A 1980s bass line is thumping. Young men, some shirtless, dressed in sweats or cargo pants, are lifting and swirling their bodies to the beat. These are not flimsy ballet dancers; they are tall, sinewy, muscled young dudes. They’ve got attitude.

In front stands a small man, an earring glinting in his ear. His salt-and-pepper hair betrays an age not otherwise evident as he spins on one foot, arms lifted, demonstrating the step he’s looking for.

This scene is set in the Cairo Opera House, but opera it is not: This is the Egyptian Modern Dance Theater Company and, despite its penchant for controversy, it has become an incontrovertible fixture in the local art world.

These 11 men and their nine female colleagues — waiting in the wings to practice the sequence — make up the dance company, now in its fifteenth year. The dancers range in age from 17 to 30; their salt-and-pepper teacher is choreographer and director Walid Aouni, a legendary figure in the Arab world of dance.

While the battle for acceptance as a legitimate art form isn’t over, Aouni says that Egypt is much more open to modern dance today than it was 18 years ago, when he first arrived from his homeland of Lebanon.

“Some people didn’t like it at all,” he says of the difficult early years with the fledgling dance company. “The attitude was ‘go home, Walid Aouni!’” he recalls. “There was so much misunderstanding: ‘Why do you have to walk on this side of art’?”

Courtesy Walid Aouni

Egyptians did not understand the abstract nature of modern dance in the early 1990s, Aouni says. The genre uses symbolism and suggestion in its performances; everything is open for interpretation by the audience. It is the antithesis of ballet and its fairy-tale plots that were already dear and familiar to Egyptians. “[Ballet] is romantic: it has a beginning and an end, a battle between bad and good, and the bad guy dies in the end,” he says.

When Aouni founded the Egyptian Modern Dance Theater Company in 1993, despite its status as a government institution fully funded by the Ministry of Culture, modern dance was something most Egyptians had never experienced. The Lebanese choreographer had landed in Egypt almost by chance, after coming to Cairo in 1990 with a Belgian dance company to present a show.

Then (and now) Minister of Culture Farouk Hosni, an avid supporter of the arts, saw the show and asked Aouni to consider setting up a modern dance company in Egypt. Aouni seemed a solid candidate: He had a list of successful shows, a reputation as a rising star in dance and, being Lebanese, a fluent command of Arabic.

He accepted the offer and started from scratch, opening auditions and launching his company.

Despite an initial backlash, there was a glimmer of hope for the dancers even then. It wasn’t a complete rejection. “Some said, ‘this is what we want,’” Aouni recalls.

Courtesy Walid Aouni

That hope, coupled with Aouni’s tenacity, kept the dancers going. Fighting low show attendance, booing audiences and public outrage, the company survived, putting on notable shows such as The Fall of Icarus, Elephants Hide to Die, and The Smell of Ice. The troupe won awards at home and abroad and slowly gained recognition for their art form.

Indeed, beyond just surviving, the company expanded, progressing to the next step in the nation’s artistic dance evolution: the opening of the Modern Dance School in 2002. Another trial by fire, it left many burned and the public, at the outset, confused. “A lot of [people] thought it was a belly dance school,” Aouni says.

Despite the skepticism, young people turned out for the auditions, if not in droves, in decent numbers, he says, and he soon had a full class ready to tackle the first three-year program.

Public and religious outcry was fierce, however, and the pressure was too much for many students. Many quit — only one month before one major performance, 11 of 20 students had jumped ship. “It was very bad,” Aouni says pragmatically. The choreographer didn’t let it stop him. He put the show on anyway. He says it was a success.

Modern dance’s struggle for acceptance here is tied to the idea that it is haram (forbidden) in Islam.

“Contact between men and women is something forbidden in Islam,” Sheikh Mohamed Shaheen of El-Salam Mosque in Cairo says. “Nothing good or beneficial comes of it other than satisfying desires and pleasures in a filthy way that is not appropriate.”

Unique in the Arab world, the modern dance school and company, both under the auspices of the Ministry of Culture’s Cairo Opera House, are fully funded by the government. Though the other Arab dancing communities are envious — it’s hard to make a living on the stage without government help — it’s ironic, Aouni says, that the company and school are in Egypt.

“We are the example for the other Arab companies,” he says, “and, at the same time, we have the country the most against the dance: Here it is very controversial.”

It’s not hard to see why the conservative set might balk. Two recent performances included, among other elements, male duets with homoerotic undertones, an angel/demon theme, and a dramatic and bloody staged throat-cutting.

Courtesy Walid Aouni Opposite top: It is not all modern — many traditional Middle Eastern elements were worked into Sheherazade Monalisa, the opening show for this year’s Modern Dance Festival.

Modern dance includes the word ‘modern’ for a reason — it blazes new territory.

Shaheen is adamant that the government funding of modern dance is unacceptable in Islam. “The supporter of good deeds is a doer of good deeds and the supporter of bad deeds is a doer of bad deeds,” he says, “so the government shouldn’t support bad deeds.” The sheikh wants to see the government stop funding it and the company shut down.

The perceived controversy has led to verbal attacks on Aouni, his company and the Ministry of Culture. The opposition can be heavy, according to Tarek Sharara, a composer who wears many hats in the Ministry of Culture, including Opera House board member and member of the High Council for Culture.

“The dark side [of the opposition] is really dark, but it’s not as dark as it used to be,” he says, claiming that beyond those who genuinely oppose the dance, it has also been used as a political scapegoat for those wishing to make trouble for the Minister of Culture.

“[Hosni] was attacked several times because [people erroneously believe] he is spreading the art of belly dance,” says Sharara. “People who want to attack the minister find this a very interesting subject and give him a bad time about it.”

Mohamed Allouba Opposite bottom: In the studio, the dancers practice fundamentals under Walid Aouni’s careful tutelage.

Despite this, Sharara says, the ministry has remained a steadfast supporter of modern dance, despite the backlash that has been there since the beginning. “The minister is broad minded. The minister knows what he’s doing very, very well and [he] has a very clear vision of what he wants.”

Sharara credits long-term leadership as an integral part of the school and the company’s success, noting that both Hosni and Aouni have stayed in their positions since the company was founded 15 years ago.

From sexually suggestive movements to dancers clad only in underwear, not to mention the young artists engaging in all kinds of bodily contact with each other, boundaries are always being pushed, and sometimes toppled over, on the modern dance stage.

He isn’t officially censored, Aouni says, but acknowledges that he has to consider his audience at the same time: He’s not going to deliberately create something to offend and infuriate.

Courtesy Ayman Kessam Above: From traditional to ultra-modern, Kessam’s choreography is known for pushing the boundaries of creativity.

Sharara, who worked for the Ministry of Culture’s Censorship Department for 20 years, says that while the government vets plays, movies, screenplays and song lyrics and cuts what it deems unsavory content, it tends to leave modern dance alone.

“Usually they leave it to the one responsible and [Aouni] is the one responsible. He should be the one who censors his work,” Sharara says. “He has his own ethics, he has his own beliefs, and he should act accordingly. He shouldn’t be doing something deliberately obscene. Everybody knows his limits.”

This makes it more intriguing, Aouni says. He has to think very carefully about presenting an idea. In Europe, where they have total creative freedom, the lack of restriction often leads to over-the-top results.

“In Europe, they start to be nude, nude, nude, and I don’t like this,” the choreographer says. “I find a way to do it better, to be more symbolic, more interesting.”

Behind the public discourse, the perceived glamor of an artistic career and the mind-bending shows, are a group of about 25 people — the company and the school — who show up at the Opera House every day to stretch their limbs and throw their bodies into moves most of us can only imagine accomplishing. Their muscles never stop hurting. They face censure from people who believe their career is a sin. And still they dance, because they believe in it and because there is nothing else in the world that brings them such joy.

In the company’s sunny practice studio, Ayman Kessam stands out — at 1.8 meters tall and some 80 kilograms, he looks more like a warrior than a dancer. With his shaved head, dark rolled up sweatpants and t-shirt, his is a commanding presence. Not only did Kessam dance the lead role of the villain in Sheherazade Monalisa, Aouni’s opening performance at the 2008 dance festival, he also choreographed A Taste of My Fears for the festival, the first time he had entered a show of his own.

“I was so scared,” Kessam says of creating his own show, an appropriate sentiment considering its title. Though he has choreographed a star-studded list of music videos, he had never before created a specific piece of modern dance.

Despite his words, it’s hard to see any fear in Kessam. He has fought for 11 years to get where he is, and it shows in a defiance that lies behind his friendly exterior. His father — a military man and Olympic track team coach — forbade him to dance as a boy, so Kessam ran track instead. When he asked his father for permission to take up for patinage (artistic roller skating) he was told instead that he would study kung fu. Tragically, it was the death of his parents that gave him the opportunity to finally follow his heart. When he was 17, Kessam left his remaining family in Upper Egypt and set off to Cairo alone, joining Aouni’s company in 1998.

Surviving on his own, molding himself from an orphaned boy into an accomplished professional, has made him strong. The public’s beliefs about his style of dance no longer have the power to affect him. “I don’t ask anybody about their opinion. I am tired,” he says bluntly. “What difference is it going to make for me? I am going to continue.”

Despite some religious leaders who insist dance is haram, Kessam has a hard time believing that dance is a sin. “I’m convinced I am doing something good, I’m not doing something bad for God to punish me. I make people happy.”

The artistic field is growing and public perception is improving, but there are still times when it’s tough to be a dancer. Kessam says that show time can be hard on the dancers’ spirits.

“We practice with Mr. Walid [Aouni] for six months for a performance, killing ourselves, and in the end you see [just] a few people come [to the show],” he notes. “This is really bad.”

Part of the problem is that modern dance is not even on Egypt’s radar, he says. Too many people still don’t know it exists.

Monadel Antar, another principal in the company, is working on getting that message out into the public eye.

Unlike Kessam, Antar came to the dance world with full approval. Growing up in a family brimming with artistic talent — an opera singer, an international aerobics instructor, and multiple poets among them — he started dancing at the age of eight, at the Institute for Art in Cairo.

“I wasn’t that good,” he recalls with a smile. “I wasn’t focused on it, I was just a kid.” It was years later that he realized how much he loved dancing. Originally he studied classical ballet, but found it didn’t fit with his rebel spirit. It was at age 16, when he left Egypt on a two-year scholarship to the London Contemporary Dance School, that Antar discovered the sky’s-the-limit freedom of expression in modern dance. He joined Aouni’s company in 2001.

Modern dance works for him because he has never fit into molds, he says. “I think with my heart. I want to break every rule that we’ve got. I’ve got that passion.”

It is easier to be a modern dancer now than it was 10 years ago, Antar believes. “Now the people understand it much more, it’s not like before. The mentality of people is changing a little bit.”

Like Kessam, Antar also had a show of his own in the modern dance festival, Machines. In an Al-Ahram Weekly review, it was described as “one of the best items in the festival.”

Despite the occasional good press, prejudice is hard to eradicate. Antar says that the dancers stick together as much as they can; it’s easier than dealing with Egyptian society’s sometimes negative view of their careers.

“We hang out together, we eat together, we work together. When you actually leave [the company of other dancers] people act different, especially the guys. ‘You are a man dancing?’” Antar says, imitating the disgusted look he receives.

Dancers marry dancers, or foreigners, he says, as the latter tend to be more understanding.

The crux of the situation is this, says Sharara. “Dancing in some minds is belly dancing. Belly dancing equals obscenity. So people think that if there is a girl dancing, it means she is going to be a prostitute. As for the boys, dancing means being effeminate and this is not approved.”

Back in the studio, the dancers are starting to sweat through their stretchy cotton practice clothes. It may be art, but it is damn hard work to create. Aouni is on both feet, bent over, jumping backwards. It looks a little crazy, but as he says, you have to be a little crazy to survive as a dancer in Egypt. Everything new seems bizarre at first, people just need to get used to it, Aouni says. Egypt is ready to embrace modern dancing, Antar says. “People are tired. They want to change.”

A modern dance festival made up completely of Egyptian dance companies this year was definitely a milestone. “In the end, it’s really good to see Egyptians doing their own performances for the first time — the first time it is all Egyptian and this is amazing,” says Kessam.

The 2008 festival was the result of the past five years’ steady increase in the number of small dance companies. Young people with talent are getting together and putting shows together.

“It is a lot of people working independently,” Antar says. “They work with not much money and cheap materials, but it is good art, they work with the power of the human being, power of their talent. That is what is happening in Cairo.”

“It’s coming a little bit late, but better late than never,” he adds. “Now we got the hope.” et