Shake It...Eventually

African dance came to the comedor. Chincha, the neighboring city, is the center of Afro-Peruvian culture. Tonight, I partook in my first class.

There was one instructor and a two member band, both playing percussion - a set of bongo drums and a wooden box. While the musicians set the rhythm, the instructor demonstrated the moves and then went to each student to ensure they knew the steps. He spent a lot of time with me.

This class confirmed two things. First of all, I'm a sweater. Not the wool kind you wear on chilly days but the kind of person that sweats easily and prolifically. Not knowing what was to come, I started the class in khaki shorts and a nice t-shirt. 30 minutes in, I was dripping with sweat and I ducked into my room to change clothes. At the end of the class, just 30 minutes later, I had to hang my second set of shorts and t-shirt up to dry.

The second confirmed fact was that my dancing capabilities have been hindered due to my wonderful and fairly middle American upbringing. For the first 25 years of my life, I learned that under no circumstances am I to ever shake my hips. Sure, I felt allowed to dance, as long as that dancing was in a strict side to side motion, my full body remaining in a vertical line. Therefore, when I try to move my hips in a Latin motion today, they are a bit hesitant, they don't quite comply, as if they're asking, "Is this really a good idea?"