I grew up in Deira which is now considered old Dubai. I remember walking to the Gold Souk, taking 25 fil abra rides across the creek to Meena Bazaar and going on weekly trips to the fish market. Deira Fish Market is just down the road from where my family used to live. It was my mother's domain and the place she could
demonstrate her incredible bargaining skills and her ability to spot the best
produce from a mile away. She was determined to pass these skills on the my sister and I so every other Friday morning, while my friends in
normal households were in bed or watching TV, we'd be down in Shindaga getting
lessons in market etiquette. It was crowded and noisy and my mother added to
the chorus with 'don't touch!', 'say thank you', 'and hold my hand', 'no thank
you'. For a while I probably demonstrated the
exact behaviour my mother was trying to discourage however, as I got
older I realized that the more cooperative I was, the sooner we could
leave. Eventually what used to be an arduous chore, slowly became one
of my passions. When I would come home from university I actually looked
forward going. I learned where food came from, to appreciate the
effort that went into procuring and producing what we ate and the
importance of getting to know the people behind the counter. Although my
parents are no longer in Dubai and I now live on the other side of town I still
try to go as often as I can. My sister and I paid a visit to our old stomping
ground last weekend and through the familiar buzz were familiar faces asking 'where’s
mama?’
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