I arrived on time for my first flamenco classes. After partially giving up tango-salsa, and realizing that modern dance, at least here, is too acrobatic for me, I was left with flamenco. I think I am lucky to find in it what I like and I’ve been looking for. So now I have to prove that I can pursue this dancing goal – excuses apart.


Dancing flamenco with me are: two Spanish dancers with the necessary expertise, one of them being our teacher; an enthusiastic Mozambican dancer, with ballet training since three years old; and finally, a Mozambican ballerina belonging to a ten years old dance company with several shows, both in the country and abroad. I have to say that this flamenco has more of serious dance than folklore. Most of the time we produce the music and tempo by stepping, clapping hands and whatever. Seabell is a welcomed intruder, but she is decided to sweat blood and tears in order to make it right.


We all feel the magic of the place where we are dancing. It’s called Casa Velha (Old House), but in fact it’s more a ruin than just an old building. But it’s a ruin with signed painted glasses and other fantastic features. In some moments of the class, I can’t help being fascinated by the shafts of light coming through the windows. In the room where we dance there is only an old piano with a brief note telling: “Please, don’t touch. Out of order”. The note is signed and the word piano underlined, maybe to teach the name or importance of the object to an occasional reader. We use a narrow decrepit stage with three steps to sit on and do almost everything, when not dancing. The floor is so old that we have to forget how old it is to have the courage to step on it. Our tiny joyful teacher said: “Let’s step it down! Then, they will have to recuperate the place…”


This is going to be the highlight of my life from now on. Passion never dies. We just swap one passion for another. And keep trying…