“It’s in our blood”: Egyptian women reclaim belly dance from stigma and silence
WEBDESK, July 1, 2025 — Once the shimmering soul of Egyptian cinema, belly dance — or baladi, as locals prefer — is being reawakened by a bold generation of women determined to strip away decades of stigma and reclaim the art as a proud part of Egypt’s cultural identity.
From the neon-lit stages of Cairo to university lecture halls, young Egyptian performers and instructors are fighting back against the narrative that turned a revered dance into a taboo. “No woman can be a belly dancer today and feel she’s truly respected,” says Safy Akef, dance trainer and grand-niece of iconic 1950s star Naima Akef. Despite her family legacy, Safy has never performed on stage in Egypt — not for lack of talent, but due to the cultural shame that lingers around the art.
From Cairo’s Clubs to Cultural Classrooms
At the center of this movement is Amie Sultan, a classically trained ballerina turned belly dancer. Through her Taqseem Institute, Sultan is restoring baladi to its rightful place — one that blends discipline, history, and artistry. “Baladi reflects the soul of who we are,” she explains. “But today, it carries the image of superficiality and seduction, disconnected from its roots.”
Her school now trains dancers in choreography, musicality, and theory, covering everyone from pre-cinema icons like Bamba Kashshar to golden-era legends like Tahiya Carioca and Samia Gamal.
Pushing for Global Recognition
Sultan and her peers aren’t just reviving dance steps; they’re reshaping national identity. She’s begun a campaign for UNESCO to recognize baladi as part of Egypt’s Intangible Cultural Heritage, a move she hopes will restore respect for the dancers and the dance.
But change is slow. Belly dance still battles its association with nightclubs, moral judgment, and outdated views — fueled by both colonial caricatures and local conservatism. The term “heshk beshk,” once playful, has morphed into a slur for vulgarity and debauchery.
Dancing Toward Dignity
Inside a modest Cairo studio, dancers rehearse barefoot to a track by Umm Kulthum, their bodies flowing to the heartbeat of a tabla drum. For instructor Safaa Saeed, the moment is more than a rehearsal — it’s a revolution. “We want a place of our own — like the old theatres,” she says. “A teatro where we can perform without shame.”
Despite challenges, this new generation believes that the soul of baladi still beats — not in smoky lounges, but in hearts determined to dance forward.
“It’s in our blood,” Safaa smiles, hips swaying to a heritage worth fighting for.
