Opening Arabesque Academy
Ken was hammering green and pink floral fabric onto the wooden bench he had constructed along two walls while his wife Pierette arranged small pillows in the same fabric. This bench was where my future students would wait for a class or hang out to chat in my soon-to-be dance school, “Arabesque Academy, School of Middle Eastern Dance.” Pierette was one of Canada’s top interior designers, and I was lucky that she and Ken were my parents’ good friends. Pierette helped me pick out the colour theme and office furniture at Ikea. It was all coming together just hours before the opening party.
My musician buddies Bashir, Garo, and Zaki were coming to play for the guests. The Yasmina Dance Troupe would perform, and my mom had arranged cater waiters to serve champagne and gourmet hors d’oeuvres. The school had an open concept with one dance studio, a waist-high divider between it and the waiting lounge, an office, a small kitchenette, and a washroom. The school was on the second floor of a commercial townhouse in the high-end downtown Toronto area called Yorkville. The front of the building was painted black with large four-foot metallic gold letters spelling “Arabesque Academy,” taking the entire width of the building below the arched windows.
Between my parents on a campaign to get me back to school or secure a real job and the general Western public believing belly dance was an exotic form of striptease, I knew I had to take action to continue what was now a passion for Middle Eastern dance. My solution was to open a school where I would educate Canadians on the art form’s cultural significance, emotional expression, and intricate technique. I planned to prove all the preconceptions and stereotypes about belly dance were wrong. The school would make my art legitimate while satisfying my parents that I had a real job.
Among the famous designer stores, I chose Yorkville as the location in a deliberate branding choice. Calling it the school of Middle Eastern dance instead of belly dance was also intentional. My dad came up with the name “Arabesque”. He explained that having a name starting with the letter “A” helped to be seen on any lists alphabetically. I enrolled in a small business course that helped me construct a business plan. The teacher told me that a belly dance school would never work and that I should stop wasting my time and money. Ignoring his advice, I applied for a small business loan and was turned down repeatedly.
One of the bank managers called me into his private office for a meeting and showed me my 8X10 promo photo in a gold and orange costume he had pulled out of my file. As my photo stared back at me on his heavy, dark wooden desk, he mentioned, “That is quite the picture.” I instantly regretted including the photo, but part of the business plan lesson was to include photographs pertaining to your business, and this was my best example. He said he was happy to authorize the loan and asked if I would go to lunch with him to discuss business. I had no interest in sharing a meal with this man who looked like a husband and father of two children, so I politely declined lunch and thanked him for the loan.
When I called the next day to discuss transferring the money to the new account I had opened at their bank, I was informed that my loan was no longer approved. Finally, I met with the first female bank manager, and she loved my business plan. So I was off to the races in the summer of 1987, paying first and last month’s rent, installing a wall of mirrors and thin, hard teal green carpet. I wrote the branch manager where the loan was canceled and received a nice response apologizing and informing me that the loan manager had been fired. Yes!
