In the Villa, Tuesday nights before dinner are reserved for dance classes. Estela, the instructor, usually comes to teach a variety of traditional dances to a crowd of about thirty children. This past Tuesday, however, was an exception, as the mamás and tías were the ones in the limelight. In anticipation of the 17th anniversary party of the Villa in December, Estela has begun training the adults in the Villa folkloric dances. I knew nothing of this until Evelyn, a young girl from La Casa Kantuta, knocked on my door at 6 on Tuesday night and told me that the dance classes were about to start. I asked her what she was talking about, and she reminded me of how I had agreed to dance in the fiesta in December. I certainly did not remember saying anything of the sort, but I also did not want to disappoint the many children (apparently) who were waiting outside the gym to see me perform. As I entered the gym, some of the excited children clapped their hands, while others led me to the center of the group of mamás and tías. I sheepishly said hello and immediately felt awkward upon noticing that I was the only male in the group. I asked if these dance lessons were for women only, but Estela assured me that men were an important part of the dance we were going to practice called ´´Tinku.´´ Yes, men, I thought, not just one American who has no clue what he is doing.
Still not feeling wholly comfortable but realizing that I was not going to be able to escape easily, I tried to prepare myself for the lesson. Estela said that we were going to do some exercises before we got started, which I interpreted as stretching to warm up the muscles before some serious cardio. It turns out that she meant we were going to get to know each other´s body chemistry better by pairing off and mimicking our partner´s movements. While it seemed comical and mundane, it did help me to focus on what we were doing. After several more similar exercises, we lined up for the real deal. I was sure that I would be lost amongst these people who had grown up watching the popular Tinku dance. But my worries were quickly eased when Estela showed me the one movement that the men perform--an upward thrust of the right knee and some bouncing from side to side. Even a gringo with two left feet like me could master this part. I danced in front of the women, bobbing up and down, leading them to the end of the basketball court. Outside of the gym, the children peered in and cheered me on (or they mocked my style, not really sure). In any event, after an hour of this repetitive motion my right leg ached, and I was sure that the nightime games of basketball and soccer were going to be difficult. Finally, Estela called for us to stop, and I issued a sigh of relief. Despite the fact that I was tired and in need of a Bengay treatment, I was happy that I had gone and learned the dance. As the mamás and tías filed out of the gym, I asked Estela if she could bring me a video of the dance next week, so that I could see what it really looked like in action. She agreed and thanked me for my enthusiasm. More importantly, she promised me that I would not be the only male in the dance during the big fiesta.
When I left the gym, the children who had watched the lesson complimented me on my form and energy (which may have been a little too much, as Bolivians are pretty reserved people). Even though I thought I had probably looked quite silly during the dance, I appreciated their support. I got the opportunity to actively participate in a part of the Bolivian culture that I otherwise would never have pursued. I hope that by next Tuesday I will have improved and that I will have a male counterpart to share in the experience.