I sit on the rough grass as part of a large circle. Two firepits glow warmly inside the circle, offsetting the chilly night air. It is unusually cold for July.
My body throbs as my hands pound out a rhythm on the skin head of a drum. I hold the drum in my lap, cradled like a lover's head on my thigh. Other people play drums around me, and I watch their hands to know the rhythm. The dum dum dum of the drums dictates my heart beat, which races as the tempo becomes frantic. I want to close my eyes and become enveloped in the rhythm, but I dare not risk missing the changing of the beat nor the beauty around me.
Two women dance around the fire. One is a lithe young figure: she is barely twenty and already has the finely toned body of an experienced dancer. Her hips seem to cut through the night air as the scarves around her waist snap and float, teasing the fire and the crowd.
The other woman is a bit older and shows it through her experienced dancing. Her stomach extends in front of her. It is grown large with child. As she moves, one hand holds her child close; she pulls the child into her dance. Her body moves sensuously. I never realized a pregnant woman could be so sexy. Her knees bend slowly as she undulates around the mass of her baby. As the drums increase, so does the tempo of her dancing. She closes her eyes, oblivious to the fire, the people, the surroundings. She knows only the drums and her body. Together, the woman and her child dance in perfect unison.
The drums begin to slow and she sways her body in slow circles, popping her hips slightly -- she does not interrupt the motion of her belly, which continues to move with her body in fluid motions. I find it hard to watch the drummers, even though it is my duty to help carry the beat. Her motions are mesmerizing. Her baby dance makes me feel proud to be female; she knows that there is no shame in her baby nor the new way her body has grown.