Cairo, the 11th November, 2010

Oh, the familiar same old Cairo tears...

The struggle never seems to end and the persistence (and lack of character) of most egyptian/arab rich men is revolting.
For four years of hard, solitary struggle I managed - with God's help - to build my name and be respected as an artist in a country where Oriental Dancers are still seen as prostitutes.
For four years, I have denied dirty offer after dirty offer and spit on so many men's faces for confusing me with a prostitute. It's known in the egyptian market that no man will have me in bed in exchange for work opportunities and yet some of them keep trying and punishing me over and over again because I denied them what they wish to have.

Women seen as objects and men's property is a local subject that I never got over with.
Dancers seen as the biggest prostitutes (and most of them are, indeed, prostitutes and that contributes to confirm and extend people's prejudices) has been the hardest thing to deal with since my arrival to Egypt and the Middle East, in general.

If you don't allow any pasha to take you by his arm and exhibit you in public as his latest sexual conquest, you're mostly screwed, sooner or later. These men do not forget a refusal and they keep trying and trying to catch you, hoping you will concede, give up your principles, reach the conclusion that you cannot grow in your career unless you become their girlfriend of the moment.

For the 10000th time, I say it out loud:
I choose the man I sleep with.
I choose the man I go out with.
I don't get envolved with any man to get work or any benefit.
I am that kind of incompreensible alien who chooses men for LOVE and not for other secondary interests.

I go out with my male friends - whom I choose because they're good, interesting people who care about me and with whom I have somethings in common - and I go out with the man I love.
FINAL POINT.

What these rich, influencial guys cannot understand is that not every woman has a price tag on her ass.
What they don't understand is that I would prefer to die before I would even consider going out or sleeping with them for career opportunities.
What they don't understand - or keep ignoring - is that I am a
W-O-M-A-N and not a dog.

Once more, I am screwed (in lack of a better word) for being honest.
It seems that, in Egypt and all Middle East, talent and professionalism do not count a bit. You need to be a prostitute before you are given the chance to be an artist.

Revolting.
I thought I was already over this drama but Egypt keeps surprising me in strange ways...
Tears of rage fall down my cheeks with a sadness that I thought I had forgotten.
It's not fair, it's just not fair...

But they will not break me.
I could eat low standard guys like these for breakfast, if I wished...
I am appalled and for that a new strenght and rage to fight back grows inside me.
The war is not over yet.