Three Different Forms of Dance : Afro Cuban
I used to think I had rhythm, I did. I used to think I was a pretty good dancer who could hold her own in any type of class even if I had never seen the types of movements they were presenting. This disillusion of grandeur came to a crashing halt the night I took an Afro Cuban dance class.
My challenge for the week was to take three classes in different forms of dance than I had ever taken before, and to my benefit, Groupon had a deal with A Time to Dance, a local studio. I decided to take an Afro Cuban class, East Coast Swing, and Bachata (a form of street dance developed in the Dominican Republic).
The concept of “starting slow” or “easing” into something is not one that I’m familiar with, so it’s fitting that I started my dance odyssey with Afro Cuban. I had no idea what I was supposed to wear so I brought workout clothes, a dress, stretchy cords and three different pairs of shoes, and when I asked the woman at the front desk about the appropriate attire, I was told I could wear whatever I was comfortable in and that we would be dancing barefoot.
“So I can I wear these?” I asked while pointing at the stretchy cords I was wearing.
“Not unless those are special workout cords.” I turned to see the very adorable Tango instructor trying not to smile.
“Well, I can move in them.”
“You’re going to sweat in this class. A lot. I would definitely change if I were you.” The corners of his mouth hinted at a swallowed laugh, but since I had never taken the class, I had no idea why. After about five minutes, I understood.
As I listened to the soul of the African music rise and fill the room, and then watched our instructor Wilfredo begin to undulate his body, flail his arms with birdlike grace, and syncopate his feet, I realized why the Tango instructor had suggested I change- this was going to be hard work. I tried to imitate Wilfredo’s balletic movements but there were so many drumbeats, one for each part of the body, that I was immediately lost. I have rhythm when there is a singular or dominant“beat”, but when three or more drums complicate that thumping, you’ve lost me.
In Afro Cuban dance, your arms, core and legs are all on different beats, so it’s like trying to pat your head, rub your belly, and do an Irish jig while telling a joke and crying, all at the same time. Except that instead of patting your head, you’re flapping your arms, there’s definitely more belly thrusting than rubbing, and the feet have habanera flair. There was a lot going on.
This form of dance also requires that you have an incredibly loose body but most of us were so tight, Wilfredo spent half the class making us hop-shuffle from one side of the room to the other while shaking our arms like orangutans.
When he finally got to the steps, I would pick up on the feet, but then he would add the arms and it screw me up. Then I would finally get the arms and he would add a turn, then he would change the arms halfway through, and it got to the point where I was concentrating so hard on the movements that I forgot about the loosening up part. I avoided my image at all costs, but once when my eyes drifted from Wilfredo’s beautifully articulating body, to my own awkward reflection, I realized I looked like I was skenking (that awful dance for people who can’t dance that became popular in the ’90’s). I used to make fun of skenkers (I have no idea if that’s even what they were called), and in one of life’s great ironies, I now looked like one. Either that or I was having a seizure while standing.
I started giggling uncontrollably. I couldn’t help it, I looked ridiculous. And what made it worse was that there were only four of us in the class, so there was nowhere to hide, and the street-facing wall of the studio was all windows. When I left I was surprised there wasn’t a group of teenagers huddled together outside of the window, high as kites, laughing their asses off. If I was 21 again, that is what I would do on a Tuesday night at 8pm.
Despite the awkward undulations, I finally started to get the hang of it and even had a little fun…until a larger, middle-aged, obviously “single and prowling” woman wearing a practically see-through white t-shirt and black bra tried to start a conversation with me. She was sweating through her caked makeup and kept throwing her arms down and exaggerating her hip movements while saying, “Ugh! This is soooooo tough after a 14 hour flight abroad.” It took me a second to realize that she was addressing me and not just throwing out her statement to decorate the musty air.
And then when I did realize she was talking to me, I didn’t quite know how to respond, so I just nodded my head and gave her a half smile and turned my head to focus on Wilfredo. She tried the same thing a few more times thinking that maybe I hadn’t heard her, and each time I gave her the same head nod, same straight-line smile, same unfocused eyes. She may have thought I was a little slow. Apparently she’s been going to the class for six months, “Don’t worry honey, in 100 more classes, you’ll look like me!” God, I hope not.
My favorite thing about Afro Cuban is that you get to dance it barefoot. And my second favorite thing is that it’s kind of giant hodgepodge of latin dances, mixed with an African rhythm and movements that are more carefree than any other type of dance I’ve experienced. I don’t know if I’ll take another class soon as my Groupon only covers six classes, two will be used by my challenge this week and I’d really like to use the remaining four for hip hop classes, but maybe I’ll drop in again. It was fun, and I could see it being REALLY fun if you knew what you were doing.
I used to think I had rhythm, I did. I used to think I was a pretty good dancer who could hold her own in any type of class even if I had never seen the types of movements they were presenting. This disillusion of grandeur came to a crashing halt the night I took an Afro Cuban dance class.
My challenge for the week was to take three classes in different forms of dance than I had ever taken before, and to my benefit, Groupon had a deal with A Time to Dance, a local studio. I decided to take an Afro Cuban class, East Coast Swing, and Bachata (a form of street dance developed in the Dominican Republic).
The concept of “starting slow” or “easing” into something is not one that I’m familiar with, so it’s fitting that I started my dance odyssey with Afro Cuban. I had no idea what I was supposed to wear so I brought workout clothes, a dress, stretchy cords and three different pairs of shoes, and when I asked the woman at the front desk about the appropriate attire, I was told I could wear whatever I was comfortable in and that we would be dancing barefoot.
“So I can I wear these?” I asked while pointing at the stretchy cords I was wearing.
“Not unless those are special workout cords.” I turned to see the very adorable Tango instructor trying not to smile.
“Well, I can move in them.”
“You’re going to sweat in this class. A lot. I would definitely change if I were you.” The corners of his mouth hinted at a swallowed laugh, but since I had never taken the class, I had no idea why. After about five minutes, I understood.
As I listened to the soul of the African music rise and fill the room, and then watched our instructor Wilfredo begin to undulate his body, flail his arms with birdlike grace, and syncopate his feet, I realized why the Tango instructor had suggested I change- this was going to be hard work. I tried to imitate Wilfredo’s balletic movements but there were so many drumbeats, one for each part of the body, that I was immediately lost. I have rhythm when there is a singular or dominant“beat”, but when three or more drums complicate that thumping, you’ve lost me.
In Afro Cuban dance, your arms, core and legs are all on different beats, so it’s like trying to pat your head, rub your belly, and do an Irish jig while telling a joke and crying, all at the same time. Except that instead of patting your head, you’re flapping your arms, there’s definitely more belly thrusting than rubbing, and the feet have habanera flair. There was a lot going on.
This form of dance also requires that you have an incredibly loose body but most of us were so tight, Wilfredo spent half the class making us hop-shuffle from one side of the room to the other while shaking our arms like orangutans.
When he finally got to the steps, I would pick up on the feet, but then he would add the arms and it screw me up. Then I would finally get the arms and he would add a turn, then he would change the arms halfway through, and it got to the point where I was concentrating so hard on the movements that I forgot about the loosening up part. I avoided my image at all costs, but once when my eyes drifted from Wilfredo’s beautifully articulating body, to my own awkward reflection, I realized I looked like I was skenking (that awful dance for people who can’t dance that became popular in the ’90’s). I used to make fun of skenkers (I have no idea if that’s even what they were called), and in one of life’s great ironies, I now looked like one. Either that or I was having a seizure while standing.
I started giggling uncontrollably. I couldn’t help it, I looked ridiculous. And what made it worse was that there were only four of us in the class, so there was nowhere to hide, and the street-facing wall of the studio was all windows. When I left I was surprised there wasn’t a group of teenagers huddled together outside of the window, high as kites, laughing their asses off. If I was 21 again, that is what I would do on a Tuesday night at 8pm.
Despite the awkward undulations, I finally started to get the hang of it and even had a little fun…until a larger, middle-aged, obviously “single and prowling” woman wearing a practically see-through white t-shirt and black bra tried to start a conversation with me. She was sweating through her caked makeup and kept throwing her arms down and exaggerating her hip movements while saying, “Ugh! This is soooooo tough after a 14 hour flight abroad.” It took me a second to realize that she was addressing me and not just throwing out her statement to decorate the musty air.
And then when I did realize she was talking to me, I didn’t quite know how to respond, so I just nodded my head and gave her a half smile and turned my head to focus on Wilfredo. She tried the same thing a few more times thinking that maybe I hadn’t heard her, and each time I gave her the same head nod, same straight-line smile, same unfocused eyes. She may have thought I was a little slow. Apparently she’s been going to the class for six months, “Don’t worry honey, in 100 more classes, you’ll look like me!” God, I hope not.
My favorite thing about Afro Cuban is that you get to dance it barefoot. And my second favorite thing is that it’s kind of giant hodgepodge of latin dances, mixed with an African rhythm and movements that are more carefree than any other type of dance I’ve experienced. I don’t know if I’ll take another class soon as my Groupon only covers six classes, two will be used by my challenge this week and I’d really like to use the remaining four for hip hop classes, but maybe I’ll drop in again. It was fun, and I could see it being REALLY fun if you knew what you were doing.
Sounds great "“Well, I can move in them.”"
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