By: Favour Bamijoko
It was on Sunday, an inferior, melancholic atmosphere. The weather was, for the most part, if not throughout, unimpressively dull. For some days, it had rained ceaselessly, and even on Sunday, it rained — but only briefly. So, the fear I had about a sudden rainfall compromising my plans was soon dispelled.
The fancy of cutting my teeth on the growing salsa culture in Ibadan had revolved around my consciousness for some time; for the experience; for the fun of it; for the thrill that comes with its many taps, twirls, tempo and tango; for blowing off the webs.
Come to think of it, isn’t it interesting, the thing called cultural diffusion? How a culture trait can originate within a cultural group, and spread from one group to another, and all around the globe (especially the ones that happens without coercion or the imposition of cultures typical of the crusades and jihads that rode on horseback, or the ones that advanced on the bayonets and rifles of colonialism). They are emissaries of the fact that the world — like misplaced pieces of a jigsaw puzzle — if pushed hard enough, will fit together, into one supercontinent.
The act, and art of salsa dancing find its roots in Cuba — an island country, or an archipelago that consists of about 1,600 smaller islands between North America and South America. One cannot say for certain when salsa originated or was created. While some have claimed it originated between the 19th century and 20th century, the term “salsa” was coined by Johnny Pacheco in the 1960s, in New York.
An umbrella term, “salsa” is a portmanteau of a variety of dance moves. Primarily, it started with Caribbean Mambo, rumba and the Cha Cha dance; and, as the dance became more diffused and exported, American swings and taps. Now, as it seems, every new culture group that adopts the dance refines it by adding a distinct element, bringing about new variations of salsa. So, from Cuban Salsa, the world has Latin Salsa, American Salsa, Afro-Latino Salsa, Colombian Salsa, Reuda de Casino.
Salsa is usually danced to an upbeat Afro-Cuban dance rhythm. Like the dance, it originated in the Caribbeans and was furnished in New York, during the mid-20 century. Combining the rhythmic elements of Caribbean rumba and American jazz, it is marked, heavily, with percussion instruments such as conga, bongo, Timbales; trombones, piano, trumpet, and claves.
Five times a week*, the floor at Merlot’s Lounge, Osuntokun becomes the dance floor for the salsa faithfuls in Ibadan, amongst whom are UI students. I arrive the warmly lit lounge to meet two couples dancing salsa to a song that is playing. Before long, more people arrive at the venue, and every space, soon, kindles into a flurry of movements.
Miguel Enriquez’s “Abre, Que Voy” (which roughly translates to “brace yourself, I’m going in”) comes on, and the movements get more virtuosic. But not for me. It is my first experience and I do not know the first thing about salsa. The instructor says, I remember, “start with the left foot.” I start. I trip. And Havana D’ Primera’s Me Dicen Cuba envelopes the room, starting with that opening line that translates to “I come from where the sun heats the earth.”
At Merlot’s, the strand of salsa practiced or danced is the Cuban Salsa. For beginners like me, learning salsa starts with learning the basics like the front-back, back-back, single step, double step, journey around the world, and the Cuban Turn. A beginner, as I observed, learns how to do the seven-count. This is so because every move of the Cuban Salsa rests on a seven-count movement.
The song, Salsa, by Yuri Buenaventura fills the air. I stand for a few minutes and watch others, who’ve gone beyond the basics show off their patterns and styles of the dance rhythm. They shine; they half-turn; they side-break; they swivel; and all the while, they dance in couples.
There’s a reason why sentimental songs like Marc Anthony’s Vivir Lo Nuestro make for the best choices when dancing salsa, which is majorly a partner dance. It’s because salsa is an electrifying, sensual type of dance, especially when it’s your partner you’re holding onto.
You could say — no, you could swear — that you need no other music less than the lyrics of Nuestro, with those opening lines “on a vast plain // as vast as the skies // i will shape a garden on which your body can sleep.” And with the closing lines “from a high mountain, high like the stars// i will shout that i love you.”
As paired dancers tap, and swivel, the electric current of the room ascends by a thousand volts. The intimate, close personal contacts, the flirtatious body movements and hip sways, endow the dance with romantic tendencies. It demands a form of passionate interaction between both dancers. From where I stand with one of the instructors, a female, I observe the sensual interplay between the other pairs.
In that moment, impulsed, I try to do the seven-count for starters. I am prompted by the fancy of having myself partnered up — I just need to get the basics. I contemplate my chances and begin — left foot first, 1-2-! I stagger to a sudden halt as I catch the back of my left foot with my right. I recycle the process. Several attempts after, I discontinue, but not before I am stopped from falling flat against the floor by the timely intervention of the female instructor who had been watching all along.
The fair, benign lady watched my choleric, haphazard movements. While I fancied the thought of pairing up with her, she must have watched my diabolic steps and had a premonition of what would happen if we paired together — barely two minutes into the song, I’d catch her foot in my chaos of movements and send us both sprawling across the floor. She saw this premonition and with courtesy, walked away from me to a fairly veteran dancer. He took her in his palms, and they pirouetted with grace to the center of the floor.
Ego depleted, I return to my seat. The instructor calls for a line dance, and the whole house oblige, dancing to four more songs. I watch from my seat as I decide to return to the University of Ibadan. The time is nearing 9:30 pm. The weather is now windy, and affable. The night, relentless, buoyed here and there with lights from a few nocturnal bars, and the darting lights from vehicles. And I submittingly, into the shrouding darkness.
(*) At Merlot’s Lounge, salsa faithfuls meet from Sunday to Thursday.
