The curtains parted. And there he stood, tall, still, strong. His skin glimmered like black diamond underneath the spotlight. And he was wearing shorts, the colour of the red soil that covered the ground behind my grandmother’s house. He moved and I held my breath.  

As he leapt across the stage, my heart leapt with him. Watching him dance. I felt free and joyful. I can’t remember what music was playing, but what I do remember is that I didn’t want him to stop dancing. I, too, wanted to dance like that. I, too, wanted to be on that stage. I was sixteen years old and I had a rare opportunity to take a break from my academic studies to watch a visiting dance artist perform. 

The years that followed, I danced with my family at family gatherings. But still, the stage and dance classes evaded me. You see, I come from a community where academic excellence is valued over artistic pursuits. The years passed, and at 23, I moved to Brisbane to go to university. I became a nurse. And a few years later, I married a witty Frenchman. 

The years that followed were spent building our life and our careers. And still, the dance classes and the stage evaded me. My dancing was done with friends when we went out. And then at the age of 34, I decided it was time. My, my husband and I had just come back from his job overseas and I had a small window of opportunity where I can do anything I wanted. 

So one night I announced to him that I was going to take ballet classes. Apart from a teasing reference to the ballet-dancing hippo in Disney’s Fantasia, he was nothing but supportive. The following Saturday, we, we drove to the little shop in Mount Hawthorne to buy my leotard and my tights. Before getting out of the car, I remember this feeling coming over me and I hesitated. 

I recognized it as shame. I felt ridiculous. What was I doing at 34 taking ballet lessons? And I say to my husband. I could have done this ages ago, maybe it’s too late. And he said something to me that I carry to this day and he said, why do you focus on what you didn’t do? You have the opportunity to do it. 

So do it now and enjoy it. So I took his wise advice. I bought my leotard and my tights, still feeling a bit self-conscious, I went to my first ballet class and there I met other adults like me. I wasn’t alone. And because I never do things by half, I decided I was going to take Samba lessons as well. I too wanted to dance to the rhythm of those drums that I’d seen in Rio Carnival on TV. 

I wanted to wear those costumes. I wanted to feel that joy. And so I did. I took both ballet and samba and at the end of that year, I finally was on the stage at the showcase for the students at the two studios where I was taking classes. But what I hadn’t anticipated was how special that moment would be. 

You see, on stage, I wasn’t alone. I was three and a half months pregnant. So my first moment on stage was shared with my little boy. After he was born, I stopped dancing for six months because I was consumed by the responsibilities of being a new parent. But after six months, I went back to Samba. So one Samba lesson a week turned into two Samba lessons a week, turned into rehearsals and small, small performances with my teacher and the student team at local festivals. 

And a few years later, that turned into a semi-professional gig as a samba dancer at the Subiaco Brazilian restaurant. The thing is, when you start on a journey, you always have a goal. My goal was to be on stage and to dance. But what you never anticipate is where it’s going to take you. So samba brought me, then, to the dances of the Orishas. 

Which is an Afro-Brazilian dance form that is deeply rooted in the spiritual beliefs and practices of the, of the slaves that were brought to Brazil. So in discovering this dance form, I discovered the grace and the movement of Osun, the goddess of the river and fertility. I felt the ferocity of Oya, the goddess of wind and storms and change. 

I felt the relentlessness of Ogun, the god of metal and technology, and the one that opens the way. I bathed in the healing waters of Yemoja, the goddess of the sea. Sambanope brought me to the dances of the Orishas. Dance of the Orishas led me to the Silver Street Dance Technique, an Afro-Brazilian and contemporary dance technique. 

I first discovered it when I did a workshop in Perth in 2014, when the creator of this technique, Rosangela, came to Perth. After that two-hour workshop, I couldn’t speak. I was overwhelmed to tears, and I knew instinctively that this was the path I was supposed to follow next. In 2018, at the Sydney Samba Congress, I did another two-hour workshop with Rosangela, and it affirmed that what I had felt that time in 2014 was real. 

So in 2019, With my husband’s frequent flyer miles, me and a friend, we went to Bahia, Salvador do Bahia, in Brazil, and I immersed myself in two weeks of dance training. It was a dream come true to get to train and dance every day from nine till three. I came back to Australia, determined to keep training, and that I would go back to Brazil. 

At the end of that year, the Brazilian Beach Carnival organisers invited me to be part of their dance team. I had the privilege of choreographing and performing a solo Afro dance piece inspired by the goddess of change, Oya. I poured my heart and soul into that performance. After the performance, the positive accolades I received from friends, fellow dancers, musicians, and audience members was really humbling. 

And I was more determined than ever to go to Brazil the following year. But then a week later, Perth went into isolation. And my dreams of making it to Brazil became slim. A few weeks later, one of the professors approached me and said they were starting the online training for the technique. And of course, I signed up enthusiastically. 

And so every day, five days a week, since April 2020 till now, I am training five days a week, five nights a week with my masters and professors in Brazil. It sounds perfect, but it does require some sacrifice. Because the time difference between Brazil and Perth is minus 11 hours. And the only time I can train is between 11 to 1 AM. 

I have to juggle my responsibilities as a wife and mother, as a writer, as a dancer, as a drummer. Is it worth it? Yes. Because every day through those little Zoom windows, with fellow dancers around the world, we dance our joy, our pain, our losses, our triumphs. We also dance to heal our world. And as I reflect on this dance journey, three things come to mind. 

First, my idea of community now. Surpasses all geographical boundaries. The second thing is that I realized that dance was always in me. It was just waiting for me, for the permission to begin. The third thing is that that dance and that dance that had captivated me all those years is exactly the path that I’m now following, Afro-Contemporary. 

So, if you’re ever in North Perth, and you see me in Coles, pushing my shopping trolley down the aisle, don’t be surprised if I do a little dance move. Because you see, for me, dance now just, doesn’t just belong on the stage, it’s a part of my everyday life, and it’s as precious to me as the air that I breathe. 

Thank you.  

Thank you for listening. Centre for Stories is a not-for-profit organization with charitable status. Our team is small and nimble and we love what we do To help us continue doing what we love, consider a small donation. You can donate at centerforstories.com.