Midnight on the Nile Maxim and as the floating restaurant cruises slowly up river an assortment of tourists and local Egyptians, bloated on an over-priced three-course dinner, sit back for the main attraction of the evening.

With the body of a youthful Sophia Loren and the attitude of a made-for-Hollywood Cleopatra, Asmahan appears dressed in tinselled lycra. As she begins to gyrate, she seems to lead an assortment of local instruments along the rhythms of her body.

In an act lasting about an hour, Asmahan goes through various changes of dress and movement, which culminates in in frenzied contortions of a waist and upper body that is barely veiled in leopard stripes.

Belly-dancing is alive and well and flourishing in Cairo but quite where it fits into local culture and what it tells us about Egypt remains a subject of ongoing debate.

As author Max Rodenbeck has written, "when Arabs think of Cairo, they think of it as a repository of Arabness: the seat of the great universities, the largest libraries, the biggest-circulation newspapers, the most vibrant pop culture" - and the best belly-dancing.

Purists are keen to counter any attempt to equate belly-dancing with western strip-tease or lap-dancing. The difference lies between a cultural expression rooted in oriental history and a crude commercial exploitation of the female body - a 20th century western commodity. "The music is her body" is the concept.

Expatriate bankers and their visitors may fantasise over local temptresses, just as 18th century French travellers did, but varied and sophisticated dancing scenes similar to those expressed by the most locally respected belly-dancers date back to at least 4th century BC. It was then that a report from Memphis described in detail the performance of a rumba-like dance with an unquestionably erotic character: a sensual allure based not so much on the amount of naked flesh displayed as on the gracefulness of the movement.

Today, as then, "pure" dancing requires effortless control, a technique that defies imitation. "Belly-dancing has to be a feeling and an expression. It is an art form or it is nothing," says Asmahan.

That Asmahan turns out to be only her stage name, and that she is in fact Argentine hints a little as to how times have changed.

Asmahan claims to belong to a superior league rather than to the east Europeans and other foreign belly dancers that entertain visitors from the Gulf in some of the more disreputable casinos of Cairo's Pyramid road - often for a little as $40 per night.

She makes between $8,000 and $10,000 per show - equivalent to seven times the annual average per capita income and almost as much as the two top Egyptian performers - Fifi Abdou and Dina. It is, she insists, thanks to the "quality" of her show that she has achieved such success.

Among her sources of revenue are the private weddings of the rich where the belly dancer still has an important social role to play. "The dancer excites the crowd, creates an atmosphere of gaiety, celebration and a chance for all to let their hair down," says anthropologist Hania Sholkany. "She also inspires the lust of the groom, preparing him for the night ahead when his virility is seen as the essence."

Asmahan insists that she never allows herself to be touched nor does she offer her services for sex. To that extent she claims to follow consciously the morality and rules of shame which historically regulated the dancing profession in village communities.

And yet, for some orthodox Moslems, nightclub entertainers retain a certain infamy partly because they are perceived as greedy women who are going after the money of rich tourists and partly because of their potential to cause fitna (sexual disorder and chaos).

Nonetheless belly-dancing has survived through centuries of political and social change, and shows no sign of disappearing. King Farouk had a belly-dancer as a very public mistress. Former President Nasser insisted that belly-dancers should cover their midriffs.

As for Asmahan, when not doing night-clubs, weddings, or foreign TV shows, the Argentine-turned-Egyptian entertains military officers. "It is the military who really rule this country," says Asmahan.


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