Tweet06-11-2009 om 00:17 by Sueli Brodin

Given that I was born in the land of samba, one would think that I have a natural predisposition and aptitude for dancing. Early prospects actually looked promising: my parents told me that as a baby, before even taking my first steps, I would start dancing whenever I heard music. The story goes that I would stand up on my feet, grab any piece of furniture and start bending my knees in rhythm. Everyone laughed and joked that I had a clear cut career path ahead of me.

As I grew up however, my sense of rhythm completely vanished and at dance parties I’ve always felt like the stiffest person in the room.

I can’t say that I ever gave much thought to it though... up until now that is. All of a sudden, it is a matter that has started bothering me.

Is it because I’ve just turned 43 and am entering some sort of mid-life crisis?

Is it because my gym is now giving Zumba lessons and everyone in the changing room is talking so enthusiastically about them?

Or is it simply because the exotic name of Zumba sounds like a promise of the Latin American rhythms of my childhood?

At any rate, I decided to take my first Zumba lesson last week and have attended four of them so far. How have they made me feel? Exultant, euphoric.



I never thought that I would be able to say so soon that I’ve already become acquainted with salsa, merengue, cumbia, reggaeton, samba and even hip hop and jam.

Zumba classes, which are a mixture of energetic fitness steps and mostly Latin American grooves, were first developed by a Miami-based Colombian fitness instructor named Alberto “Beto” Perez. I read that Zumba means “to move fast and have fun” in Colombian Spanish and that it can also be connected to the Brazilian Portuguese word “samba” and the Spanish word “rumba”, which both evoke the same ideas.

The song I’ve enjoyed the most so far is called “Boro Boro” and involves Arabic looking dancing steps. The first time the instructor explained them, she unconsciously switched to the Limburg dialect, forcing me to pay double attention and engage not only in physical but also verbal gymnastics.

She pronounced names like “squid dance” and “Egyptian arms” and started showing us some very intriguing movements. When she put the music on, I couldn’t figure out in which language the lyrics were being sung, although the music sounded Middle-Eastern. The dance moves however were as exotic as I could have wished for.



The overwhelming majority of the people attending the Zumba classes are women – I’ve only seen one man so far, and he was actually one of the trainers at the gym. Our ages vary from 18 to 68, a sign that there is no age limit for dancing and having fun. Some of the dances we are taught are quite sensual, and the instructor sometimes smiles at us in the mirror and shouts: “Oooh sexy!” making every woman in the room feel very young and feminine.

The songs don’t last more than three or four minutes, and the challenge every time is to adapt to a new rhythm, new steps and new body moves. The hardest part for me up until now is to coordinate my arms and shoulders with my hips and legs. Luckily I’ve noticed that I’m not the only person in the room struggling with this, which is precisely what connects many of us and makes us laugh together, at each other and at ourselves.

Last night, after dancing once again on the mysterious “Boro Boro” song, I walked up to the instructor and asked her where it comes from. “Oh my,” she replied, slightly surprised, “I think it’s from Iran, or somewhere over there…” and then she said: “Do you know what it means in Persian? It means 'Go away!' Ha ha ha!”

As I started giggling with her,  she smartly added: “But I don’t care about that… It’s all about the music and the rhythm… They’re great, aren’t they? And that’s what counts, don’t you think?”

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