As the descendent of slaves, Donna Mejia understands that education is worth fighting for.

In that, it is profoundly meaningful for her to be the world’s first professor of Tribal Fusion and Transnational Dance.

Mejia, a lifelong dancer, of Boulder, teaches dance at the University of Colorado. She has left a mark on the local — and global — dance community, for her moving fusions of different dance styles.

“I hope I’m just the gateway scholar, and many more will find their way through,” she says. “I’m here because many teachers were giving and patient with me. When I consider that, I can state that whatever I have left to achieve in life won’t be as important to me as paying it forward.”

Since Mejia’s mom enrolled her in ballet classes at age 12 (“for extracurricular enrichment,” Mejia says), she has studied everything she could get her hands on. The list is long, spanning West and North African dance, hip-hop, jazz, tango, modern, post-modern, improv and contact improv, somatic techniques, yoga and dance forms from the Caribbean, Brazil, Mexico, Europe — even Pakistan and India.

We happened to see one of her dance videos online and, well, became obsessed with her. We wondered what it looked like inside the mind of a person who can move like that, so we asked her a few questions. She did not disappoint.

Here’s how it went:

What is it that keeps you interested in dance, throughout the years?

First, my mind works in a synesthesia-like way: For me, all stimuli and emotions produce a mental cascade of shapes, colors, lines, vibrations and textures that are best actualized in dance movement. Cultivating that kind of non-verbal intelligence nourishes new dimensions in the mind.

Second, music is my gateway drug. My response to music is downright visceral. When music enters my ears, there is a palpable energy that must run its course and resolve through movement, or I might explode.

Third, I’m a hard-core introvert — which would seem contrary to the concept of performance. As it turns out, dance is a good discipline for channeling a high degree of internal intensity — which would otherwise be unproductive to impose on my personal relationships. Dance requires, and even rewards, my methodical, internalized, relentless and passionate tendencies. I think my relationships are more peaceful for it.

Fourth, I didn’t have the resources to travel as a youth, so I poured my wanderlust into studies of international dance. It kept me alive when my world felt too small. Touring domestically and internationally has swept away the last vestiges of that smallness for me.

As I understand, you practice some unique kinds of dance — rare fusions of styles. What are some of the unusual things that you practice?

Well, everything I’ve studied is a candidate for inclusion in my performances. But I’m most at home when I bring my training in Arab/North African dance into dialogue with my love of hip-hop and electronic music. The commercial name for the form is “tribal fusion.” But I don’t fit neatly within that categorization. … Given my training background and curiosity about the world, “transnational fusion” is a good fit.

Fusion is about finding common denominators and reconciling the signature values of various traditions. This cannot be done without deep study in the classical traditions of one’s movement sources. Otherwise, it’s just superficial, incoherent cutting and pasting.

As a person of multi-

heritage, I know that seemingly oppositional cultural forces work harmoniously within me. I’m interested in finding out how they can also do so in the larger world.

How did you start combining Arab, African and nomadic traditional dance with modern hip-hop and electronic music?

The transnational dance movement was already in full swing when I jumped onboard in 1999. … A rather severe non-dance injury had me benched. I redirected my love for dance into administering a summer festival. I booked one of the icons of the transnational movement for the festival: Rachel Brice.

But instead of just recruiting her, I started studying with her, too. I quickly felt all of my scar tissue from the injury begin to come back online, and despite medical assurances that I probably couldn’t expect much improvement, I was able to surpass my previous capacities. As a bonus, I’d always swooned over the rhythmic structures and microtones in Arabic music. Music rules my world. I eat beats for breakfast.

Why does the fusion work for you?

Well, it’s not a seamless experience all the time. But I love the puzzle of getting my human body to represent the rapid-fire ticks, beeps, stutters, and glitches of electronic music. It’s the point of fascination driving my choreography at the moment. Acoustic music is already so lush, and when computers are used to digitally manipulate instruments and rhythm, the richness can be amplified. I physically ached to respond to the expanded musical possibilities coming out of the electronica movement.

How does changing the music change the experience of the dance?

Beyond movement, I’ve also devoted myself to broader studies: history, philosophy, ethnomusicology, politics, ontology, language, sociology, gender theory and culture. Otherwise, sourcing movements would be no different than pillaging cultural treasures. There must be an informed context to each fusion choice, and a cycle of giving back to those who inspire you.

For me, fusion is not an act of sacrilege and cultures cannot be categorically placed under glass as museum relics. Cultural expression must be allowed to sustain itself by interacting with contemporary social forces if it is to be relevant to future generations. I say, “Viva los historical preservationists and the innovators and remixers.” They are equally valuable in my eyes.

What is the most difficult dance-related thing you have ever had to face?

The violent murder of a dance student, Cyan Maroney, really took me down hard last year. (Maroney was with the West Virginia Dance Company when she was stabbed, according to her memorial website, rememberingcyan.com.)

In my classroom, I witnessed Cyan at her best. She was intelligent, radiant, sweating, vibrant and euphoric. The thought of an attacker removing Cyan’s spark from our dance community nearly paralyzed me professionally.

Given my history of advocacy and service through the Sovereign Collective, I was at a loss to manage my rage. Making work from a place of grief and anger was excruciatingly different from letting work evolve from joy and musical inspiration. I was hesitating, clouded and raw in our group rehearsals.

Thank goodness my collaborators were generous with their patience. Together, we created a new work that we felt reclaimed an undefiled space for Cyan’s spirit. The cast danced with electric, unapologetic ferocity to thumping, hardcore beats. Ultimately, the dance evidenced my rejection of the inane, cowardly and pathetic violence women encounter too often.

Rage still lives in me. But dance keeps me from smacking down the idiots.

What is your proudest achievement?

The 2011 Fulbright Association’s Selma Jeanne Cohen Award for International Dance Scholarship reduced me to tears. For so many years, I acquiesced to the unspoken message that my thoughts were irrelevant and trivial and my pursuit of dance was frivolous, impractical and self-centered. I didn’t expect much for myself.

I now know that dancers have a crucial contribution to make — one that extends way beyond pretty shapes and entertainment. We hold the archive of human meaning in our very bones. We are moving libraries. We help people perceive the body, and the world, differently, long enough to seed new possibilities.