Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Everybody Plays the Fool

At the beginning of this month, I decided I wanted to try something radical, different. My Portuguese teacher suggested enrolling in a class of some kind to meet regular Brazilians and do something besides work in the archive all day every day. I agreed. She directed me towards an African dance class in the very hippie Gloria neighborhood. My teacher happened to already be in the class and was friends with the instructor (who, incidentally, is a nationally-recognized, professional dancer who has appeared in movies and everything). It sounded like a great plan.


On the first day of class, I was all nerves. I`ve NEVER taken a dance class of any kind in my whole life. This was going to be an experience. The place is actually a capoeira center but they allow Valéria (the dance teacher) to use the space. And it`s a very small space-- with no air-conditioning. There are about 6 girls in the class. Together, we look a bit like a United Colors of Benetton ad. I obviously occupy the light end of the spectrum, there´s a girl from São Paulo who´s a bit olivey, a girl from the Northeast who´s a nutty brown, a super-beautiful mixed-race girl (who happens to be an amateur dancer), another amateur dancer with flawless black skin and a shy, chubby girl who´s almost ebony-colored.


Class began with a typical warm-up-- stretching, balancing, slow movements. Then, Valéria got totally possessed by the booming African drums and rhythmic chanting of her CDs. The woman is a phenomenon-- and completely out of control. I´d never seen a human body do the things that she did. It seemed like each muscle in her stomach and her butt had a mind of its own. She threw her head side to side while thoughtlessly stepping, sliding, jumping and bouncing along. I quickly realized that American culture is NOT a dancing culture. These women-- even the ones who were not dancers-- seemed to gravitate toward the beat. I mercilessly stomped it to death, just trying to keep up. Forget graceful, I was just trying to figure out what the heck was going on.


Valéria patiently re-positioned my hands, arms, head, back, legs and booty. She constantly told me, "stop thinking, just go!!" Obviously, this woman doesn´t know me. All I could do was think during her class. Think about my feet, think about my awkwardness, think about how big an idiot I was making of myself. Then, I thought about a New Year´s resolution I made before I left the U.S. (yes, sometimes people actually take those seriously). I promised myself to have more fun, be silly and think like a kid. I tried to imagine how different the class would be if we were all elementary students. It would be louder, of course, and no one would be trying to look like they had it all together. They would just be running around happily and feeling the music-- which is basically what dancing is supposed to be. I figured I´d give it a shot. To hell with being an adult, to hell with "getting it right", to hell with looking completely stupid...I´m just gonna let it go. So I did. I flapped my arms the wrong way, I missed steps and bumped into the other girls but I was smiling the whole damn time. Towards the end of the class, Valéria actually started saying, "ISSO!" ("That´s it!") as I passed by.


After class, I paid for a month in advance. I´ve been taking the class ever since. While it would be nice to say that I´m SO much better, that just isn´t true. I´m stiff, I lose count constantly and I don´t have a fraction of the grace some of the other girls have. But it´s fun. And it keeps me grounded, I think. There´s something very freeing in knowing that once a week for 90 minutes you´re going to make a total ass of yourself-- and that´s okay. The world won´t end. I´m not less intelligent or less of a professional. Besides, like The Spinners sang, "Everybody plays the fool, sometimes/ There´s no exception to the rule".


Until next time...