Cairo, the 17th October, 2009

“Even tougher…the rope is being endlessly pushed…”

I woke up, like in every common morning, and lighted my incense to thank for the day and ask for protection. I drank my water, stared at the glorious sun and gave my portions of kisses for the day opening (kissing is the best, isn’t it?).
The morning slipped from the mysteries of Time as usual and nothing would predict what a difficult night was waiting for me.
I’ve been used to the constant tests. The ones who know me well and are astrology “aficionados” tell me I am a plutonic person, meaning strong and charismatic with a compulsive tendency to grow and constantly reach for experiences and people that transform me. Believing or not in the sense of astrology, I have to agree with them.

The simple (simple?!) story of my life – so far…I’m so young but often feel ancient – is an huge act of strive for growing and transformation coming from extreme experiences that I look for, consciously or unconsciously.

The rope God throws on me is constantly pushed further and I have no time to breath between sets of learning, shocks, surprises (good and “not so good”). One mountain to climb after the other and me on the driver’s seat being tested, having to adjust myself to every new obstacle and enigma.

The struggle:

Tonight’s work was a success, thanks God, but it was a struggle to put on.
My right arm in the orchestra is very sick and has lost partial memory aptitude. It ‘s breaking my heart to know that this musician that I love so much – as a friend, as a family member, as someone who could be my own father – is so sick and deprived of his full faculties… I am tough in so many things but my soft heart betrays me when someone I love is in pain.
Besides that, two of my best musicians were missing and replacements were there in all their pride doing everything but good music.
As it often happens in Egypt, real talent and merit are not what gives someone status. The appearances and the most superficial circumstances can elevate an ignorant to the place of a sage. A brute to the throne of a king.

These two replacements work with a famous Egyptian dancer and yet they know very little about the subtleness and richness of Arabic music. Having already heard about me, they knew in advance they would find no fool as far as music is concerned.

Being used to dancers who generously pay them with the money that doesn’t come from their dancing gigs (“if you know what I mean!”), these musicians think they’re the best. Also coming from these same dancers who simply don’t care if they play the right notes or hit the right rhythms, they presume dancers have no ear or ability to detect mistakes and what we can commonly call “NOISE”.
Ah…the noise…so often confused with MUSIC!

Like the headmistress of an infant school, I listened and corrected to a single piece of music for three whole hours at the end of which I was sick to my stomach.
The replacements, being now fully aware that I DO KNOW WHAT I’M DOING and, therefore, exposed in their weaknesses as musicians, got extremely arrogant and defensive (like all bad musicians and dancers do) creating a terrible atmosphere inside of the orchestra. I never criticize a personal asset in a musician. I DO correct mistakes and I am a perfectionist. My life as a dancer in Egypt is hard enough as it is. The least I can have is the luxury of having GOOD QUALITY MUSIC backing me up. The lack of it is a deal breaker for me.

One more time, I confirmed what I already knew: the less talented and qualified musicians are the most arrogant.

During the whole rehearsal, I asked my assistant to burn my “boukhour” (incense) trying to dispel the terrible energy around me but not even the incense could erase these musicians lack of talent and knowledge.
I knew I was on for a tough night as I depend so much on my orchestra’s quality, unity and feeling.

The Dancing:

Now here’s the thing. When I am on stage, nothing can stop me.
I can dance to the sound of silence, if it’s only silence I hear.
I’ve performed in the most extreme circumstances and never lost my ground.
Never.
And I did it again. Tonight, I listened to all the mistakes, no feeling in the orchestra, no richness in the details, no SOUL. And yet, I performed and ripped myself from the inside out dancing to my own “internal music”.
When what I HEAR is not good enough, I invent my own music inside of my head and dance to it. It has saved me several times.

The audience didn’t seem to notice anything wrong. The Lord be praised for my audiences, the sweetest of ALL.

The after shows:

The same replacement musicians who thought of themselves as direct descendants of Beethoven, had the dream that I would keep them in the orchestra from this point on. They made their best efforts, despite the poor results.
When they knew that I didn’t want them to continue working with me, they exploded in a rage bad mouthing me and trying to know the “reason” why I didn’t wish them to work with me continuously.

“Were they not good enough for me?!” – they asked.
I gasped and looked at them in awe, tired from the night’s shows, trying to figure out what sins I am being punished for while dealing with these characters.

Because the chief of the orchestra is sick (he’s the one who makes the bridge between me and the orchestra), musicians give themselves the right to speak directly to me, coming to knock at my backstage room every five minutes with requests, complaints and comments that add very little to the quality of our work.
Having, currently, in my hands the management of an orchestra of 14 egyptian musicians (with all their specific treats), it can be a maddening task to listen to all of them and yet there’s no choice because the chief of the band is absent.
Ohhhh…..

At this point, I had a rare and huge headache and a sudden urge to arrive home, turn off my mobile, take a hot shower, go to sleep and dream away from the world.
I couldn’t take it anymore.

Then, to give the night a great ending, I caught a cab on my way home that took my already wasted nerves into new hights.
The guy looked strange and pale like a worm from the cabbages. He wore thick glasses that I think gave him the ability to see into Israel’s hiding chambers and I knew there was something completely off about this person from the moment I looked at him.
I could have followed my intuition and caught another taxi but I didn’t. I was too tired for it.

He glanced at me and my Egyptian assistant the whole way and I asked him what he was looking at most of the times I noticed it. He dismissed my accusations as if they never existed.
I thought how tired I was and how I would handle this guy in case we reached a “punching” situation. My assistant, as most Egyptian women in these cases, is useless. They expect a man to defend them and, if I am around, I am the man. That’s my “karma”, I guess… So, it would be a one on one duel. I was prepared for it.

We arrived home safely, thanks God, and we left the taxi when I noticed that he didn’t leave and just stared at us while we went away on my building’s direction.
I looked back and there he was, still staring at us from his taxi without any intention to move on.
And again I failed to follow my intuition who told me to just keep walking and forget about the weirdo. I didn’t.
I was too irritated and I guess I had to throw it on someone.
I returned to the spot of the taxi and looked inside it asking what was going on for him to keep staring at us and not leave. He didn’t answer.
It was when I noticed that he was masturbating using me and my assistant as arousal material. Yuck…yuck…yuck…a thousand times. How sick are these men?!

The “funniest” thing is that he was doing it in front of my home and parallel to a bunch of polices who laughed really hard when I went to them – in an act of stupid “innocence” – telling them about the situation.
Not only they didn’t act upon it as they laughed on my face.
What were two women doing in a taxi, alone (with no man, they meant), at 2.30h in the morning? No respectable woman would be caught in the street at that time of the night! So PAY FOR IT!
This was the message I received.

I run to the car and punched it and kicked it hard until the pervert left.
I couldn’t feel the pain in my wrists or legs and I know now – by the CURRENT pain I am indeed feeling – that I hit the car really hard.

The hidden sorrows:

On my first chance to be alone, I burst into a deep crying ritual (very rare these days) coming God knows from which part of my soul. I would never allow one of my co-workers to see me cry or the police or even a pervert disguised as a taxi driver. That would give them way too much pleasure. Around here, the weaknesses of a lady like me are meant to be kept inside of four walls with myself as unique witness.
After all the crying was done, something inside of me had been washed and renewed and I fell asleep in peace.
The next morning I was ready for the battle fields, once more.

IT WAS A NIGHT TO REMEMBER.