Getting that Casbah swagger
COME, take a walk with me, strutting up Queen Street crossing over the busy intersection at Grey Street and, walking alongside the array of decadent, established shops fronting the Grey Street Mosque we walk with that Casbah swagger!
Continuing behind the Emmanuel Cathedral Parish Centre, we take a smart left out of the hustle and bustle of the street into the majestic and tranquil Emmanuel Cathedral itself.
I light a candle, kneel down and, clasping my hands, I say a quick, silent prayer for some much-needed divine intervention to get me through life.
When done, I step out into the radiant Durban sunshine and busy Casbah pavement and cross over Queen Street, heading along the grubby, brown brick walls of the “iconic” Indian Market, known locally as the “top market”.
I make a quick right into the market itself, down the untidy and busy passageway between stalls with mounds of curry powder that have been endorsed with the most relevant yet amusing names… “mother-inlaw’s tongue”, “honeymoon barbecue” and “mother-inlaw exterminator”, among others.
Passing the meat section, we exit the market between Seaman Chetty’s fish stall and “Big Daddy” Naidu’s offal stall at the corner of Brook and Victoria Streets.
We are now directly across from the Victoria Street bridge that links Warwick Avenue to the city centre.
No time to waste, we continue walking on to the bridge and over the railway, keeping one eye on the way ahead and one eye for any potential pick-pockets.
Exiting the bridge, there’s a sea of buses on my right parked tightly next to each other on an incline. Between the buses, a busy trade of Simba chips, Wicks bubble-gum, Mentholyptis sweats, Goldtop Cooee colddrinks and a range of boiled sweets from the Fudge Lady is in full swing by basket-wielding “street entrepreneurs”. We are in Warwick Avenue!
Heading down Warwick Avenue, with the morning or “bottom” market on my left, I body-swerve a few enthusiastic and whistling trolley-pushing market workers, trying to anticipate buses giving the false appearance that they are about to leave with the hope of attracting patrons that are in a hurry.
I cross over and move towards the infamous Kit Kat Café corner and turn right into Acorn Road. Walking past Attie’s Boy’s family home which always oozes with the delectable aroma of his dear mom’s koeksisters which are without doubt the finest south of the North Pole?
Peanut factory
Up Acorn Road, past the laundry and peanut factory facing Douglas Lane, into Hampson Grove and on to the red sand mounds across from Manchester Court, we proceed to head down towards Etna Lane behind the “Little People” Pre-School housed at the back of St Raphael’s Church, passing Mount Etna and the famous Himalaya House and exiting on to Old Dutch Road across from Aroon Court.
Waiting for the two-way traffic coming off Berea Road to subside along Old Dutch Road, I run across the road with my back to the home of Aunty Doreen and Uncle Chota Essop’s semi-detached doublestorey house.
I exit at Mansfield Road with Scala Mansions on my right and Mansfield Boys High across the road. Heading down alongside Scala building… passing the entrance to Scala Cinema and stopping at the corner of Mansfield Road and Winterton Walk to admire the yummy range of cakes on display at Scala tea-room on the corner. Crossing over towards Methodist School we turn left along the rear of the Fire Department and flush into the Sydenham, Asherville and Clare Estate bus rank.
The sound of the crowd now gets louder as we pass Sastri College, my blood starting to race in anticipation of seeing my heroes in action because we are now at Currie’s Fountain or, “Curries” as we all knew it.
I stand in the long queue to buy my ticket then hastily head towards the turnstile where Mr Ruthnam Moodley is leaning on it as if the metal structure was custom-designed around his torso.
He rips my ticket in half and I quicken my steps towards the athletics track… heading around to the “Orient” bank where the Berea supporters, who could not afford tickets to the main stands, normally gather.
Any moment now Martin, Speedy and company will start the “proceedings” but being “BREEEZE” supporters, we are all safe! It’s match day at Curries and the roar intensifies as “Sir” Charles Carey leads out Berea against old rivals Manning Rangers, who are led by the intelligent-looking and tough-tackling skipper Deena Naidu.
It’s the early 70’s and I am still a boy – ecstatic, free and enthusiastically caught up in this way of life that we created at Curries and in the Casbah amid the injustice of the laws and ignorant intolerances of the day.
I would like to think that as we took that “mind” trip through the Casbah into Warwick Avenue on to Curries Fountain, you could also hear the sounds, smell the smells and feel that vibe walking through our childhood playground a few moments ago.
Those were extraordinary times with extraordinary people that left behind extraordinary stories of survival, hope and, in a strange way, gratitude.
Having lived for most of my life thus far and, still playing in the Casbah, I often recall how we all had to walk across town to schools at the Centenary Road educational precinct.
The community spirit that existed back then was the perfect environment and nurturing ground for the development of tolerance and harmony…
we ALL lived together, we ALL played together, we ALL observed and respected each other’s cultural customs. Long before the current fashion of ubuntu came into prominence it already thrived among us and was alive in the Casbah – we were ONE BIG, HAPPY FAMILY!
I step out into the Durban sunshine and busy Casbah pavement and cross over Queen Street, heading along the grubby, brown brick walls of the ‘iconic’ Indian Market