Dance with me

Performing arts Always in search of the next milonga, adherents of the Argentinian dance of tango have carved out a community for themselves in Abu Dhabi.

Rami el Borini and Maya Saliba lead a tango class at the International Music Institute in Abu Dhabi.

It is tango night at the Institute of Music in Abu Dhabi and in the hope of acquiring a dynamic new hobby, I have donned my most voluminous skirt. A growing community of dancers have been meeting here since February last year and classes can number anything from eight to 30. There's an international mix of pupils, from India, Pakistan, France, Germany, Bulgaria, Syria, Lebanon and New Zealand, even the Argentinian ambassador has been known to drop in from time to time.

Rami el Borini, an electrical design engineer by day, co-hosts the classes with Maya Saliba, a Lebanese catering and conference director. Originally from Alexandria, Borini learnt the art of tango in Cairo before moving to Abu Dhabi two years ago. "I heard it described as a dance for one body and four legs, and was intrigued," he tells me. Saliba, a tango convert of two years, had been doing ballroom and Latin dancing all her life, before promptly dropping them in favour of tango once she discovered the thriving scene in Dubai. These classes are important in order to teach people the steps, she tells me, but the weekly "milongas" in Dubai, where people from across the region come together to dance and socialise, are the heart of the community. "You need to go to the milongas to really evolve," she says.

Inside the wooden-floored, mirror-clad studio, a middle-aged man in trainers chats to a young woman in stilettos as they practise their steps in the corner and I loiter awkwardly, unsure of the etiquette. A wave of panic washes over me as people pair off and I am left staring at the floor, surprised by feelings of dejection I haven't known since I was booted off the netball team at school. Borini comes to my rescue and starts talking me through the basics. "The tango consists of a combination of linear and circular movements." I am just grasping this concept when a couple sweep past, all but knocking me off my feet.

"How do they know where they're going?" I ask, as the determined-looking duo continue their trajectory towards the door. "The man leads and the woman follows," he explains, before going on to point out the anti-clockwise rotation around the room. I gingerly assume "the position", which involves one hand on Borini's waist and the other clasping his hand. Call me a repressed Northern European, but there is a something rather blush-inducing about such proximity with an entirely new acquaintance. Sweaty palm to sweaty palm, I feel a little awkward. We start by "bouncing" from foot to foot, which is necessary to find your rhythm. And then we're off. It's actually surprisingly easy to predict his steps and Borini generously asks if I'm sure I haven't done this before. I quickly get to grips with the "ocho", a back-and-forth figure-of-eight movement, and am trying to ignore the other pairs, who are all engaged in earnest conversations - presumably of a technical nature - as they move around the floor.

I have so many questions, I'm not sure where to start: how do you know who to dance with? What's the dancer's relationship with the music? What makes a good dancers truly great? But the concentration required to follow what Borini is doing is rendering me speechless and my questions will have to wait. He tells me I need only look at his chest to see what he's doing, and more experienced dancers can do the entire thing with their eyes closed. I don't dare tear my eyes from his feet yet, though, in case I step on them.

Soon Borini's expertise is required elsewhere and I am paired with a new partner: a kindly middle-aged Frenchman has agreed to take me on with my 10 minutes of experience. He has been learning for a couple of months, he tells me, and is encouragingly adept, calmly correcting me when I step forward with the wrong foot yet again. A heart-wrenching warbling is coming from the stereo, a reminder of tango's less-than-joyful roots in the poorer neighbourhoods of Buenos Aires, where, towards the end of the 19th century, the thousands of European and African immigrants who had flooded the city in search of work gathered in bars to dance.

We pause to learn a new move - the boleo, an elaborate kind of ocho which culminates in a sharp, backwards kick. Borini and Saliba take the floor to demonstrate and we try to copy, some with more success than others. Saliba rushes over and tells me not to worry, before giving me a beginner's version, which I practise at the bar. My next partner, another Frenchman, is absurdly tall and only one lesson up on me, but our mutual lack of expertise proves to be a winning combination. After a few false moves, we are soon whirling around, back and forth, giggling conspiratorially when we get it wrong and congratulating each other when we finally get to grips with the "code of march", an intricate manoeuvre that involves stepping around one another's legs.

The session is over all too soon, but not before we're treated to a tango tradition: it is one of the party's birthdays and each of the men gets to dance with the lucky lady. It's the first proper tango display I've seen and I get a glimpse of its magnetic appeal: the pairs are utterly in synch, their legs sliding and flicking around each other, the woman anticipating his every move with an appropriate response. And she's definitely not looking at his feet. The group then disperse, agreeing to meet at the milonga taking place in Dubai later in the week.

The classes are easy enough, but I am intrigued by the dancers willingness to drive through the night to Dubai and back for a couple of hours' tangoing at the milongas. "Tango is much deeper than a dance; it's a lifestyle," Borini says. "When I started, I liked the dancing and music and was keen on learning it properly, but soon I discovered that it isn't just a dance. It's a mood that brings you feelings of joy and happiness."

"The people in the tango community are no longer just partners, they're friends," he adds. "In fact, most of the people I have been dealing with closely over the last four years are from the tango community - the people I go out with, the people I play sports with." "It goes even further," says Saliba. "You plan your holiday around tango. When you go somewhere you don't know, the first thing you do is find where the milonga is. It's not only to dance, but to meet other people from the community."

As I leave them chatting excitedly over the plans for next week's lesson, it is easy to see why this defiant, dramatic dance is flourishing once again, this time far from Buenos Aires and among whole new group of displaced foreigners: this community consists of not just dance partners, but of friends with a shared passion. "But more than anything," he says, "for three minutes, the piece of music tells a story. Sometimes it's very sad, sometimes very happy; you can't describe it, you have to feel it. But it's something that makes you wake up the next day and think, 'I had a great night'."
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