Halal International

 

Quite often, I get the urge to go shopping at the Halal International market on Broad River Road. It's usually around the time I notice I'm running low on olives. They stock a spectacular selection of olives! Pitted and unpitted, stuffed, marinated and minced for salads.

All of the items in the market appear to be authentic comestibles of the Middle East, most imported from the Arab world, others packaged here in the states.

Dessert biscuits, canned meats, herbal teas, honey, mango nectar, beans and beans and beans, pita and herbs and spices and seeds and nuts and raisins and figs and dates. So much stuff. They also carry clothing items and totems and beaded jewelry and children's toys.

I mostly leave with food, but that's not the only thing I get at Halal. "Halal" means something, like food, is OK for observant Muslims. I've seen mostly brown and Black folks there, most speaking Arabic.

I enjoy hearing voices in languages I don't understand but whose inflections make the messages clear -- "Wait a minute, papa! Don't be so impatient!" or "Is this the freshest chicken you have?" Rather than making me feel alien or isolated, threatened or insecure, I feel comforted with the reminder that the world is so much bigger than my tiny piece of it.

I go to Halal to stay open to the world and to find common ground. Like those spaces where olives grow.