The funfair I remember best is one that came to my town, Ibadan in Nigeria, during the Christmas holidays when I was about twelve. It was set up for two weeks on a big empty field near the stadium, and you could see the lights of the big wheel from our bedroom window every night.
I went with my two older sisters and our cousin Tunde, who'd come from Lagos for the holidays. Our parents gave us a fixed amount of money each and strict instructions to stay together. There was a big wheel, bumper cars, a very old merry-go-round, and a terrifying ride called the 'Swing of Death', which was basically a giant boat that swung higher and higher. There were also stalls selling suya, candyfloss and fried plantain, and games where you threw balls at bottles to win a teddy bear.
I enjoyed it enormously, mainly because it felt like the first time I'd been trusted with independence. Choosing how to spend my own money was a big deal. I spent most of it trying to win a teddy for my mother, and I failed, but Tunde won one and quietly gave it to me so I could give it to her. The Swing of Death was the most exciting part; I screamed the whole time and then immediately queued again. Looking back, I think the joy came from that mixture of fear and freedom, and from being with my cousins. Nowadays I find fairs a bit noisy, but whenever I smell candyfloss I'm twelve again.