Dancing all the way from Santiago de los Caballeros to Groningen

For Junior José Santos Schmidt, bachata is not only a dance, it’s an extension of himself, “it’s when culture hits” and he hopes to make others feel the same way in his dance classes.

Junior Schmidt in his dance studio. Photo by Alexia Mihalache

Much like the lead bird in a flock, Junior José Santos Schmidt stands in front of the improvers, guiding the warm-up for the hour-long Bachata class in the old mechanical workshop turned studio in Groningen’s Eemspoort industrial area. He moves easily to the rhythm of a Latin merengue number in an oversized white t-shirt, brown tracksuit bottoms and a pair of Paso Fino from the famous Puerto Rican singer Bad Bunny’s Adidas collaboration. 

Silence doesn’t have room at his La Ñapa Dance Academy. Even when he stops the music to show a simple choreography, he sets the rhythm by counting in Spanish and follows with an explanation in a mix of Dutch and English. He then shouts “Con música, vamos!” into his headset microphone to challenge his class to do the footwork with music. Some students hum the lyrics as they dance, others are tense, their eyes fixed on the big mirrors that catch every awkward movement. “Breathe,” Junior says, and everyone exhales loudly.

Junior prepared for his bachata class. Photo by Alexia Mihalache

Think of bachata as a romantic dance where partners come together in a tango-like embrace, softened by the sway of salsa and touches of cha-cha-cha, all carried by sharp hip movements. It’s always been part of Junior’s life. Every Sunday, his mother and aunts would clean the house to the rhythm of bachata. “There was loud music, they were dancing around, grabbing us and teaching us how to do the steps,” Junior tells me before his class, using his arms to show how the moves were passed on to him as a child growing up in Santiago de los Caballeros in the Dominican Republic. “Actually, the word ‘bachata’ means to make some music and chill in your backyard,” he says. 

It wasn’t until he came to Groningen with his mother, 22 years ago, that he truly fell in love with the dance. “When I got introduced to the old type of bachata, I started getting curious about everything else. And then it just reminded me of home.” He started going to Latin parties where he stood out because of his dance moves. Before he knew it, he was a teacher at a dance school in the city. “I’ve been taking risks my whole life. Every time I’ve taken one and I believed I could do it, it went well,” Junior tells me when I ask about how he decided to become an instructor.

The neon sign in Junior’s dance studio. Photo by Alexia Mihalache

He opened his dance studio in July, after the groups he’d been teaching for nine years kept growing. However, the idea for the studio’s name came in 2018. In the Dominican Republic, la ñapa is a tradition where shopkeepers in local stores give the customers a small gift after their Sunday shopping, as a gesture of kindness. “You get the dances and some extra love,” explains Junior, describing how he brings the same spirit of generosity and care from his culture into his dance academy.

Telling his students about the history of bachata is just as important to him as teaching the footwork and body movements. “I’m always teaching culture in my classes. I’m always telling what the songs are about. Dance over there is fun. It’s not something that you have to prepare for. It’s something that could happen when you walk out and your neighbour’s like ‘hey, vecina, vamonos, let’s go!’”

It’s the reason he’s not so keen on choreographies, believing that it’s more about allowing yourself to be creative and not just getting used to certain ways of dancing. That doesn’t mean he’s not meticulous in teaching techniques and “being strict.” His philosophy is to teach the way he would teach himself. “I’d rather do less and do it well than do a lot and do it mediocre.” It’s why he never stops learning. “I never stay put or think that I know everything. I’m always going to workshops,” he says, “to always have something new to show to my students.”

Junior dancing with one of his assistants to show his students what he expects to see during partnerwork. Photo by Alexia Mihalache

Junior uses humour and a laid-back attitude to get the message across. Everyone bursts out laughing when he explains the leaders’ hand placement on the followers’ upper back. “Not lower,” he says, shooting a don’t-get-any-ideas glance at his students. 

When I ask him what he’s learned after all these years as an instructor, there’s a long pause. He rubs his thick black beard as if he’s reading the story of his life in search of an answer. “I was 32. That’s when things went well. Before that, I was in a battle with myself.” Growing up in a culture that has rigid traditional ideas of masculinity, Junior found his insecurities rooted in jealousy toward the men around him. “Being a dancer taught me to accept myself for what I’m capable of and to start appreciating people for what they do.”

This personal growth is what helps him connect deeper with all his 150 students. “Now I see people wearing t-shirts saying…” He stops and looks down. I can see he’s getting emotional. “ Saying ‘I love Dominican Republic’ without ever being there.” His voice shakes and I can see tears forming. “So that to me is…is the most rewarding thing I can say. Them being proud of something they know because of me.” He slowly turns around as he can’t contain his emotions any longer. 

When he’s ready to speak again, he tells me that students have told him that his classes have changed their lives for the better. “People embrace me, embrace what I’m doing and come here every week with a smile.” There are also times when he dances with his students outside his school and he sees them questioning their moves. “I literally can’t sleep, you know, because I’m like ‘oh my God! How is it possible? I have to do something about this’.”

Junior dancing with one of his students. Photo by Alexia Mihalache

At the end of the class, Junior meets more of his students at PJ’s, a hostel in the centre of Groningen where he hosts his monthly Latin nights. He greets everyone with a hug, moving from one group to another like a bee in search of pollen. He never stands still, coming up with dance moves on the spot to match the rhythms of salsa, merengue and bachata.

And when he hits the dance floor, he’s no longer the teacher from La Ñapa, he’s a simple dancer from the Dominican Republic, mingling with others who are as happy as he is to celebrate his culture.

Story initially published on Under the RUG