Belly Dancing

Even Mom's workin' kicks are chic :-)  As usual, I took the photo but the words are all hers.

I was a hostess in an Arab restaurant for three years. That was over 40 years ago and I am still in awe when I hear myself say it. It was one of the most fun, exciting, enjoyable and interesting times of my life, not to mention educational. When I read about Al Qaeda in the paper I think those aren’t the Arabs I know. While I detest their actions I understand their anger against foreign intrusion.

Islam is the fastest growing religion in the world. Except for the food and newspaper headlines most Americans are not exposed to the culture. Canada produced a charming TV show “Little Mosque on the Prairie” but most Americans did not see it. It came close to my own experience.

We are learning that the Mediterranean diet is the healthiest in the world. If you have never eaten at a Mediterranean restaurant, try it. You might like it. If you like garlic, lentil soup, chicken and rice, lamb with carrots and potatoes, drained yoghurt with cucumbers and tomatoes, roasted cauliflower with tahini sauce, pita bread with hummus, [garbanzo beans and tahini], and baba ganoush, [eggplant and tahini] and garlic. Tahini is a sesame paste. All recognizable food.  But so good.

I had discovered a small Arab restaurant in Seattle and began to take family and friends there.  One day I invited a very conservative friend for lunch. She loved the food but was not comfortable in the foreign atmosphere. The owner stopped by the table to say hello and said “What are you doing now?” I said I was doing nothing but needed to get a job to get away from my refrigerator. He said” Come and be my hostess on Friday and Saturday nights.”  My immediate thought was “Moi? Junior Leaguer?, sorority girl ? Corporate executive wife?” I said “Thank you but I couldn’t.” When we got out to the car my friend said “You wouldn’t work in a place like this, would you?” I said, “I would luuuuuve to work in a place like this. I am a night person and always had had a fantasy of working in a night club and never dreamed it was possible..” Did I mention they had three belly dancing shows a night?
That night I told my hardworking husband about it and he said “Try it .You might find it interesting.” He knew from past experience  it was easier to say yes to my oddball brainstorms.

I went to see Kamal the next day and asked if he was serious. I told him I was concerned because I had never had a real job before. I was a civic volunteer. He said he didn’t go by what people  had done but by what he believed  people could do.  He said ”Are you a respectable woman?” I said “Yes. I am a wife and the mother of four sons. I wasn’t there to pick up men but to have a different kind of experience.” He said “An Arab man can be anything a woman wants him to be but if she gives in she’s dirt.” An interesting bit of info which I passed on later to young girls who were taken in by the good looks and romantic manner. Some heeded it. Some didn’t.

Kamal asked a cousin to train me but she had no interest in it and quit after the first night leaving me in a state of panic. It was one of the most popular places in town. For $20 a couple could have a great dinner and stay all night watching all three shows if they wanted to.

Reservations were needed because the tables were all reserved by 4:30.  My job was to come in early and assign tables. A party of two at a table for two, a party of four at a table for four, etc. The door opened at 5 and if drop ins came then I would seat them but told them they had to be out by six when the crowd started coming. Mostly they complied.  One night three deaf people walked in about 6. I tried to explain I couldn’t seat them unless they had a reservation. They saw there were still some empty tables and didn’t understand my sorry attempts. They left in a huff. I felt terrible and today they probably would have reported us for discrimination.

The first day I made many mistakes. The second day I made more mistakes. After going home in tears I decided that the thing to do was to write down my mistakes each night and try not to make the same ones twice. It took three weeks to feel comfortable.
The kind, helpful waiters were mostly Arab men but we had two American girl waitresses plus an American bus girl. The bartender was Korean. There were no problems with, between or among any of us. Kamal ran a tight ship. Even from the kitchen he seemed to know what was happening.

My station was by the front door. I quickly realized I could not stand on my feet all night so I brought in a bar stool so I could half sit and half stand. The rest was easy. I came in at 4:30 and left at 1:00AM. I was paid $4.00 an hour. I went to a hippy store and bought a long black rayon dress with long sleeves and some gold toned jewelry.  I alternated with a long black skirt and long sleeved black blouse. If not authentic but it was at least black and modest.

From 5:00 to 7:00 the customers were mostly Americans just wanting the food. From 7:00 to 10:00 it was mostly Americans wanting dinner and the belly dancing. From 10:00 on it was Arabs. Every Arab faction. Lebanese, Palestinians, Egyptians, Syrians, and Libyans for example. We would even have Shah Iranians and Khomeini Iranians. On opposite sides of  the room of course. At each table was usually a group of five men. The Shah Iranians sometimes brought wives but not he rest of them.

 It was not a pick up place. Sometimes whole families would come and it was great to see grandmothers and grandchildren get up to belly dance. It had the feeling of an Hawaiian luau. The best nights were when a group of men got up waving their red napkins and danced and stomped together. There were two musicians, a drummer and an oud player. The oud was a beautiful pear shaped guitar like instrument. The belly dancers were not prostitutes but I was told in one local restaurant they were. Usually their mothers or husbands sat in the audience or their children were waiting in the dressing room. I never tired of the music nor of watching the dancing. There was one star and the other two girls changed from time to time. When they were performing I would stand in the aisle and clap to the rhythm. I never tired of it. I began to see the difference in styles and techniques. Sometimes we had traditional dancers who were completely covered up but mostly their costumes were the usual. I bought a belly dancing tape thinking I might learn it, but soon discovered it was harder than it looked and no one, at no time, ever saw my performance.
Only twice in three years did I see any problem. One night one of the American customers, a bit loaded, stood up and started harassing the dancer. Kamal came out of the kitchen so fast, grabbed him by the belt and collar and 86ed him out the back. door. It happened so fast I couldn’t believe I had seen what I had just seen. One night some young Arabs had brought in some street girls and they were becoming a nuisance. The oldest man in the group was Kamal’s cousin and my ally. I asked him if he could do something about it. A few minutes later they were gone.

One night I said to one of the waiters, "I never hear anyone say anything against the Jews here. He said ”We hate each other too much to think about them."

The Arabs always came in without  reservations. I always had a list of about 20 people waiting in the bar, hoping for an empty table. At first, when I was new, unknown and a woman, the Arabs had trouble understanding that they would have to give me their name and wait in the bar. They would brush past me and head for Kamal. They soon learned they had to go thru me. One night an Arab said “Kamal wants me to have the best seat in the house“. I tried to explain there were no seats at the moment. Later one of the waiters told me when that happens I was to say ”Yes. Kamal does want you to have the best seat in the house. If you wait in the bar I will call you when the best seat is available.” Then if he comes back and ask why I had seated someone in front of him I was to say “But that was not the best seat.” State Department, are you listening? If you want cooperation first show respect.

For whatever reason my husband did not come. One night my mother came to town and wanted to see it. I told him he had to bring her. He did so but very reluctantly. I told him that when the belly dancer came to his table he was to fold a dollar bill and stick it in her costume. I said a gentleman will put it in the side of the waist band. I think he was surprised to see what kind of a place it was and happy seeing I wasn’t flirting but working hard always running from the front door to the bar to the kitchen. And too often squeezing sideways thru the crowded tables carrying a chair over my head for some new customers to have a table. I thought they would leave early. When I got off at 1:00, they were still there and there were several folded one dollar bills on their table. He said "I think I am just getting the hang of it.” After that he came back several times and brought our sons and their dates. It enhanced my prestige among the Arabs.

Halfway through my experience there my husband died. No one could have been more sympathetic, kind, patient and understanding than the staff. 

One night, just before we opened the doors, I had an epiphany. It was no longer working for me. I was alone and constantly reminded of it by the customers who usually came in as couples. It was time to leave.

Kamal was the smartest, dumbest, meanest, nicest, toughest, kindest,  hardest, softest man I ever met. There was never anything personal between us but to this day we have a loving bond . He said I became a legend. I remember he would flair up and scream at me.  I understood that. I had a quick Irish temper and would scream back. Over quickly and back to work. Among other things he was one of the handsomest men I ever knew. He went through wives like turning the pages of the calendar. He finally found the right one. He didn’t ask me but she has my approval.
. . .
Here's the part where I say "This is what I think. What do you think? Tell me calmly. No need to come to blows."

-Jean Clarice Walsh 2013