Finding story and soul at the Kingsmead Book Fair

Mail & Guardian

a day ago

One for the books: On her first visit to the Kingsmead Book Fair, held every May in Johannesburg, the writer was surprised by the massive turnout at the event.
I underestimated the extent to which Johannesburg's Kings­mead Book Fair is revered. Honestly, I did. I thought I'd arrive, park with ease, grab a quick coffee and stroll into a modest school event.
Instead, I circled like an anxious Uber driver, finally parking a few streets down and weaving my way towards the gates, grumbling.
There was a steady, almost ritual-like, stream of people making their way to the school — young, old, families, friends, lovers of words. And I had to remind myself — this is my first time. I must keep an open mind.
Kingsmead College, nestled quietly in Rosebank, didn't look like the kind of place that could transform into a buzzing cultural hub. But that Saturday, it did. And not just any buzz — it was electric, inviting and joyful.
People came in numbers. More than I expected. And I was genuinely surprised, perhaps even moved, by how many still enjoy good old literature in a world of reels, swipes and 10-second dopamine hits.
As I made my way through the entrance, dodging enthusiastic children and chatty clusters of adults, I tried not to be distracted by the enticing aromas coming from the food court. The food trucks and stalls were so perfectly placed you'd swear it was a festival more than a book fair.
I considered giving in to the aroma of sizzling boerie rolls but instead made it my mission to walk around, to understand what it is that pulls people here. Why would anyone willingly choose to spend their Saturday at a school?
And then, as if on cue, I saw it.
Children — wide-eyed and vocal — dragging their parents by the hand, eager to attend storytime or rush into Exclusive Books with the title of a new book already in mind. Young readers, unapologetically loud in their excitement.
Parents, some tired, some amused, but all present.
No kidding: The annual Kingsmead Book Fair, held at Kingsmead College, in the Johannesburg suburb of Rosebank, attracts lovers of stories, both young and old.
It was a moment of clarity for me — this wasn't just a book fair. It was a time for families and friends to gather, to celebrate something deeper. It was about passing the baton of imagination and thought to the next generation.
There were sessions spread across the day, diving into various themes — politics, identity, children's literature, the writing craft and more. But I knew myself. Escapism is my soft place to land.
I read the news daily, soak in its heaviness, and often find myself longing for softness, for sweetness, for something that affirms joy.
So, I headed for the panel hosted by the Romance Writers Organisation of South Africa. I didn't raise my hand or pose a question. I simply sat and soaked it all in, basking in the energy of young people discussing love, dreams and writing as if it were sacred — and it is.
I even picked up a few things I know will sharpen my writing skills. Observing how people speak about what they love teaches you about how to write about what matters to you.
At some point, after too much walking, listening and light eavesdropping, I found a quiet bench tucked away under a tree. I had just collected a hotdog and needed to rest both my legs and my thoughts.
Turns out, I wasn't the only one eyeing that bench. A young woman approached, smiling kindly before asking if she could join me. 'Of course,' I nodded.
'I matriculated in 2012 from Kingsmead College,' she said, unwrapping her sandwich. 'And I've never missed a fair.'
She shared, between bites, how this place — the book fair, the school, the tradition — was more than just an annual event to her. 'It's part of my fabric,' she said, 'part of who I am. I love seeing some of my old classmates come here with their kids or partners. It feels like a reunion.
'A little overwhelming sometimes … which is why I'm hiding here with you,' she chuckled.
We both laughed. In that moment, it didn't matter that I was a first-timer and she was a regular. We were simply two women, enjoying the comfort of stories and sunshine and sausage rolls.
Her words stayed with me long after she left. 'Part of who we are.' Isn't that what literature is? A thread in our fabric? A familiar scent on a rainy day? A compass when the world feels confusing?
The Kingsmead Book Fair, for me, was an unexpected awakening. A reminder that not everything good is loud or trending. That quiet love —for books, for community, for shared experiences still thrives in this city.
Joburg is often painted with a hard edge: traffic, load-shedding, crime, concrete. But here, in the heart of Rosebank, under trees and the soft hum of conversation, was something tender. Something beautiful.
A place where stories, fictional and lived, collided. Where readers and writers looked each other in the eye and said, 'I see you.'
Yes, I was overwhelmed. But in the best way. Overwhelmed by humanity, the joy, the shared curiosity. I walked away with a few books for my nieces, but more importantly, I walked away with a renewed sense of hope.
That in this often chaotic world, there are still places like the Kingsmead Book Fair. Places that remind us to imagine, to dream, to explore … and, ultimately, to reveal something new within ourselves.
If you ever find yourself in Johannesburg in May, do yourself a favour. Walk a few extra blocks, follow the smell of cinnamon and coffee and allow yourself to get lost among the stories.