The Hartley Fair by, Muhammed Ismail

The Hartley Road Fair
By: Muhammed Ismail

Had I been female, I would have had cloaks in all shapes, sizes and designs ranging from R200 to a few thousand Rands- all of this will of course, be at the cost of 70% of the stalls at the Hartley Fair in Durban.

Cloaks aren't all that you'll find at this fair because there has to be food too. A Muslim Indian majority means that food will come with various spices- chilli powder being high on the list. Let's not forget the various organisations that request you to sponsor a brick, or half a brick at R10. I'm from JHB, a land that is run on money, but R20 for a brick- na, that's some heavy prices- are the damn bricks made from gold?

The beauty of the Hartley fair isn't about the stalls, the parking or the shows on the outside arena (I'll get to that later). The beauty is in the people. You get to meet all of your cousins, aunts, uncles and even the random neighbour from whose yard you'd steal mangoes all those years ago. The catch phrase is, "Salaams Muhammed, you remember me?" I haven't seen the dude in a decade and now I have to remember him from the days I'd pluck fruit from his tree. If he only knew the effort it took to get my teeth cleaned after eating those sugar mangoes- he'd ask Allah for forgiveness for the takleef he caused to me because of the fruit. Anyway, stealing is Haraam, don't steal mangoes.

There are many congregations here- groups of purdah-clad women, their eyes darting to and fro as they stare at the fair dudes with the stubble beards. Don't they know that daddy won't accept such men to come home. The other women, the ones in the scarves are a lot more expressive. Giddy smiles and the accents- everyone has a twang here except when they're bargaining with the prices of the abayas. That's when you hear words like 'Watkyn' and 'anol'. The men that come here, boys rather, are only here to check the 'stekkies' out. Which I've come to know means that they're here to see pretty girls and then ask between themselves the identity and pins of the girl with the plastered face.

Drama, gossip and a wonder of who else is here is the conversations that reach your ears as you walk into and between the tents. I think that I should get myself a tent and sell black hair dye. Blonde hair seems to be a requirement at this flea market.

If there isn't a guy or a girl blaring out on the speakers as loud as possible- attempting to sound as sexy as possible then you're probably at the wrong place. Here you must see an uncomfortable teenager- male or female being stringed along by their folks attempting to check out the opposite sex potential. This is quite hilarious because even if a potential glamour doll/hunky guy is spotted, nothing can be done about it other than awkward stares and even weirder blushes that are disguised as smiles.

Remember, boys and girls, that whilst we learn in madressa that we shouldn't have pictures with eyes on display, at the Hartley fair, we will see the face of Hashim Amla clearly visible by his beard. I know this as I sit below a bloated image of him holding a bat. The stage is a small one but there are a couple of hundred white plastic chairs for relaxation purposes and as a viewing deck of the shows that go on here. The highlight for today was a petting goat, a snake wrapped around a guys neck and bunnies.

I suppose I'll now make my way down to the rides and be a kid all over again. As my second visit to this fair in just as many days, this isn't for me. Perhaps it is for you and I won't judge.

The wind is picking up and I've just felt a few drops of rain. On that note, I conclude. This is a sign, I should disappear.

Thank you.
Muhammed Ismail