare opportunity to attend part of a four day women's only "Kibuki",in which they go into trances and dance. It was amazing to see. Some was very similar to what belly dancers do on stage as the Zar, but made me look at our version with new eyes.
I got the grand tour from a friend of mine to see women making all sorts of breads at home to sell out of glass cases on the sidewalk. "Vitimbua" is made of rice flour, coconut milk, and cardomom, fried in a mould over coals with so much shortening that the calories must be astronomical. It is delicious though. Here, people still cook a lot over coals and on fires in the street or behind their homes. We also saw "mkate wa ufuta", which means sesame bread being made over a fire. Each piece is stuck to the bottom of a small frying pan, then turned upside down over the fire.
I expected lots of African drumming at the famous full moon celebration here, but instead it was modern house, rap, hip hop, and "Bongo Flava", which is Swahili rap. The village by the beach was only accesable by a barely traversable pot holed dirt road, but the beach was beautiful, with white sand and turquoise water lit by the moon. The dance floor was filled with men, dancing with such wild abandon and elasticity that it was beautiful to watch.

March 13, 2006
There are so many contrasts in Zanzibar. I started teaching Belly dance at the Serena Inn, where expats and rich people go. That is another world, something idyllic and luxurious, as well as expensive. A well heeled tourist could easily spend $500 per day in Zanzibar, on hotels, food, and excursions.
Most people make about three dollars a day, and live behind beautiful, carved wooden doors in homes that can be comfortable, once you traipse through rubble and ruin to get to their door, or they may live in such abject poverty that they are in danger of the walls around them crumbling. Rents can be as low as three dollars a month, but some live with no walls, and I doubt that they are charged rent.
The tourist industry tries to fleece foreigners for all they can, and the sky is the limit with regards for what you will be charged for a day trip around the island. Fortunately, at the market, "daladalas" are little trucks with low ceilings and benches where passengers are crammed together, and merchandise is piled high on the roof. Those cost about a dollar to cross the island.
It rains a lot, so I keep saving the beaches for another day, but yesterday, I visited the "Jozani Forest", where the rare "Red Colubus Monkeys" live. Trees are tall, and the monkeys swing high overhead, and often sit on branches snacking, dropping their leftovers onto ones head.
Henna designs on the hands and feet differ in each country I visit, but what remains constant is that they do this for weddings. The designs are really beautiful in Zanzibar. I noticed that they combine black and orange, but when I went to get mine done (I'm not getting married), the black part turned out to be hair dye, so I opted for only orange. Still, that stung and smelled like chemicals. At least it stays for a long time.
Due to a water shortage in the hydro electric dam in Tanzania, the government has decided to turn off the electricity for an hour every night until the crisis is finished. Neighbors spend time socializing on roofs and the cement benches outside their homes, sometimes by candle light, others with portable lanterns. My computer works on battery, so I have shown DVD's to the neighbors during black outs. Sometimes, we snack on homemade donuts, and now the moon is full, so it is actually fun. The tiny streets are pitch black and dangerous during this hour, so we cannot be out until the lights return.

March 7, 2006
In many ways, Zanzibar is like Cuba. The revolution of 1964 forced the business and ruling class to flee and the government gave their mansions and palaces to the poor people, dividing each home into living space for many families. They forgot to consider upkeep and many of these houses are collapsing. Finally, the city of Stone Town, which is where I am living was declared a "World Heritage site", and there is some effort put forth to restore, though they need much more.
Last night, we ate in a restaurant with two tables, in the dining room of a beautiful home. They do that in Cuba as well.
I live in an apartment in the winding streets behind the port area. Women here love to learn belly dance. It is part of their heritage that they see on TV, but never in person. I am teaching on the roof of my apartment building.
Chasing behind my favorite music, Taarab, which has a strong Arabic influence, is going well. There are two main "taarab clubs". One reminds me of the movie, "Buena Vista Social Club." I am trying to get permission to film them, because their music is like a dream.
Today, I begin my Swahili lessons, so hopefully, I will learn how to communicate. There are so many ways to greet, and so many ways say "Good" or "Fine", that those words, as well as negotiating my way about the maze of tiny streets that wind through the town, that I need a teacher to drill more information into my head.

February 26, 2006
Something inside told me I wouldn't be in Zanzibar as soon as I thought. I just couldn't imagine it, so how could it be?
Sure enough, I got to the airport in Cairo, and there was no ticket counter for Ethiopian Airlines. I was told it would open soon, but I thought, an hour and a half before flight time and there are no passengers? The information officer told me to be patient. After fifteen minutes, I insisted that things weren't making sense. Someone told me there was an office upstairs. My bags were far to heavy to carry up a flight of stairs, so I left them with strangers.
The flight was cancelled and the solitary man in a cluttered office told everyone to come tomorrow morning. Several people were way less patient than me, so I kept quiet. I noticed that the Africans had a lot of patience and smiled at others who were uninitiated in the art of relaxation.
Sometime the next afternoon, the flight to Addis Ababa, the capital of Ethiopia took off. Barely anyone was going to Ethiopia. It was mostly Nigerians going home after the "Africa Cup" soccer match, and some aid workers and UN people headed for various parts of Africa.
An Australian man named Paul was the only one headed to Tanzania, so we stuck together. The airline magazine showed us tantalizing restaurant offerings of Addis Ababa and we looked forward to a good Ethiopian meal on our overnight stopover.
The plane touched down unexpectedly in Karthoum, Sudan, where most of the passengers got off. Could it be that last nights plane didn't take off because there were not enough passengers, so they doubled us up with a flight to Sudan?
Anyway, we got in late, and joined the throng of people in transit from other flights who would get complimentary hotel rooms. Paul's boarding pass and room assignment were given to another passenger, so we were the last ones to leave the airport.
I noticed a little girl crying in the airline office and asked what happened. The frazzled employees told me she was unaccompanied and they were trying to figure out what to do. I sat with her until Pauls problem got straightened out, showing pictures on my computer and trying to cheer her up. She was fine until I stood up to leave, then she got really upset and one of the employees blamed me "What did you do to her?". It was then that I realized that she would have a terrible night and I offered to take her with me. They said "OK", and we headed off to the hotel.
She was a bright, well mannered nine year old girl named Olucha, heading from Nigeria to Malawi, but of course, the plane was late and she missed her connection.
Our hotel voucher included dinner and breakfast. It was 1:30 am, so room service brough four slices of white bread, no butter or jam, and two Coca Colas, and an apology for the meager offerings.
Needless to say, I saw nothing of Ethiopia, but the next day, our flights all took off without incedent, and Paul had a driver waiting in Dar Es Salam who took me straight to the ferry dock.
I made up for missing the Ethiopoian dinner when I got to Zanzibar. A local man stopped me from buying street food at the famous fish market, saying it was too expensive and not always fresh. He took me down a side street where men were cutting up squid and octupi, then motioned the way to a local restaurant. There was a glass cupboard full of plates. You bring your own squid, then they serve the accompaniments: Chapati, spiced potatoes, vegies, and spagetti, fried with sugar and cardomom, all washed down with delicious spiced tea.

Egypt, January 10 - February 24
February 20, 2006
I left Siwa yesterday. It was really sad, because I made some special friends, and living in Siwa is like living in another reality. Time means little on the oasis, and since this is an extremely powerful place, energetically, it often seems like one is living in a dreamlike state of conciousness. I felt like it had been at least a year since I arrived, but the time went by like a blur. Several people working in Siwa have told me the same thing about time. It has an entirely different meaning. Fortunately, I will be back in July (read below,) and it may be a reunion of sorts, bringing friends from two worlds together.
Next 40 days? Zanzibar! This is an island-state off the coast of Tanzania that has both Pesian and Arabic influences and was part of the Omani Sultanate. They celebrate "Nooruz" (Persian New Year), which I will be there for. I was attracted by the music. My new favorite song is from Zanzibar.

February 14, 2006
Lots of dancing, bread baking and embroidery this week. I went to a wedding where the men and women celebrate separately. Women mostly sat, but some took turns dancing. Afterward, the women and children crowded into cars and on the back of pickup trucks, and sped around town until we reached the grooms house where the bride would stay.
Since ancient times, Egypt has been known as "The land where people eat a lot of bread". Women in Siwa bake pita bread in mud ovens, fueled by flaming palm fronds. In one sitting, I watched eighty pitas being baked, for one family to consume in one day.
I had the rare occaision to attend a mens party. These are held outside the town for those who work the land. It was amazingly wild, and the men danced a style of belly dance with other touches, accompanied by hand clapping, singing, and several instruments.
Embroidery is the another famous aspect of Siwan culture. Everything, from heavy, coin, button, and shell laden wedding shawls to wedding dresses and the "tarfotet", which is the blue cloak worn to cover married women is elaborately embroidered. In one home, they dressed me in the mothers wedding clothes and made me pose with their son while everyone took pictures with their cell phones.

February 6, 2006
Here's the scoop on oasis life. Most people have a "garden", which is a desert farm of dates, olives, and a few green things growing beneath, with a spring running through. There is a beauty in this wild untidyness. Life revolves around the gardens and drinking tea. A lot of sitting takes place. That means gossip and people watching, so there is always someone who knows or thinks they know what you did before you do it, and this is all filtered through a male mind set that is totally alien from what we know.
For men, the lines of sexuality can get blurred. Homosexuality is common before marriage, and the lives of men and women are completely segregated. That said, I have had some opportunities to spend time with women, doing henna, sewing, attending a wedding, making bread, and inevitably, dancing. Sometimes, the women are protected, even from the view of foreign women, so it takes some patience and perseverance to meet them. You will be surprised that, living so separated, we are not so different from one another, and not even so exotic.

January 30, 2006
This week was surreal and strange, full of beauty and mishaps, coupled with incredible serendipity. I saw the most beautiful places, including the "White Desert", that looks like a Salvador Dali dream of odd mushroom and bird shaped white rock formations in a remote desert where I sat on blankets by the fire, listening to American oldies music played on a laptop computer, looking at photos as they were being downloaded and learning about Korea as most of the tourists in this area are Koreans.
At one point, while in another desert, the sky was so clear that there was a blanket of stars. Not a black background. You could almost touch infinity as the stars layered upon each other.
I joined the "desert camping trip from hell", in which all nine of us, tourists from five countries were dumped at some point or another. I wound up in a very bad situation and had to tell some very bad people that "I am famous in the US. I have to check in by e mail every three days, or the embassy will be notified, and the police will come looking for me." I said the magic word, "Police", and was on a bus to Cairo within minutes, with extra money tucked in my passport. I never figured out what that was about, but arrived in Cairo, met a dancer who is working in Dubai, who saved me by inviting me to her posh hotel room to stay a couple of nights before the long, boring bus trip back to Siwa.

January 22, 2006
Today I caused a commotion at the local carpet factory. Looking to get to know more women, I wandered into this factory full of teenage girls. It is one of the first initiatives by the Egyptian military to get women into the work force. Everyone is between the ages of fifteen to eighteen, and not yet married. There are two soldiers and a foreman watching over the girls. I don't know how that is allowed, since there is no interraction with women, who are in seclusion or completely veiled after puberty. Anyway, my Arabic is limited, but I was such a novelty that the girls fought over whose loom I could sit at. I tried tyeing a few knots, and managed to communiate my name, age, and marital status, plus make a date to have my hands hennaed after work next Wednesday.
Mohammed Kilani is the local olive oil man. He grinds up the olives by pushing a wooden stick around on a stone, then does something similar with the olives in a piece of wool. The oil has a strong flavor, not like what we get in the supermarket.
He used to be a "magician", meaning a wizard, who does magic spells. We discussed "djinns" in detail, which are known in the west as "genies". There is a lot of traditional magic in Siwa, much of it not the nicest kind. Relatives have to sleep in the graveyards for at least three days after a person dies to make sure that practitioners of "bad magic" don't rob the graves of body parts.
Mr. Kilani invited me to his home, where his twenty year old daughter speaks some English and teaches computer programming at a school for girls. Here, in Siwa there is no school after junior high. After that, they have to travel to Marsa Matruh and live there. Siwan families won't allow their daughters to live away from home, so that is where their education stops. The young ladies who opted to learn computer programming in Cairo had to take the "accelerated course", which meant cramming three months of material into seven days.

January 16, 2006
After a five hour bus ride from Cairo, I arrived in the Bedouin city-town of Marsa Matruh. This is the biggest town in the entire western desert region. It was so cold and rainy that the streets were flooded. The bus station is barely a bus station and has no place to sit inside. I was so lucky that my friend Ali from Siwa arranged for a car to pick me up for the remaining 300 kilometers, because I would have sat outside for three hours with a huge suitcase, getting wet.
A man met me at the bus and put my bags in a car, then he and the driver took me to a small fish restaurant where I was the only customer. A big, heavy Bedouin came and took the car, with all of my belongings. I would have panicked, being in the middle of nowhere in a flood, abandoned with a fish cooking on a grill on the sidewalk and not knowing if my bags were ever coming back.
Fortunately, I have good instincts, and know something of the Bedouin culture. They adhere to the custom of treating strangers with hospitality and have their honor, so I wasn't worried.
The fish was delicious, and the big guy soon came back and sat with me as I ate. His driver took me across the expansive, flat desert with no sign of life and in the middle of nowhere. At least it wasn't raining. He zoomed at 140 km per hour, which translates to about 90 mph. We got to Siwa in a little over 2 hours, where the direct bus takes 4.
It is always a pleasant surprise how the land transforms and becomes a magical oasis when we enter Siwa. This time, it is winter, and surprisingly cold.
So far, I have made meat pies in a Berber home, spent an afternoon with an ex- wizard who now makes olive oil by hand, 4 wheel driven through the sand dunes, bathed in a natural hot spring by moonight, and drank innumerable cups of thick, syrupy tea cooked over open fires. I am excited to find out what the next 39 days have in store.

January 9th, 2006
I am en route to the Siwa Oasis, deep in the Sahara. This is in Egypt, quite near the Libyan border. In fact, until fairly recently, the border of the Western Deserts was not delineated, and one could not enter without special permission. Now, it is accessable, but many locals are concerned about the impending construction of an airport that might bring too many visitors and too much developement to this unique oasis.
The people living in Siwa are Siwan Berbers, whose native language is not Arabic. They speak Siwan, which is a dialect spoken only in this oasis. There are also many Bedouins, who were previously nomadic and travelled back and forth from Libya.The Bedouin women wear black and are occasionally seen walking, but the Berber women are completely covered, to the point that you do not even see their eyes. They ride in donkey carts. Many young boys on the oasis have donkey carts, and this is a major form of local transportation.
It will take me two days to fly from Seattle to Cairo, which includes a twelve hour stopover in Istanbul (fun!). I will stay four days in Cairo, then travel ten hours by bus through the flattest desert imaginable and arrive in Siwa on January 15th.

INDONESIA, September 11, to October 20, 2005.
From September 13
Hello from Indonesia. Yesterday, I took the ferry from Singapore to the Riau Islands. I meant to go to one island, but the phone number of the ferry company was out of order, so I took a cab to the "World Trade Center", a shopping mall with a ferry dock behind it. Waiting for a boat to the industrial free trade island of Batam, I met two guys that work for a Norwegian corporation. One was Brazilian (Alancar), and he had just missed the boat, causing his Indonesian friend (Arief) to stay behind and look for him. This was lucky for me, because I made two new friends, and Arief has taken great interest in my book project. He proceeded to call people all over Indonesia to try to introduce me, found me a hotel, brought maps, took me to try "Panang" food, and convinced me to get an Indonesian cel phone (Very cheap and can be used all over Asia).
Onto the subject of food. Panang food consists of a big bowl of rice, then the waiter piles up several spicy dishes, including fish, chicken, meats, and a mysterious steamed leaf. You only pay for the dishes you eat, and the rest go to someone elses table later on. It is traditional to eat with your right hand only. That is tricky when you have to cut meat and smoosh it together with rice and chili sauce while trying not to make a mess.
This morning, while writing my diary, I realized that I embarked on this journey from the "World Trade Center" (of Singapore), on September 11, 2005. What an eerie cooincidence.

Checking in from Banda Aceh, September 19, 2005.
With some trepidation, I boarded a plane from Medan, which is the main city of North Sumatra and a transit hub for flights to and from Banda Aceh. I did not want to go some place depressing, but my friend Areif was right when he told me that travelling to Indonesia to write about the Muslim world must begin in the nations most religious area, the northernmost provence of Aceh. He further encouraged me by calling one morning with "I arranged for your ticket to Banda Aceh. You have an hour to go and buy it...Here is the address." I spent part of the evening cutting a bellydance caftan at a diagonal to wear over jeans, and used the rest to make a headscarf with an idea I saw in a cencer survivors magazine. I wanted to keep some personal style, and keep my identity as a westerner (a fashionable one), while following the dress code that would allow me to be accepted into the society. I then sat for hours waiting for a flight that took off three hours late, and soon found myself in this famed and feared little city. BAnda Aceh is one month into a cease fire agreement between the Indonesian militayr and separatist guerillas that has kept the province closed to outsiders for thirty years. It looked pretty and green...a bit dilapidated, which is not unusual for Indonesia. Arief arranged for me to meet Octa, a nursing student who works for Islamic Releif, one of many NGO's that have come to help out after the tsunami.
This petite and beautiful woman was wearing a white headscarf, carefully pinned to cover the neck and hide her hair, She wore two layers of skirts, thick socks, long sleeves over a type of gloves that cover the wrists but not the hands, and a jacket over her loose dress. At first I was intimidated by all the layers and thought I could never get to know the person below whose vision of life must be so different from mine. She invited me to an exhibition that night. Many NGO's (aid organizations)put together this festival with stalls, food and trinket vendors, and a big stage. Islamic Releif had one of the biggest exhibits, with a running film of devastation and interview of victims families. People stood and watched, and cried. There was a room up a treacherous stairway to pray, as people must do here five times a day. It is perfectly normal to go to someones office or to a restaurant, shop, etc. ask for someone and hear the reply "She/he's praying. Wait a few minutes."...Or "Excuse me. I must go pray."
I was introduced to the staff, who were of many nationalities: Lebanese, Bangladeshi, Palestinian, British, Macedonian, etc. They invited me to a concert they were organizing for the next Saturday of Ache's most famous singer, Rafli and his band, Kande. Of course, I accepted. That was one of the hottest and most exciting shows I have seen in a long time. The driving traditional drums and modern electric guitars, plus Raflis passionate voice dove the audience wild, and some of the Arabic men from Islamic Releif could not help but jump up and dance on the stage with joy. Surprisingly, a lot of this "rockin'" music is religious, because in Banda Aceh, Islam is a part of every waking moment, from the way they dress, speak, eat, express themselves through dance and music, and how people treat each other. Octi was not secluded from the men, joking and talking comfortably with men and women alike. She would take part in planning meetings, organize educational workshops, etc. and did not lack confidence or authority. I asked why she covered so much, and she said that although she was raised in Jakarta, where they do not cover, she had wanted to do so since Junior High. What held her back was the fear of not fitting in or being ridiculed. At the age of 17, she read a book about death and thought about how time on earth is limited. You may die today or tomorrow, or many decades later, but you should not die without doing what is in your heart. She made her decision to cover completely six years ago, not because of any pressure from the outside, but because she felt it in her heart.
The women here do cover completely, but not to such an extreme...Usually in colorful, silky caftans, with flowing headscarves fastened to cover the neck. Some wear cotton and lace headpieces with an elastic band securing the fabric under the chin. When the scarf is white, there is a nunlike look.
I stayed my first two days in the dumpy "Sulthan Hotel". It is the best in town, and the coffee shop is a haven for western aid workers and reporters. I met two young Irish backpackers, who told me about the grass roots organization called "FBA" (Forum Bangun Aceh) they were volunteering for. I called right away to volunteer as well. Many aid groups have their offices in a house where the volunteers stay. I moved in with an untold ammount of Achanese men, who are very polite and proper. We eat lunch across the street in a shack of weathered wood and fresh air. The meal consists of rice, fish in sauce, vegetables in curry, and water which I am not alowed to drink. It costs less than a dollar.
Bustami, a sweet man with a motorcycle and very little command of English offered to take me on an outing. We wound up in a devastated beach front village where there are few homes standing, and what is left are battered shells. That is the area where Forum Bangun Aceh is building a school. There are families living in tents amid the rubble. This is the land they own and they do not have the money to rent a house. Housing is scarce here, since many have been destroyed. There are some camps of tents and temporary homes built around town. Over 200 thousand homes have been destroyed and there is not enough wood, even in the nearby endangered forest where soldiers had cut the wood and shipped it to one of the unsuspecting larger aid organizations to sell as imported timber and get paid in donated dollars.
The group I am volunteering for is all volunteer, even the director, and they give micro economic loans at no interest to people that lost their businesses in the tsunami (Women get preference), plus they accept donations to give scholarships to children: $60 buys six months of school supplies, uniforms, and the necesities for one child to attend school. They accept computers, tape decks, and school furniture, as well as any ammount of money. There are approxomately 500 people on the waiting list for help at this moment. There is a lot of aid money tied up in red tape. When people want help, they ask one of the organizations, who must apply for this money, much like a grant, and it can take months to be released. Private donations to FBA reach individuals in need within about ten days and if you specify what you want the money used for, a complete explaination, plus photos of those who benefitted and how the money was used are supplied. At this moment, FBA also needs two used laptop computers for the staff to use out in the tsunami area where there is no electricity. If you or anyone you know has one that you can donate, please contact me tamalyndallal@yahoo.com, or Aznawi at forumbangunaceh@yahoo.com.

September 29, First impressions of Jakarta:

Jakarta is on the island of Java. It is predominately Muslim, but not nearly as strict as Banda Aceh, and has a completely different atmosphere. This city of ten million plus is vast and crowded. There is no subway, nor any efficient form of mass transportation...only motorbikes for hire, little trucks that hold about ten people hunched under a low roof, tiny homemade looking trucks that puff out pollution at an alarming rate, and appear to be soddered together, some taxis, and some busses that people say are good places to get your pocket picked. Those who can afford it hire their own driver. There are wide boulevards to accomodate this chaos of humanity, and tiny alleys lined with homes. Today, there are 14,000 people, mostly those in the transportation industry, who are on strike, all demonstrating on the streets because of a rise in the price of gas.

I am visiting my friend Devi, who is originally Indonesian, and is a belly dancer and social worker,living in Hong Kong. I will be teaching a belly dance workshop this Saturday, possibly the first in Indonesia. Overseas educated Christine Yaven has studied a bit of belly dance in Singapore, Malaysia, and Austalia, and she organized this workshop for me. Last night, we met in the Nikko Hotel, which is fancier than anything I have seen in the U.S. Christine, Devi, and I had a sumptuous Indinesian fusion cuisine dinner in a luxurious restaurant that gave me decorationg ideas for my next apartment. We all hit it off, had a great time, and I am sure that Devi will be teaching in Indonesia whenever she comes home to see her family. Christine has a passion to get this art form started in a good way here. She expressed concern that people may have the wrong impression of belly dance and wants to fix that.

Afterward, Devi and I went to a disco called "De Leila", that advertizes on the internet that they have bellydance shows. We were looking for a type of Indonesian music called "Dangdut" that has a strong Arabic/Indian influence. What we found was a beautiful club with Arabic decorations, and a live band, all Indonesian, playing Arabic hit songs. They were quite good. Afterward, a DJ played Saudi Arabian and Kuwaiti songs and the place filled up with prostitutes wearing skimpy, "South Beach" style outfits. The woman at the door informed us that it was "Ladies Night". The prostitutes far outnumered the Arabic men, and men and women seemed to ignore each other as they danced,in separate groups. It was common knowledge that most people would get lucky by the end of the night. Soon the music changed to hip hop and three go go girls in bikinis took their places to do sexy American MTV immitations....We are a long way from Banda Aceh.

There is much more to Jakarta, which I have not even scraped the surface of in my first 36 hours. Much of the experience revolves around eating delicious food. This is fortunate, because on Monday, Ramadan starts, and the entire Muslim population fasts from sun up to sun down. I plan to fast as well.

Devi took me shopping at the most crowded textile market I have ever seen. In the passageways, barely wide enough for one person to walk through, one must dodge orange juice sellers and short men rushing by with huge packages on their heads. I bought a beautiful sequinned and batik skirt, and lace to make an Indonesian flavor bellydance costume. For elegant occasions, the women wear special hairpeices that are made to hold golden sticks with rhinestones laden flowers. I bought one of those to complete the look.

October 6, Cirebon

I am in a small city that few people have heard of, in a slow internet cafe, typing on a computer with sticky keys...So if I overlook any aaaaa's or eeeee's, please be forgiving.

My friend Arief, who I met on my way to Batam from Singapore almost a month ago invited me here to visit his family. His mother is a wedding planner, so the entrance to their home is filled with sequinned tops, batik skirts, and golden headpieces. Every part of Indonesia has different customs and clothing for weddings, but what they all have in common is that the dresses are elaborate, and they add intracately woven shawls of jasmine flowers on top of it all.She sshowed me a video of one wedding she organized. The bride sobbed the whole time and they had to keep giving her tissues. I was told thaat this was normal, even though they marry out of choice and for love. The brides cry from emotion, both happy and sad. People stay at home with their parents until marriage, when the bride moves in with the grooms family. This is a huge and scary change for a young woman who has never lived outside of one home.

The Muslim month of fasting, Ramadan started yesterday, and while I am in Indonesia, I am fasting as well. Non Muslims are not required to fast, nor are children, sick people, women on their period or people travelling over 80 kilometers. Friends have told me that some non muslims fast during Ramadan to lose weight, and they don't get as tempted by food because nobody around them is eating. Considering that Ramadan involves only eating at night, and wee hours of the morning, and we have been eating such goodies as deep fried fruit, rice wrapped in banana leaves, heavily salted eggs, fish cured in salt, then fried, and lots of chiles, only time will tell if I gain or lose weight.

Although the fast lasts one month, I will only be in Indonesia for 16 days, so I will miss "Hari Raya", which is a major holiday that celebrates the end of Ramadan. This fast is from sunrise to sundown and you are not allowed to eat or even drink water during daylight hours. It is a very spiritual practice that has a lot of good ideas. One is to teach people more compassion for the poor who are hungry all year. Another is to make one more appreciative of the food they have. I experience this with water. I absolutely love my first drink of water. During the fasting month, of course, there are special prayers, but everyone is also supposed to give generously to their fellow man, especially the poor, and to apologize to anyone you may have hurt throughout the year, and try to purify as much as possible with good actions, so when Ramadan ends, people are new again, like babies, with past resentments left behind. Every year is supposed to have a cumulative effect, as they work on raising their conciousness, and hopefully the collective conciousness. (Please note that this information is what I learn from talking to people in Indonesia, and there can be many ways to explain the same thing.)

Today, we went to a series of manmade caves that were created by a king several hundred years ago. Now, the moats are dry, the grass is brown, and it is in ruins, with too much garbage and grafitti, but it is still beautiful and interesting. I have heard mention of Muslim holy men who reach such a supernatural state through meditation that they can travel to other lands. I thought it was astral travel, but in this cave area, a guide explained that they are beleived to reach a state where their entire body travels. He told of a king who the Dutch wanted to kill. They were so frustrated, because he and another holy man fasted for 40 days and 40 nights, and when the soldiers thought they had the two trapped, they were actually in a meditative state. One dissapeared to China, while the other ended up in Mecca.I really liked the correlation with the title of my book, and kept asking him to tell me more about these men.

Oct. 12, 2005

I was in a beautiful city called Bandung, which is referred to as the "Boston of Indonesia" because of so many universities. This is a prosperous city with wide boulevards, art deco and traditional Dutch architecture, and some homes that look like they escaped from Beverly Hills.

I stayed at a bed and breakfast belonging to a friend of my friend Arief named Sri, who dresses impeccably in lace trimmed tunics over pants, topped with a matching head scarf. Her 22 year old son, Cesar is trained as a chef and runs the guest house. He is also a medium who channels ancestors and lets his hands move involuntarily to write messages on paper.

Arief, Sri and I went to an active volcano, which was steaming in several places as vendors of everything from fuzzy bags to pens and handicrafts descended on me. I was the only westerner they had seen for a long time, so it was assumed that I come to volcanoes to do my shopping.

The other area, where you can boil eggs in hot water bubbling up from the earth turned out to be accessable only by hiking. Imagine me in my sparkling pointy toed shoes and Sri in color coordinated blue pumps. We made the hike though, saw the eggs cooking and I dipped my feet in a warm mineral mud pool with a big group of handsome Korean men. On the way back, a huge grey monkey rustled the tree branches high overhead.

I met the most interesting Islamic lecturer, who answered my questions and discussed many things about the religion from a well read standpoint. He explained how the religion has evolved in different ways depending on how far it travelled from the source (Mecca), and how in Java, there have been modifications.

I had to leave Bandung on Oct. 10, and be out of Indonesia the same day. The airline called Arief to let him know that our flight from Jakarta (4 hours away) would be leaving at noon instead of 2:30pm, as previously scheduled. Instead of taking the train, we scheduled a private van to pick us up at 6am for the trip Bandung- Jakarta. It arrived 40 minutes early. Luckily, we got to Jakarta early, because "Lion Air" did not have Arief on their passenger list and the flight was fully booked. They offered him a seat on business class if he would pay the difference. Finally, after some discussion with the management, they made room for him, which would mean bumping someone else off the oversold flight. We were killing time getting foot massages on the second floor of the terminal, when he realized that his baggage was being sent to Batam (our destination), but his boarding pass was to another place on another flight. One of the guys from the salon straightened it out.

Indonesia only grants 30 day non renewable visas, so foreigners have to leave the country every 30 days. If an expat lives and works in Indonesia, they have to leave every 60 days.

We got to Batam on time for me to take a boat to Singapore, stay 20 nminutes, get a new visa and be back in time for dinner.

October 18, 2005

"Back in Banda Aceh"

I looked forward to meeting Azwar, the head of the FBA, where I had volunteered last time I was here. His reputation preceeds him as the most energetic, outspoken, honest, and motivated NGO person in town. He was not in town last time, but when we met, he was really easy to be around and welcomed me back to the house.

I set about writing articles for the FBA,to help build up their press kit. The FBA is opening the new school that they have been building on Nov. 14. It will be a big celebration where all the people they have helped open businesses with micro economic loans will be selling their wares.

Azwar sent me out to meet people who have benefitted from the FBA and write their success stories. It has been amazing,and I have been able to integrate and experience society in Aceh even more this time than last. I met Sharifa, a direct descendant of the prophet Muhammed who lost 45 of the 48 members of her family, plus her home and business to the tsunami. The tsunami wiped away life as everyone knew it in a matter of ten minutes. No one was prepared for a thirty foot wall of water rushing at them 100 miles an hour (I do not have the scientific backing that it is the exact height or speed).

Sharifa was reduced to living in a tent in the rubble. Now, she lives in a plywood barrack with about 100 people. There is no electricity, and no plumbing. It is surrounded by sunken land and flattened homes that are now just scraps of wood and debris. Survivors want to stay on their land, because it is their ancestral home and contains their memories. Sharifa hand makes fishing weights by melting tin and palm oil together in a pan over a kerosine fire. Now, this has become a booming business, but she still has no home because there are no homes to be had.

I also met Rafli, the amazing and charasmatic singer, who is by far the most famous artist in Aceh. I met his manager by sheer cooincidence, and he arranged for me to visit Rafli in his home (and they gave permission for me to use Rafly's music in my upcoming film that will accompany te book "40 Days and 1001 Nights").

Life in the FBA house full of 12 local men and me is good. It is like having a bunch of nice, handsome brothers, and they are very respectful. I am saddened to learn that many of them have heartbreaking stories of losing their families, homes, and businesses in the tsunami. Most people here are philosphical and see it as God's will. I think their beleif gives them strength to keep going.

Now, it is Ramadhan, and we don't eat or drink anything during daylight hours. The muezzens from mosques call out when you can break the fast, which is determined by the position of the sun. Around 4am, they sing again, letting you know to eat breakfast. We all stumble sleepily out the door to a restaurant that serves rice, fish and vegetables to dozens of hungry men. You are supposed to pray for awhile after that, and Muslim prayers are quite physical, with kneeling, bowing, and standing repeatedly. Since I am not Muslim, I just go back to sleep,then wake up groggy with heavy, chili laden food still in my stomache, so I recently started buying fruit and just having fruit and water at 4am.

Hari Raya, known in Arabic as Id Al Fitri, is a big family celebration that marks the end of Ramadhan. Many people in Aceh are worried because their families are gone and they have no one to celebrate with. In the past, they would visit the graves of deceased loved ones, but many people were simply lost in the tsunami, and their bodies have not been found. Others were buried in mass graves because of the huge death toll.

Tamalyn Dallal has been bellydancing since 1976. She has danced for celebrities such as James Brown, Sean Connery, and others, as well as performing before royalty and world leaders: King Abdullah of Jordan (when he was a prince), members of the Saudi Arabian Royal family, and President Francisco Flores of El Salvador. She has also been the teacher and mentor of some of Americas top bellydancers, including Amar Gamal and Bozenka.

Raised in Seattle, she moved to Miami Beach in 1979, and founded the non profit arts organization, dance school and perfoming co., "Mid Eastern Dance Exchange" in 1990 with the mission to "Educate, inspire, and entertain the most diverse audience possible about Middle Eastern dance, music, and culture. The aspiration is to teach an appreciation of traditional dances while expanding the art into new frontiers..Promoting peace through understanding".

Ms. Dallal has written two books, "Belly Dancing for Fitness", and "They Told Me I Couldn't, which are published and available on Amazon. com, tamalyndallal.com, and through the Mid Eastern Dance Exchange. She has written two feature length screenplays that have yet to be sold, and produced three full scale theatre shows, as well as Miami Beaches yearly "Orientalia" festival of ethnic Middle Eastern dance. Recently, she has started producing multi media Middle Eastern dance shows with dance and film combined with photography by Denise Marino.

After many years and many accomplishments, Ms. Dallal decided to venture out of Miami Beach and make the world her home. The Mid Eastern Dance Exchange continues, in the hands of her students and protoges. She is in charge of the newly formed "Cultural Connections"department of the Mid Eastern Dance Exchange, through which she raises funds for artistic and inter cultural projects, and sees them to fruition. Ms. Dallal has been travelling extensively throughout Asia and the Middle East to teach workshops and perform.

"40 Days and 1001 Nights" is a huge commitment that involved many lifestyle changes, and will be a major growth and learning experience. Read on each week as the project unfolds.