7 Things Traveling Has Taught Me

You know the basic benefits of traveling: it broadens your perspectives, challenges your world view, makes you appreciate what you have.
Then there the less obvious lessons. Here are some of mine. Now, you don't need to travel to the end of the Earth to learn these things. The more evolved individuals have known them all along.

1. Time is not money

For most of us mortals, time is just time. There's a lot of it now, and a whole lot more where it came from. It's a renewable resource.
I was trying to cross into DRC, but the Congolese immigration officer wasn't feeling me. I didn't want to give up so soon and decided to wait and see what would happen. My time was dragging on in Bwera, that non-descript small town on the edge of Uganda.
There was nothing really to see, but I decided to see it anyway. I looked at the life around me. I stuck my head in all kinds of little shops. I watched Zakia the tailor sew skirts. I took pictures of the usual targets: kids and animals. At the tiny market, I admired fish, and browsed second hand shoes. Just to kill time, I tried on some dresses, imported from China. I didn't really love any of them but bought one anyway. I wear it from time to time and remember Bwera with a smile. Those two days had seemed so long. I'd felt like I was wasting my time - I had places to go! Of course, it was just a blink of an eye in my lifetime, and the memory of it is a pleasant one. I had time.

Zakia 

2. To get to the good stuff you gotta tolerate the rest

Travel plans play like a highlight reel in your head. In reality, there's almost always a lot of downtime. The less exciting stuff just didn't make the cut for the reel.
The whole point of going to Djemila was to see the ruins of a Roman town. Getting there was tricky: from Algiers, it took three different buses and lots and lots of time. Once there, the ruins rewarded me big time. After dark, though, there was nothing I could do in Djemila. I had no business roaming the streets alone at night. So, I spent the remaining hours in a bare hotel room. No laptop, book, TV, wifi. Just silence and solitude.
These days we're used to having a million distractions at our fingertips and I for one am a product of my time. As I'm writing this, I'm shuffling between news, newsfeed, Netflix, and random cat videos. Remove all entertainment and communication, and what's left? Just you. Do you like you? 

Rome in Algeria

3. Boredom is key

In Western culture, we'd rather die than be bored. We regard boredom as an ugly, unwanted feeling. I prefer to see it as a transformative state.
After a few weeks in Abidjan, Cote d'Ivoire, I'd learned how to haggle with taxis, and freshened up my survival French. I had rummaged through sights and museums, been to some cool restaurants. Then the day came when I couldn't think of anything to do. I was just bored. 
I lingered in the house for the better part of the day. Eventually I put some shoes on and strolled to the end of the street, just to buy chocolate. I passed by the Lebanese supermarket, and the lady selling oranges on the roadside. The shop keeper greeted me. He knew what I wanted before I even told him. As I walked back, I realized I had become part of the neighborhood. I was no longer a traveler passing through.This was my place now, and there was a place for me here. My state of boredom had allowed my mind to go quiet. Finally, I could feel the place. From there on, Cote d'Ivoire started pulling me into its sweet embrace, loving me more and more.

Dodo and I

4. You are not lazy, you are traveling

The other reason we fall apart at the face of doing nothing is that we equate productivity with self worth. Not doing anything? You're lazy and useless. But the juice of any experience is in the feeling, not the doing. Truth is, we are worthy human beings without having to do a damn thing. Those voices in our heads insist we should be productive all the time, but our voices are louder, and we can tell them to shove it. It's surprisingly hard, even for a lazyass like me.
In Bahrain I met a female US soldier. She'd spent her twenties on different navy bases, saving up her money. Now the end of her stint was getting near, and she dreamed of going traveling for a year. She totally deserved to take a break and explore the world after working throughout her youth, right? Not so fast. 
"I don't know if I could travel more than a couple of months. I'd probably feel guilty for not working for that long." 

An unemployed Bahraini camel

5. You are not a friendless loser, you are traveling

In a new place, by yourself, your mind can start playing tricks on you. Loneliness has a way of creeping up on a solo traveler. You've got to keep it at bay, and be stronger.
There aren't many times I've felt as out of place as I did in Marrakech. The whole situation was bizarre. I had intended to leave Morocco, but then a bellydance contract in Tunisia suddenly came up. It would take two weeks for my work permit to be ready. I thought I would just hang out in Casablanca, but quickly realized I couldn't stand the city. In an unprecedented move, I booked myself a week-long stay in a four star hotel in Marrakech, thinking it would be relaxing and comfortable. That was hardly the case. Naturally, all other guests were families or couples. Sitting alone at breakfast was awkward, with a lineup of overly helpful waiters watching me and rushing to refill my coffee cup the second it was empty. Every day I bodyblocked cleaning ladies from entering my room. Had they seen my dance costumes, the whole house would have known I was a hoochie mama bellydancer. Was I in Marrakech alone because no one in the world loved me? No. Did I feel lonely and pathetic? Yes. Did that deter me from traveling alone again? Hell no.

A happy day in Assilah, northern Morocco

6. You are not the same bitch everywhere you go

In your own environment, it's easy to be your best self. I'm sure you are nice. I hope you feel safe. All is normal and so are you.
I'd like to think the same about myself. But this is not the only version of me. Take away my ability to communicate, or put me in a place where I'm given loads of unpleasant attention, or I have to worry about my stuff or my ass being grabbed, and I'm not that nice anymore. The defense mechanisms that come out under duress are not pretty.
I try not to judge myself too harsly for being a bitch on demand. The way I see it, part of the travel deal is accepting the uglier, equally real sides of myself.
In India I was no yogi - I was a screamer. From what I'd come to understand about South Asian culture while in the Gulf, and by my everyday observations in India, aggression was the law of the land. Stay polite in a conflict, and you'll be eaten for breakfast. 
I was handpicked by my agent to do a show in Kurukshetra, Haryana. A significant Hindu pilgrimage site, with a holy pond and temples - the boss knew Kurukshetra was right up my alley. He gave clear instructions to the driver and the middleman who would take me there: "No temple, no dance." 
The sun was alarmingly low as we neared Kurukshetra. The middleman turned to face me. 
"I don't think we have time to see the temple...the client is calling me." 
I knew we were in no rush - he just didn't feel like giving me a tour. I immediately turned up the volume, and threatened not to dance. For him to take me seriously, calm and polite wouldn't cut it. The middleman called my agent, who (loudly and impolitely) backed me up. So I saw the pond and the temple, and even got some nice footage for my documentary. I only got back in the car once it was totally dark. At the show venue, I still had to wait for several hours before dancing. As we all knew I would.

Brahma Sarovar, a holy pond

7. Seek and you shall find

Whatever we believe about the world is true, because our beliefs shape our experiences. Are most people good or bad? Is the world dangerous or safe? Are people happy or unhappy? Whatever you're leaning towards, the proof is never far. We simply zoom in on what we want to find.
As much as I can, I choose to see the good. In some places, people will warn you about thieves, for example. I don't then focus on the thieves. I zoom in on those people who care enough to warn me. They are my sisters, my brothers. In my life, they outnumber the bad guys a hundredfold. They help me find what I need. They defend me, they keep me safe. Anywhere I go. Every single time.

Mustafa, Hanan, and Najib took me under their wing in Somaliland

A Funny Thing Happened While I Was Bellydancing...Vol. 5

All professional performers must be able to think on their feet. This goes double for bellydancers - we are all about that improv. In this blooper reel of a blog series, we shine a spotlight on some of the most ridiculous moments of our careers. Let the stories begin! 

RAJASTHAN DANCE-OFF

For most people, the name Jaipur evokes images of the dream Pink City and its crown jewel Hawa Mahal. For me, it brings to mind the cringeworthy memory of a certain birthday party show.
Since the birthday boy was a local politician, he held his trashy-ass event in a hotel room, away from prying eyes. This was no suite either, but a rather plain room, with a couch on one side and just enough floor space to dance on. He had hired five Indian "sexy females". They danced around in skimpy outfits, but that was quite possibly not the extent of their job. Then, there were my friend and I bellydancing.
We took turns performing, one song at a time. We had another room where we changed our costumes, and made our grand entrance from the hallway, room service style. The ridiculous, awkward show culminated to one of the Indian chicks hogging the spotlight while my friend was dancing. She placed herself in front of her, and started whipping her hair around. We gladly lost the dance-off to our Desi counterparts.
Julia Basenko - Ukraine / India

Do you see anyone besides Julia in this poster??

OMG SHE DIED

I had recently learned how to do the Turkish drop - falling flat on your back from a standing position, with bent knees, so your legs fold underneath you. I eagerly practiced each night during my show in an elegant dinner restaurant in Bahrain.
A group of local girls was sitting right next to the stage, lost in a conversation. I turned a few times on spot to a drum roll by the tabla player, and as I dropped, he simultaneously let out a loud thud. So did my body. I hit the stage so hard my heart bounced against my rib cage. The floor felt like a giant hand slapping me in the back. The sound startled the girls. I heard gasps, followed by hysterical giggles. It was an awkward few minutes, doing floorwork with my audience laughing uncontrollably next to my head. I couldn't blame them. After that, I learned to angle myself for a softer landing. It was just better for everyone. 
Zaina Brown - Finland / World

Nobody laughed at Zaina this time

NO SIR, NOT MINE

Being the house dancer in Atlantis, one of Dubai's top hotels, may sound glamorous. It's in fact one of the most famous hotels in the world, located on the edge of Palm Jumeirah, the man-made palm tree shaped island. Atlantis is a tourist attraction in its own right, and I was always asked to take pictures with visitors. 

However, the floor plan didn't make for a seamless entrance. My changing room was in one of the main corridors, and I had to walk quite a distance to the restaurant where I performed. There, I had to walk down a circular staircase to finally meet my audience.

I was having a hectic day and I was running late for the first show. I changed into my costume as quickly as I could, threw on my cover-up and wings, and rushed to the restaurant. Only there I slowed down, to enter like a queen down the stairs. I did notice one side of my wings felt heavy, but didn't pay much attention to it. I started dancing, people took pictures, as usual. At some point, I realized why the wings felt lopsided: there was a white bra stuck on it! I had dragged it along all the way from the changing room. A panic flushed over me at the sight of the dangling bra. I quickly removed it, and tossed it between some unoccupied tables. A customer with a massive pro camera was kneeling next to me, to shoot me from this angle and that. In an unfortunate bout of helpfulness, he picked up the bra - which he thought I'd dropped by accident - and handed it to me. 
What was he thinking? I was so embarrassed I just pretended it wasn't mine. 

Amar Lammar - Mexico / UAE

Amar doesn't even own a white bra!

LET'S JUST IMAGINE I GOT PREGNANT LAST NIGHT

I was hired to perform at a maternity store opening on Madison Avenue in Manhattan, along with a few other bellydancers. Our job was to do some dancing, but also to add atmosphere into the event. I showed up in makeup, changed into a costume, and was getting directions about where to be and what to do.
"Oh no!" the boss said when she saw us. "I specifically requested pregnant bellydancers. Get them out of here!"
Before I could blink someone handed me my coat, some money, and showed me to the backdoor. 

Tava Naiyin - US

How could anyone send Tava out the backdoor?

The Human Rights of Go Go Dancers

Just as I was finishing up my contract in Bahrain, I came across something that shocked me. Much has been said about the treatment of migrant workers in the Gulf - but even performers can face some really disturbing circumstances.

Picture this. Four girls locked inside a hotel room. They only leave the room when they go to work in the hotel nightclub. Food is delivered to them. They get to leave the building just once a week, for a trip to the mall, accompanied by security.

Working hours are 9pm-2am each night. The pay is 27 US dollars per day plus tips. You heard me. Twenty-seven bucks. (Food and accommodation are free.)

The club where they work can best be described as a go go bar. It's like an Arabic version of a strip club. The girls wear short skirts and skimpy tops, fishnets and heels. They dance on a round podium in the middle of the room. The nearest chairs offer a great view up the dancers' skirts - they realize this and wear shorts. One girl sings. One bellydances, but only if there are "enough people". Most nights there aren't.

Aside from dancing, their job is to make customers buy flowers for them. (The staff is selling leis made of fake flowers.) The dancers get a commission of the sales, but most of it goes to the house. If you don't get many flowers, the manager is upset. If you do, the other girls are jealous. On an average night, the flowers amount to a little less than ten dollars per dancer.

To boost the business, the manager pushes the girls to call customers during the day, and hustle them to come to the club. He gives each one a list of names and phone numbers. The girls say yes to shut him up, but usually don't call anyone.

Sound unbelievable? Well, believe it anyway. I remember seeing a similar scenario in the Emirates. A group of Moroccan girls were kept in their hotel room the entire day. Every night they emerged in their long dresses, hair extensions and makeup, and passed by my room on their way to work. (They weren't bellydancers. Many places do this kind of semi-show with girls on the stage, they just dance around all together.) In the end of the night they marched back, escorted by security. Often my door was open, and we all looked at each other bewildered. It was like there was this invisible barrier between us. We lived a few steps away from each other, but never came into contact.

And now I saw it here in Bahrain. The bellydancer of the group was a friend of a friend. We spoke on Facebook. She invited me to see the "show". It was early, customers hadn't arrived yet. A Filipina waitress tried to make me buy flowers. (Seriously?) I ordered a Sprite ($8), just to be polite. She asked why I wanted to see bellydancing. Maybe she thought I was a perv. I explained that I was a dancer too. On my way out, I peeked inside the two Arabic nightclubs. Both had girls on the stage, wearing long dresses. They all turned to look at me, confused. In hotels like this you never saw women dressed like civilians. "What is that?" was written all over their faces.

The bellydancer and I arranged for me to visit their room one afternoon so we all could talk. This of course required a special permission from the management. Getting past the reception still wasn't easy. The staff seemed very suspicious of me. I restrained myself from making any drug-dealer jokes. Twenty minutes and lots of phone calls later, while five ice creams melted in my bag, the security guy finally took me to the room. He opened the door with a key. Only then I realized that the girls were literally locked in.

I told them I was shocked by this. They were shocked too, when they heard that I was completely free. We were like two different animals. For them, it was normal to live like this. They'd done it before and they would do it again. All the work from their particular agent came with "closed" contracts. I wouldn't last a week.

The reason behind the imprisonment is obvious. The management fears that given a long leash, the girls will turn tricks and maybe even take off, all the while on hotel sponsored visas. This would mean trouble for the hotel. (Maybe they should pay them better?)

Eastern Europe is the prime market for pretty white girls for little money. I consider jobs like this exploitation. But for some, it's worth it. Maybe there's no work available back home. After all, it's just a dancing job, kind of depressing but nothing dangerous or dirty. But every so often these gigs are disguised as bellydance jobs. Here's a rule of thumb: A legit bellydance contract NEVER includes other obligations. No go go dancing, no guest relations of any kind, definitely no sitting with customers.

The girls started getting ready for work, and I walked back to my hotel to do the same. I looked up at the foggy sky and tried to imagine how it felt to not walk on the street for six months. Can't take that shit for granted.