Belly Dancing and Beating the Odds: How one woman’s passion helped her overcome breast cancer. Yvette Cowles
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HarperTrueLife
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First published by HarperTrueLife 2014
FIRST EDITION
Text © Yvette Cowles 2014
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Cover layout © HarperCollinsPublishers 2014
Yvette Cowles asserts the moral right to
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Ebook Edition © October 2014 ISBN: 9780007585649
Version: 2014-09-17
I would like to dedicate this book:
To anyone whose life has been touched by cancer;
To all my belly dancing buddies for their laughter, friendship and inspiration;
And, of course, to my mother, Mrs Doreen Cowles, ‘my rock’, without whom none of this would have been possible.
‘When it rains it pours. Maybe the art of life is to convert tough times to great experiences; we can choose to hate the rain or dance in it.’
Joan Marques
Contents
Chapter 1: The Seeds of an Obsession
Chapter 2: Cancer – Round One!
Chapter 4: Cancer – Round Two!
Chapter 5: Cancer – Round Three!
Chapter 6: Sequins on My Balcony
Chapter 8: Ten Lessons I’ve Learned (The Hard Way!)
If you liked this, why not try …?
Chapter 1
Little did I know when I first discovered belly dance that it would turn into a life-long obsession, take me to far-flung places, provide me with the best friends I could ever wish for and keep me going through some of the darkest periods of my life. My first encounter with belly dance took place in the exotic surroundings of St Étienne, a town in eastern France best known for coal mining, bicycles and a moderately successful football team.
My love affair began while I was round at Samira’s house, enjoying mint tea and cake with the girls. Samira had put on some Arabic music and Naget picked up a hip-scarf and started to dance to it. Her hips shimmied so vigorously that the coins rattled and the fringing flew. While she danced the rest of the girls clapped and ululated – a sound known as the zaghreet – enthusiastically. It was captivating.
So it was that I discovered my passion for Arabic music and dance. At that time I was 22 and teaching English as a language student in a multicultural secondary school in St Étienne. My colleagues were pleasant enough but quite reserved, and I was quite perturbed when one of them gave me a signed picture of Jean-Marie Le Pen, president of the Front National, as a welcome present. I was lonely and homesick, but Samira, Naget and the other North African girls in my class took me under their wing, invited me round to their houses for mint tea and welcomed me into their world.
When Naget finished dancing she handed me the scarf. I was petrified! My legs turned to jelly, I was rooted to the spot and my hips wouldn’t budge. But, little by little, thanks to the warmth and encouragement of my new-found sisters, I learned to shed my inhibitions, let go and enjoy myself. My hips happily made the circles and ‘figure eights’ that the girls taught me, and my shoulders shimmied as enthusiastically as theirs. After years of stressing about my weight, and struggling with anorexia and bulimia, at last I had discovered a sensual and mesmerising dance form that celebrated the female form and could look beautiful whatever a woman’s age, size or shape. I was completely entranced.
Those afternoon dance sessions became a regular fixture. I loved those girls and their families;