Why I went to Egypt - A Soul Journey by Joana Saahirah

For a long time, I didn´t think about my journey.

The slogan I use - from Portugal to Egypt; from Egypt to the World - synthesized the path I´d already built but, to be honest, I hadn´t had the time to reflect upon it. So far.

It all happened fast. Abnormally fast; a thunderbolt, a weird time-travel adventure I didn´t dare to question. My life before and after (re)discovering Egyptian Dance is unrecognizable. Two completely different realities.

Here´s how it all happened, telegram-style:

• At 19, I was at the National Conservatoire, studying to be an actress; meanwhile, I (re)discovered Egyptian Dance, falling madly in love with it. Obsessively is a more accurate word.

• At 20, I was in Spain enjoying an Acting scholarship and studying with Shokry Mohamed, a Magician who showed me the purity of Egyptian Dance and whispered in my ear "you´re going to be a professional Oriental Dancer and you´ll take it to the entire world". I laughed at Shokry, called him off as a nutcase, and went on with my ambition to become the best actress I could be. 

Shokry Mohamed

• At 21, I traveled to Egypt, for the first time, by the hands of Shokry. Literally. He held my hand as I walked - open-mouthed - through the streets of Cairo - life on steroids -, the poetic fields of Upper Egypt, Assuan; the shores of the Nile. There, I started to drink the language, one I´d also fall in love with, and a world my soul recognized as its own. I knew I´d arrived home.

• At 22, I was working relentlessly as an Actress - theatre and television - and as a beginner, immature but so-damned-blessed-passionate Oriental Dancer. I presented my "professional show", and this proves my "naiveté", with no less than the music "Cleopatra" from the genius and father of Modern Egyptian Music, Mohamed Abdel Wahab. Only an ignorant dancer with good taste would open her first professional dance presentation with such a musical theme. Hard, intricate, subtle, labeled as "undanceable" by musicians and dancers alike.

I went back and forth, from Lisbon to Cairo, boomerang-style, every three months. I traveled alone, studying the music, the dance, the culture, and the magic my heart had recognized the first time I landed in Cairo.

An invisible hand was pulling me towards the Nile. I could feel it, although I couldn´t name it or explain it.

• At 23, after wrapping another full-house theatre show, I burst into tears in the backstage room and proclaimed:

-I´m moving to Egypt. I have to.

Nobody understood it, or me. At a very early age, I´d launched two successful careers that I adored; I had a boyfriend who loved and supported me - he did the sound and light of that first "professional show" -, a monthly wage 5 times higher than the wage my parents earned, and an entire world of possibilities at my feet.

And yet, I knew there was more. 

- Egyptian Dance is not this. Not yet. I have to find out what it is. - I tried to explain it to my mother who listened, dumbfounded, to my unexplained outburst.

Something out there, in Egypt, had to be rescued. I could feel it in my bones. Something had to be dug from beneath the earth and brought to light, shared with the world. 

I worked, non-stop, to the point of exhaustion (dramatic fainting episodes included), for a few more months to gather enough money for my leap of faith. I had no connections, no contract in sight, no managers, no friends in Egypt. Nothing, zero, mafish haga, nada.

I was young but not stupid or irresponsible. My parents couldn´t help me, financially, I had to rely on my work to live. Having enough money to back me up for a few months was essential. 

Strategy, people. Strategy. Big dreams require strategies. And courage.

- How long will it take for you to start working in Cairo? - Mum would ask, concerned.

No idea.

- How will you communicate with people, sign contracts, deal with everyday life if you don´t even know Arabic? - My friends inquired.

- Don´t do it. You´re too old for this. Grab what you have, here in Portugal, and forget that silly dream. - My dad warned me.

-You´re going to take unnecessary risks in a country with a culture that doesn´t respect women. Why are you doing this to yourself? - A famous Astrologer and friend reminded me.

No voice, except mine, told me to go ahead and pursue this dream. There were naysayers, fear, insecurities, a surprise backstabbing from my students - I´d been teaching for two years -, and no rational reason to support my sudden thirst for Egypt. 

There was a Vision inside me, one I couldn´t describe; only I could see it.

People asked me why I needed to go to Egypt and I´d answer "I don´t know why; I just know I have to go". 

For many years, this was true. 

I did move to Cairo. My career took off - after a painful and unbelievable amount of trials and tribulations -, and I´ve been living that dream ever since.

The first year, after my big move, was spent performing in Oman and in Lebanon. I was in jail in Oman for having told a taxi driver to "f%(/&%c off" after being chased by him - a long story - and I had to run from Lebanon due to an unbearable case of sexual harassment from my boss, the biggest and most respected manager in the Middle East - an even longer, and a more incredible story.

It was forbidden to dance in Egypt. I mean, foreign Oriental Dancers couldn´t be hired for professional solo shows. It was illegal (welcome to the Republic of the Bananas!).

I surfed those waves and roamed, like a vagabond, through the days and the nights, waiting for the moment when I´d be allowed to dance, professionally, in Egypt.

When that time arrived, other ghosts came to greet me.

Prostitution in exchange for stardom - yes, it´s real! -, dance and cinema contracts in exchange for "convenient marriages" or the geisha-style of work Oriental Dancers are expected to make if they want to start or/rise in their careers.

I said NO to everything. Except for the dance. 

Saiidi performance in one of my daily shows with my orchestra; Cairo, Egypt

- That´s what I´m here for. I´m a dancer, an artist, a searcher, not a prostitute, or a geisha. - I´d tell the Giza Pyramids, every time I passed by them, and whoever would listen to me. Everything and everyone ignored my complaints.

Egypt is ruthless - it smashes you or it elevates you, depending on how tough, flexible, and clear about your values you are.

If you´re corruptable, Egypt will corrupt you; If you´re incorruptible, Egypt will try to corrupt you, again and again, until one of you wins the battle. Or quits fighting and moves on.

When the purpose that drives you there is of low quality, you´re going to become lower; when the purpose that drives you there is of high quality, you´re going to rise up. When you´re driven to Egypt without a purpose, the country itself will grant you one and, usually, it isn´t nice. 

These days, I see dancers who roam to Cairo, claiming to "have a career" there and dancing without contracts, self-respect, or dignity; dancers who are led by blind ambition, competition, and ego trips; dancers who want to be known at any cost, even if that means promoting themselves through sexual scandals, poses, and image; dancers who aren´t dancers. Fame-seekers, not art-seekers. They play the sexy kitten role and post the proof on Instagram and Facebook as if hypnotized by the promise of a dark kind of glory that doesn´t exist. 

It´s sad, it hurts the dance itself, and everyone who actually loves it.

Baladi "tableau" during one of my shows with my orchestra in Cairo, Egypt.

For 8 years, I performed, daily, with my orchestra while studying and working with Mahmoud Reda, the Father of Egyptian Folklore. No videos or photos were taken in the first 5 years. I worked in/for the Egyptian market, with Egyptians, in the core of Egyptian Dance. I was deep-diving into my Cairo cocoon - it was a public, nonetheless intimate, affair -, learning, improving, researching, conquering. 

My name became known - word of mouth is still the best publicity an artist can get - and I was hired for 5-star weddings and private parties, aside from my everyday performing routine that could go from 12 pm (midday) till 5 am, especially during the high season, Summer.

My life was considered "haram" (shameful, amoral) by the ones who surrounded me - according to the Egyptian mentality, being a "rakkasah", or professional Oriental Dancer, is worst than being a prostitute - but, in reality, I was practically a monk.

My days were structured around work; my routine was focused, disciplined, and almost 100% dedicated to the evolution of my dance. 

Here´s how a typical day would look like:

10 am - working out at the gym

11.30 am - meeting with a potential client for a contract/gig

1 pm - lunch; picking up new dance dresses for my shows

3 pm - reading and resting

4 pm - getting ready for the shows of the night: clothes and props, make-up, hair, manicure/pedicure; perfume.

5 pm - my assistant would pick me up from home and we´d head for our venue

6 pm - the beginning of my night; 2, 3, 4, sometimes 5 shows in a row.

1.30 -2 am - a quick rehearsal with the musicians, backstage.

2.30 am - return home; winding down; trying to get rid of the adrenaline.

3-4 am - sleeping to start again, the next day.

On my rare days off, I´d compensate the workload with massages, facials, acupuncture, and meetings with friends. I´d also hide in my favorite bookshop, with a book and a warm cup of coffee, to reset my brain and relax from the pressure of the "stardom" world of - funky, savage, fascinating, and uber-rough - Cairo.

My life was composed of rehearsals, performing, studying, and achieving for 8 years, nonstop, except for a 3-week trip to India.  

Slowly but surely, the international market took notice, and the invitations to perform, lecture, and teach around the world multiplied. 

The "Arab Spring" happened and the castles I´d built in Cairo crumbled in great fashion; I understood it was time to move on, a huge chapter of my life had ended. My work and life outside of Egypt expanded so did my concept of success.

At once, I realized I needed time for myself, for a deep-intimate-real romantic partnership, for a family. Success as happiness started to make more sense than success as an accumulation of professional victories.

Athena´s Daughter was coming home to herself, dropping her armor, making amends with the womb, the feminine, self-worth; a full-circle moment in The Heroine´s Journey.

I wrote and published about Egyptian Dance; taught and performed on all corners of the globe; no pauses, no space to ask why, to take a step back or reflect on the past. 

It was only when I launched Joana Saahirah´s World, after 20 years of a super intense high-profile career, that I was asked "why did you move to Egypt?" and "what does your brand stand for?"

- Why did I move to Egypt? My brand? What brand? Am I a brand?

I´d never thought about it. I just did stuff. Jumped. Took each step as it arrived. Always a doer, not a critic. 

For the first time, I had to examine the road I´d been building; what happened unconsciously had to be made conscious.

To this day, there´s a side of my passage through Egypt I cannot pin down - it´s a root so deep and old, I cannot see it. I know it´s there but I don´t have access to it, it lies beneath many layers of oceans, time, incarnations. 

But there´s another side I can see. Once I sat down with a piece of paper and the willingness to look at my path from the outside, here´s what I found out:

I moved to Egypt to rescue my past, a past where I´d been an Oriental Dancer and hadn´t succeeded in signifying my art and, as a consequence, myself as a woman; there was a promise, made a long time ago, I had to fulfill and I´m proud to say I´m fulfilling it beyond my own expectations. 

I moved to Egypt to test myself, my strength, values, resilience, sense of self-worth; Egypt pulls you against the wall, daily, and if you´re not the "selling your soul to the devil type", you´re up for a hell of a ride. Women are clearly divided into whores and saints - Oriental Dancers being considered worse than whores. If you´re none, you have to develop an identity above any convention, expectation, or myth. You have to rise above history and fight an entire system made to tame you and silence you.

I moved to Egypt because I knew, instinctively, I needed to prove my talent, survival, and thriving skills to myself; I also knew, without knowing how, Egypt would put me to the test, again and again, to see how highly or low I thought of myself. Every time I said NO to a proposal that offended my dignity as a woman, my character was built and elevated; every time I refused to be one more piece of the corrupted system, in exchange for fame-opportunities-fitting in, my heart grew a little; every time I did things my way, refusing to become a person I wasn´t proud of, my soul expanded.

Egypt is a University and I graduated from it "magna cum laude". That graduation is private - only I and the ones who were close to me know about it -, there´s no diploma for it, no public recognition. And, yet, it´s here, tattooed on my forehead, allowing me to walk proudly and confidently wherever I step my feet on.

I moved to Egypt to silence the voice in my head that told me I´m not enough - not talented enough, not beautiful enough, not strong, resilient, capable, intelligent, lovable enough. Enough.

I needed to shut that voice down and the only way to do it was to accomplish the biggest dream I could think of, the one everybody told me was impossible: to become an Oriental Dancer and a Woman in her full power; to know my craft from within, from the source, and to share it with the entire world. To become a pioneering dancer, choreographer, teacher, author but, mostly, to become a person who knows her worth and isn´t afraid to claim it. 

I also moved to Egypt because I trusted and followed that other Voice, a good one that came from far away, though from within; a Calling, the Whisper of a Destiny waiting to be fulfilled. 

Some will call it faith, others will call it madness. I don´t feel the need to give it a name. I know A Calling when I hear one. And I´ve dared to follow It. 

It has taken me here. Do I understand it, fully? Not really. I try to and I fail - gladly. Here´s what Egypt has taught me, amongst other things: living is above rational understanding. And all I want is to trust that voice, in the past as in the present, that guides me exactly where I need to go; and to be whole, proud like a queen who knows her worth because she knows her character and what she´s capable of; a heart which has dropped all protections and trusts life; a human being in full bloom, ready to love and to be loved.

This has been my life, so far; my mission was born from it.

Because I doubted myself, I know how it feels like not to feel worthy, capable, strong enough; because I accomplished my dreams, despite naysayers, close doors, and my own insecurities, I know others can do it, too. My life is my speech; my speech is who I am - my dance, my teaching, my writing, Joana Saahirah´s World.

I can empower women to dance and live from their highest selves because I´ve walked that road and I know what it takes to get there, right where I/YOU/WE want to go.

Listen to MY VOICE, just as I listened to The Voice that drove me to Egypt:

YES, YOU CAN!

“To be great, be whole;
Exclude nothing, exaggerate nothing that is not you.
Be whole in everything. Put all you are
Into the smallest thing you do.
So, in each lake, the moon shines with splendor
Because it blooms up above.”
― Fernando Pessoa, Poems of Fernando Pessoa