As I sat trying not to think about the Buckaa and Buckoo kabobs I had just eaten, I was mesmorized by the girl in black, dancing in the middle of the floor. Her cohorts were off to a corner, smiling and giving her moral support. In the past, it was not uncommon to invite dancers to a function to help with the celebrations. My cousin's son, who was the guest of honour, was oblivious to the festivities and was chasing his sister nearby. At 18 months, he would not even remember his Akikah!
I picked up the camera to zoom. That's when I realized why the cousins were laughing and the men's section were not amused. The dancers were in fact...MEN!! My camera lens picked up the clean shaven, foundation lathered face of a man!
Squeeze me? Then I remembered the transvestites in the streets. A common but frowned upon practice was to hire men to dance as women because dancing was deemed as a prohibbited act only practiced by prostitutes. No girl in her right mind would dance in front of men or suffer the probably chance of ruining her reputation. I remember growing up and my father sternly admonishing me if I got up at any gathering to dance before I was married. At the party, we all knew that these girls (men) were solely here to dance for money.
Now the rumour was that our UK cousin's father was livid over their bold appearance. My motherinlaw's sister exercised poor judgement by inviting them. The story goes that when she got ill, they would frequent her house. Word got out in the street that this aunt was left bedridden and the girls would come over to cheer her up. So as a treat to her nephew, she invited them to show off their womanly wiles, so to speak!
I wasn't that shocked by their dance as I had experienced this scene once before back in 1989 but I forgot that my girls were privvy to this sight. I waved over at them and motioned to close their mouths. They giggled and whispered into each other's ear. My NFC cousin walked over to me with a sly smile and asked if I got the whole thing on tape. Yes, I couldn't resist. I think the camera shook often because I couldn't stop laughing. The dancer's girlfriends were clapping and batting their eyes the whole time and I wasn't sure who to focus on. Afterwards, the dancers helped themselves to dinner, FOUR TIMES. My girls counted how many times they went to the buffet and became angered. "They may dance like girls but they eat like men!" said my younger twin. She wanted to eat the ice cream but my doctor had warned to stay away from dairy. I refused but she insisted so I relented and let her indulge. It was only 15 minutes later when she claimed that she felt queasy. Not the right time to expose the kabob story.
The party ended at 10:30pm, past the curfew. The hall owner had allowed us to stay open (I am sure he was bribed) and while everyone was filing out, I stood under a ceiling fan to cool off. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched the three dancers stand up, and walk very haughtily past our group. As they came near the fan, the tallest, more manly looking 'girl' gave me a sidelong glance and then ...a wink! Note to self: whenever you carry a camera, someone in Pakistan will give you a show.
It was time for Cinderalla to go home. The spell had worn off way before midnight...
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