how to belly-dance

"Westerners are obsessed with control and the notion that you have to try harder if you want to get better at something. The most difficult thing is learning to relax. But if you're doing a shimmy, for example, you have to relax into it; if you make too much of an effort, your muscles tense up." Two dozen assorted young women listen intently.

Jo Wise has been teaching Egyptian dance for more than a decade. The folds of her aqua and gold Tunisian dress cling to her ample curves as her hips quiver in a demonstration shimmy. But I can't relax, no matter how hard I try. My hips prefer getting funky to undulating sensuously and my camel walk is, well, too like a camel.

Wise calls her class Egyptian dance, rather than belly-dance, to distinguish it from the Westernised version we get in cabaret over here, and, responding to the steady increase in demand, has recently set up a teaching qualification. Unlike other teachers, her class involves no controlled, ballet-style moves - the secret is to let it all hang out.

The camel walk, for instance, requires that you stick your bum out at the start of a gentle sashay, slowly pushing your tummy out as you move forward, and ending by sticking your rear out again.

"It appeals to women because it's a great way of getting fit without sweating buckets," Wise explains. "But it's also a very sensual celebration of their bodies. You don't have to be as thin as a pin to do it - in fact, it's better if you're not. Women who might feel ashamed of their bodies don't have to squeeze into tights and a leotard; you can put on big earrings and a long skirt and feel absolutely gorgeous."

The class is billed as a drop-in lesson for beginners but it's clear, by the scarves they've got tied around their hips, that some people have done it before. The scarves have small coins sewn into them which tinkle seductively with each wiggle. It's a tradition which stems from the Bedouins - as nomads they found the best way of transporting their wealth was by wearing it. Otherwise, what you wear depends on whether you're dancing in the folk, classical or urban beladi styles, but - as a political statement of their liberated status - dancers don't wear a veil.

The dance itself, or something like it, is depicted in cave paintings but it was brought to the West by Victorian explorers. They were shocked by all the rolling of bare hips when the wife back home was tied into a corset. Wise explains: "Although the dance is sexy, it doesn't deserve the lascivious reputation it's had since then. In Egypt it's done by and for men and women to mark any kind of celebration." And the term belly- dance, derived from the French danse du ventre, is something of a misnomer - the dance actually involves different combinations of hip, shoulder and arm movements.

Across the room, naked tummies of all shapes and sizes start to take on a life of their own as we progress to the figure of eight - a complicated move that involves revolving each hip independently of the other. In a bare, badly-lit studio in Bloomsbury, I catch myself gawping admiringly at the pot-bellies of strangers. "You need energy for this class," Wise advises. "Eat a bar of chocolate on your way in." I'm still not relaxed, but it's the only time in my life I've thought I might look better if I was fatter.

ELLIE HUGHES

Further details from Jo Wise, The Drill Hall, 16 Chenies Street, London, WC1 (0171-631 5107). pounds 5 for 90 minutes, pounds 4 concs