djoniba story

I am a 29 year old woman of Eastern European Jewish ancestry. I have dark hair and eyes and yellow tone skin that is only brown after direct sun exposure. I am not black. Nor will I ever be. I like who I am, or I try to anyway. As a woman under constant attack by media culture and consumer sorcery, its not always easy. I dance. I have chosen to do west African dance. Its an interesting choice, and one I have to think about a lot in many different situations when my integrity or my authenticity is called into question. I just moved to a new city. When I was at home on the west coast I danced with a woman, my best friend, with whom we created a dance community that made sense and was authentic for anyone who came in with an authentic spirit no matter their skin color or ethnic background. Now I live in New York City. Where nothing happens without regard to color of skin or ethnicity of background. Dancing here is different. In some ways different in a good way, there is more going on, more variety, more motivation through competition, more music. In some ways, in a bad way, more crowded, less accessible, more competitive spirit, more predjudice, more body odor, more ulterior motives for dancing. So this story is illustrative of the strange way that you are tested for your authenticity and integrity as a non-black, new coming West African dance student in New York City. Sat evening class at Djoniba Dance and Drum center right off Union Square on 18th and Broadway. One of the best times to dance because the class is in the big studio with a wood floor that doesn’t get sweatslippery towards the middle of class like the rubber floor in the back studio. So I always try to be there from 630 to 9 on Saturdays. The downside of the class is the changing room. When class gets out, enough people to crowd the large dance studio and make sweatsteam run down the mirrors, cram into a space the size of a tiny manhattan studio apartment, including the square footage used up for two toilet stalls and a shower. Not to mention these are the selfsame women who have just sweated out the studio and provided the aforementioned competitive ulterior motivated spirit. The air is the dressing room is heavy with humid human odor and insecure comparison. It is impossible to get undressed without bumping someone else in various stages of disrobe. For me, coming from our comfortable studio with 10 students and immesureable love, it is an untenable situation. I cant get undressed and cool down and redress in that room, I just cant do it. So I wanted to leave the class just a little early so I could rinse off and put myself together before the water buffalo stampede. Unfortunately I had been dancing close to the front line of the class, so it wasn’t so subtle that I left early. I know the rules of the class however, and I know that if someone ahead of you leaves for any reason, which happens somewhat often, if someone cant do a step, has a cramp or has to go to the bathroom, you have to step up into the empty place in line and the person behind you the same and so on…So I didn’t really think it would be a problem. As I stepped out of the shower, and toweled off quickly, a European woman (with an accent from somewhere) came in to the dressing room with a disapproving expression. “You caused chaos in class leaving early! You didn’t tell the teacher and you just left, it was a huge commotion. You better wrap something around yourself, don’t bother getting dressed and run in and apologize to him.” Now, I may be new in NYC, but Ive been to a lot of dance classes in my time. First of all, I know all the drummers, and the teacher. I know they know people have to leave class sometimes. And they know I don’t want to undress in a superbowl half time locker room. And I know that I am no more likely to run in front of a dance class in a towel to prostrate myself in apology to anyone than I am to buy a ski-doo and try to navigate the atlantic ocean and arrive in Gambia’s capital city of Banjul to plant a flag on the beach. As I was reeling from the woman’s ludicrous suggestion another woman, who I remember as being African American but might not have been, came in and said to Europeana Accento “Did you tell her?” Like she was the representative for the whole angry class. I proceeded to get dressed, redo my hair and makeup and leave the studio. Do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars do not come into class to apologize to Elhadj in a towel. I called him after class to make sure he wasn’t mad and to apologize if I had been rude. He said he had no idea what I was talking about. Im sure he did, but it was already over and probably not that big a deal to him anyway. He told me never to think about it again and he would see me next Saturday. Unusual occurances have kept me from class for the last three weeks. Knowing what I know about the culture and the way things work, I think Ive got a touch of the evil eye. Some jealousy, some questions about my authenticity, my integrity. But I’m going to Boston this weekend, then I’ll be back, and I’ll be in class, and I’ll still be white, and this will still be America, where I can decide to do west African dance, decide to do it respectfully, well and to know myself and my place. Im sure the same thing wouldn’t have happened if I were a new African American student at Djoniba, but there isnt much I can do about that. If something doesn’t present a challenge, it usually isn’t worth doing, and this kind of subtle subterfuge story is the challenge of the dance community. Pay attention to how you are treated, is there more than meets the eye? Usually. So, change when you need to, apologize when fully dressed, know yourself and whom you’re dealing with and always make sure the person behind you knows to fill your spot.