On Saturday night, a local non-profit was hosting a big fundraiser party in town. Everyone who was anyone packed a local discothèque, 80’s night they were calling it, even though there were only 3 80’s songs played during the whole night – “Beat It!” “Thriller,” and “Papa Don’t Preach” (this song eerily fitting, though I won’t go into details in order to keep this post lighthearted.). The rest of 80’s night was merengue, bachata, and salsa. Yes, very spicy.
And despite my terror, my self-consciousness, my fear of looking like a robotic gringa sans rhythm in her genes, well… I DANCED. And I danced a lot.
I danced it all. Merengue. All of a sudden, I felt my hip joints loosening. Bachata. I was getting a hang of the three steps. 1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3. Salsa. Though a dear friend taught me salsa a couple weeks ago, I was a little lost. What was that count again? But it didn’t matter, because I had fun, and my family actually thought I was dancing well. (How in the world did I fool them?? I mean, really!) When the three token 80’s songs played, I really let loose. I showed them how Americans do it. We just dance like crazy people, however we feel! Steps, what are those? Who’s counting beats anyway? You just move! And I was singing all the words, and most likely, I was the only one in that place who knew what she was singing! (I often hear people singing English songs here, but when I ask them if they know what they’re singing, they usually say no.)
One of the highlights was watching an older couple dance. They really had some style. She was wearing a flowing white lacy dress with a blue sun hat. He was wearing the typical Dominican shirt – white, freshly pressed, four front pockets—and an old man’s hat tipped so fashionably and slightly to the side. He was twirling her, both their feet dancing so smoothly to the classic salsa song the band was playing.
The next day, I still hadn’t regained all my hearing – my family and I had been sitting beneath the speakers, and just to emphasize, we were in a Dominican disco, so please imagine, if you will, the noise level. The whole entire lazy Sunday (we all lazed around… we had been out until the wee hours of the morning!), my family proudly told whoever came over that I could dance! What?! Haha. They were so proud that their gringita could dance. The funniest imitation was when my neighbor reenacted my seizure-like American 80’s dance moves. Yeah well, at least they learned a little dancing style too, ya know.
So I have another accomplishment to check off my never-ending list of challenges. I can fool my Dominican compañeros and compañeras into thinking that I can dance. I still have the fear though, but at least it has dwindled a bit. ¡Ya!
Getting ready for the party
My host sister and me**There are pictures of me dancing, but I've yet to get them from my host sister's camera. I will update this blog with thoses pics!
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