Although Kinshasa is known for its nightspots, I admit to not being well acquainted with this side of the city. But it is not completely foreign to me either. I had been feeling like I'd seen enough to think its pretty much all the same.
Last weekend, however, I had a chance to check out a new spot- well, new to me. The music was loud and the globe lights were spinning. I was immersed in visions of a similar club I'd entered and immediately turned around and left. This time I figured I'd give it a try, though any hopes of conversation seemed dashed by pulsing rhythms. I settled back, as much as one can do in a bar stool, and watched the dancers through the mist spewing from the smoke machine.
Their movements were not the crisp, clean kind I am accustomed to seeing in dance classes. They lacked energy and abandon, though one woman on the floor had an admirable style and seemed to emminate joy. The steps were slow and subtle in that way that Congolese dances sometimes have. But what struck me most was that all of the dancers were facing the wall. They were lined up on the small, wooden dance floor staring into the full length mirrors that filled one entire side of the dance area. Even the those who were clearly there with partners. They didn't look each other in the face but watched their movements and shared laughter with reflections.
Just when I thought I had finally conquered my fear of dancing in public (yes, I have danced in public!) "There is really no way I could dance with myself in public," I immediately thought. One of the ways to get over my fear of dancing in front of others is to simply forget whatever I might look like and simply try to feel the music. Ha. Try doing that when everyone is facing an imposing panel of mirrors. Mostly they were staring at themselves but occasionally having eye conversations with others as well. I laughed at bizarre-ness of it all.
Then I realized that perhaps it wasn't so odd. You would never be without a partner, dancing with yourself. You would forever be copying your own movements. Gone is the idea that you would be the only one doing that somewhat complicated and risque movement on the floor. No, you would always have a partner- whatever your dance style- the perfect cavalier, completely in sync with you, perfectly complimenting whatever you do. "Maybe there is something to it after all," I began to think, safely, singly, from my bar stool.
