Unbellylievable: The fight to share her art
Lincoln Tan reveals the twisting, turning career of a dancer who would have been punished for performing in country of her birth
Aida Sajadi remembers watching her mother conducting belly dancing classes at her home back in Iran, but she was too little to understand why it had to be done in secret.
When she was a little older, Sajadi was pushed forward by one of the ladies to join the dancing – and learned later the risks her mother had been taking with her performances and classes in the Islamic Republic.
Dancing itself is not a crime in Iran’s penal code. But public dancing can be interpreted as an indecent act and be deemed illegal under the country’s constitution. Dancing on stage can only be performed by men. Sujadi moved to New Zealand with her mother and younger sister as refugees 20 years ago, and one of the biggest joys her mother found in their new life was the freedom to openly perform the Arabic dance.
Now 30, and with her mother having retired from dancing, Sujadi is living and breathing the art. She has made dancing her career and is also making it her goal to pass the art on.
“My first exposure to belly dancing was seeing my mum teach belly dancing to family and friends in the living room of our house, and at parties and events behind closed doors. My mum would dance because she was really good and always asked to entertain,” Sujadi said.
She would dance with her mother to music from cassettes that she bought on the black market.
“Mum’s been my inspiration, really, and seeing how much she’s risked and sacrificed has made me all the more determined to keep dancing, especially now that we’re fortunate enough to be living in a world where I can freely do it.”
Sujadi started performing belly dancing publicly at 12, and is now a much sought-after in Auckland.
Going by the name of Aida Oryantal, her calendar is filled with bookings for weddings, birthdays and anniversary events.
When she is not performing, Sujadi is busy practising new moves, exercising or conducting belly dancing classes.
She makes her own colourful costumes, which include glittering fitted silk bras, hip scarves, chains and dance skirts with high slits up the side.
Sujadi says she is used to having eyes on her, and having people film her every move on their cellphones as she dances and sways to the rhythm of the music.
Although admired by some, others in the Iranian community frown on what Sujadi does.
One told the Weekend Herald he thought belly dancing was “disgusting” and that what she was doing “brings disgrace”.
Sujadi is aware of the negative stigma attached to belly dancing, but she is not too fazed by it.
“The stigma is something that belly dancers have always suffered. Some people see it as being sexual, but it is not, other than perhaps having outfits that may be a bit revealing.
“Belly dancing means everything to me, and to me it is my way of connecting art and culture.”
Belly dance emphasises complex movements of the torso and is believed to have originated in Egypt. Sujadi says her dream is to travel there and to one day set up a belly dancing school so she can pass on the dance form.
Her sister Rana, 23, says belly dancing is “more than just a passion” to Sujadi, who would spend at least two hours daily practising the art and regularly stays up to 4am to sew new costumes.
“She has basically dedicated her life to it, and me and Mum feel we just have to do what we can to support her.”
Sujadi has won several international belly dancing competitions, including the Raqs Cancun competition in Mexico in 2018, and was a finalist a year earlier in the Miami Belly Dance Covention in Florida.
She was a Miss Universe NZ finalist in 2014.
Reza Sarkheil, owner of Rumi Persian restaurant in Parnell, also from Iran, says most Iranians would not have grown up with belly dancing as a form of entertainment.
“I personally have nothing against belly dancing, but it is not something that originated from Iran and for many Iranians here, it is not something they are comfortable with.”