What It’s Like To…Revive the Art of Egyptian Cabaret in New York City

Through Haus of Dahab’s immersive cabaret nights blending live performances with DJ sets, Egyptian Americans immerse themselves in a nostalgia for times they never got to experience.

A bellydancer wearing a turquoise belly-dancing outfit is performing with long hair flying in front of a traditional ensemble of four musicians, playing the violin, tabla, saxophon,e and guitar.

“What sets this concept apart is its collaborative spirit, free from competition and devoid of ego.” - DJUNKIE, DJ at Haus of Dahab

Photo by Pat Plush. Courtesy of Haus of Dahab.


Cairo in the 1920s was a dazzling, cosmopolitan city, its music halls filled to the brim with people from around the world. They enjoyed comedy, popular singers, theater and dance, often led by women starlets. A creeping nationalism and Islamization tried to disappear their legacies as artistic and cultural pioneers. Still, now and then,somebodyretraces this history, which remains as relevant and inspiring today as it was 100 years ago.

In New York City, Haus of Dahab co-founders have channeled the spirit of Egyptian cabaret into legendary parties and intimate community gatherings since September 2023. "I grew up in America, and I only heard about the golden age of Egypt and the cabarets from my mom," Ruth, an Egyptian American who works in the legal industry, tells OkayAfrica. "It's a feeling of nostalgia for something I never experienced."

Nat, a theater director born in Egypt and who moved to the U.S. as a child, grew up watching Egyptian classics, craving the performances and dramas of Samia Gamal and Farid al-Atrash. Out of "delusion and impulse," the friends decided to curate a night that would combine live performance and the artistic forms of their culture with New York nightlife and queer culture. Ruth and Nat requested that people involved with this story only be identified by their first names.
A traditional Arab dancer is wearing a white semazen dress with red embroidery and a black belt with golden embroidery, twirling a rainbow-colored textile above his head.

From bellydance, maqam music, and mahraganat, to Egypt's infamous animal body suits and a spinning dervish, Haus of Dahab mixes the eclectic contemporary with thoughtful tradition.

Photo by Pat Plush. Courtesy of Haus of Dahab.

"There is something absolutely magical that takes place during a Haus of Dahab evening. The space can hold progressive values and cultural perseverance unlike any other mix I have seen before," says Egyptian bellydancer Sultana, who has performed at the party since its inception. "The kind of dancing I do there is something I am never able to replicate on any other stage. Egyptian joy and love are contagious."

Palestinian American Sami and his ensemble, Zikrayat, played at Dahab's first party and have been returning ever since. "The combination of being able to perform the music I love in a fun space that is incredibly inclusive and anti-Zionist is very fulfilling for me," he says. "Although I don't identify as queer, I am in solidarity with their struggles, and I want to be putting my music out there in a space where everyone feels welcome."

In parts edited for length and clarity, Nat and Ruth share their vision for and motivation behind Haus of Dahab.

A young woman is dancing in a keffiyeh, wearing a blue bikini top and a black belly dancer belt.

"Being from the diaspora, [Haus of Dahab] embodies a profound commitment to uplifting and supporting our culture, which truly resonates with me." - DJUNKIE, DJ at Haus of Dahab

Pat Plush. Courtesy of Haus of Dahab.

Nat: I met Ruth and her sister Demiana in 2020 at one of Ana Masreya's queer drag shows at the time. Demiana is the most Coptic name ever, so I immediately clocked them. The only other queer and Coptic person that I knew at the time was somebody all the elders had made an example out of in middle school, which disincentivized any of us from being friends with them. This was the first time I met someone who intersected with all these different identities as an adult, and I was like, 'We have to be friends. You have no choice.' One thing led to another, and now we have our own party.

Ruth: We were just emailing venues we had gone to and contacting DJs we had heard. It was a miracle that we got Sultana; she was San Francisco-based and never charged us the travel fee. Queer Egyptians were excited about this concept and almost volunteered their time. A lot of it was trial and error. People often ask if we enjoy the parties — we do — when the last DJ plays and when we go to the diner after. One of the DJs told me he could tell that I was in charge because I walked around looking like I was ready to fight somebody
A blond drag queen performing in a sequined pink dress.

"During the performance, we are very locked in. There's a show, there's cues, there's tech, there's much coordination. But we have moments while they're performing, and we can take a step back emotionally and enjoy." - Nat

Pat Plush. Courtesy of Haus of Dahab.

Nat: Coming from a background of theater and performance art, there's this push to get young people through theater doors because it has become a high school or very old-person activity. We market Dahab as a party night with cool DJs, so people walk in ready to embrace something they might otherwise not give the time of day. It's cool to bring that to our community and generation, to experience art and shake some ass immediately after.

Ruth: Money and time have been our biggest challenges so far. The ticket sales fund the party, but we heavily rely on volunteers. Demiana and Olli run our social media and create our content.

Nat: Demiana has a great voice and vision; she knows what people find funny. She sold out our first party.

Ruth: There's no face to the party, and we've done this on purpose. We want Haus of Dahab to exist independently from the organizers as its own personality — edgy, Gen Z, very Egyptian, and New York. We know how much of a stance it is to be a loud and proud queer Egyptian organization, and we operate within a context that is unsafe for people who belong to marginalized groups. While New York is one of the 'safest' places for Haus of Dahab to exist, it's always been dangerous to be queer, a person of color, and a woman.

Growing up among Egyptians, people have always been scared about what their parents or religious institutions are going to think, especially in Egypt, where it's illegal to be queer. We're still learning to balance making sure that our space is comforting while also sticking to our values: we believe that being queer and Middle Eastern doesn't mean that you need to be in the shadows or on the fringes of society when experiencing your own culture.

Philo, an Egyptian guest-turned-performer at Haus of Dahab, echoes Ruth's words. “Growing up in Egypt, I never had the chance to experience cabarets or nightlife as an openly queer person,” says Philo. Dahab provides a space for people who often don't have a safe place to be both queer and connected to our MENA roots. It's more than nightlife — it's a cultural home for people like me."
Two people are dancing in the middle of a crowded dance floor in human-sized dinosaur suits

"My favorite memory so far is the dinosaurs. At Egyptian popular parties, they have people wearing gorilla suits or other characters, so I was looking on Amazon to see what we could order. I thought these inflatable dinosaur suits were hysterical." - Ruth.

Photo by Oliver Wilson. Courtesy of Haus of Dahab.

Nat: We want to take the party outside of New York. A lot of other cities have communities that could really benefit from this. We have people DMing us on Instagram saying 'Can you come to my city' or telling us that they're traveling to New York just for our party. One day, we want to have a regular artistic practice and push boundaries, like paying artists for rehearsals.

Ruth: It's part of the delusion. We've talked about galleries, fashion shows, theater productions, and showing off Coptic and Nubian art. We truly want to be a hub for cultural preservation.

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