“Does each move really have a meaning?” “Yes, my dear.” “What’s the significance of that hip movement?" Her dark eyes laughed even as she shook her head in disapproval. “Silly daughter, you will understand soon. But now you do not need to know, you just need to learn. Now, again. Step, hip, step, hip, step, around. Yes, good. Don’t forget your hands.” I followed her in a poor imitation. My mother was teaching me the Tanoura. She gracefully moved from step to step in a circle around me, hips shimmying and feet stomping out a beat. Her dress swirled around her like a sandstorm. I had come into my womanhood and tonight we would go into the desert and celebrate with all the women of my family. I would dance for the first time and become part of our tribe’s sisterhood. Step, hip, step, hip, step, around. Don’t forget my hands. Step, heel, step, around, hip, hip, hip. Again, and again until my legs shook with exhaustion, and sweat dripped off my sun-darkened brows.
I like the image you've created with the senses for this one
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