‘mamma you’re gonna love what i saw at fantasy.’

i am eating lunch with my sixty year old mother. she’s made some rihaakuru and thelli fiyaa and thelli mirus to eat with my rice and long story short, this mix is a real favourite of mine.

‘must you go to fantasy all the time?’ says mamma. ‘try people’s choice or villa mart. you’re always asking me for money, too.’

‘it was just that ONE TIME, mother. my retainer was a little late! anyway, there’s this really awesome honey at fantasy.’

‘oh, what is it?’

‘mamma you wouldn’t get it, it’s from this ancient tree in australia that takes seventy years to flower. seventy years! if you were that tree you’d still not have hit puberty! imagine that!’

‘what is it called?’

‘leatherwood.’

‘huh,’ says mother. ‘that doesn’t sound very nice at all.’

‘talk AFTER you’ve had some ok, ma? don’t be so quick to condemn.’

i finish up my rice and burp.

‘don’t do that, how many times must i tell you?’

‘sorry. so, do you want it?’

‘are you going to buy me some?’

‘well, mamma it’s not exactly cheap.’

‘how much?’

‘237 rufiyaa!’

‘you don’t have 237 rufiyaa to spare for your mother?’

‘mum i have a life. can you give me like 250? i’ll get it for you. you won’t have to leave the house i promise.’

my mother rummages through her purse and hands me 300.

‘bring me back the change ok?’

i call up my friend moosaalhu, who’s an architect and loves the finer side of life, and ask him to pick me up to go on a mission to fantasy.

‘be over in five,’ he says.

soon we’re in the cool interior of the store. i spot an arrangement of the beechworth honey jars at the front of a shelf.

‘oh, here we are.’

but then i have a little scare cos i can’t find the leatherwood.

‘it’s not there?’ moosaalhu asks.

‘god! but it could be on the shelf a bit further down.’

and there i spot it, this warm, amber jar full of luscious beesauce.

‘now, how do we get a taste?’ i ask moosaalhu who shrugs.

‘let’s go to scoop.’ i tell him.

‘why scoop?’

‘i’m friends with the manager.’

‘alright. as long as you guys are friends.’

when we turn up at scoop i find out the manager has taken a sickie. goddamnit. i decide to buy an ice cream with my mum’s change. it’s for a good cause, i tell myself. i ask for two spoons.

now we’re sitting by the window.

‘why’d you get the ice cream?’ asks moosaalhu.

‘cos i couldn’t just ask for spoons, you moron.’

‘what flavour is it?’

‘biscof. i like it.’

‘give me the jar.’

‘careful, you need to get some air in under the lid first,’

‘huh, that’s for pussies.’

and moosaalhu opens it.

‘mmm,’ he says. ‘it smells very strong. like real honey.’

‘it IS real honey.’

‘let’s have a taste.’

so he dips the bowl of his spoon into the jar.

‘hey, hey, that’s not the way.’ i tell him.

‘what, there’s a way now?’

‘of COURSE there’s a way,’ i say taking his spoon from him. ‘see, you take a little honey with the tip of the spoon and then turn it round and round so the honey doesn’t drip.’

‘they should give you an honorary degree for this shit,’ laughs moosaalhu.
he has a taste and his eyes light up.

‘wow! it’s like REAL honey. like PROPER STUFF from when i was a kid.’

‘what? from when you were a KID? weren’t you poor?’

‘no we had a huge beehive in the house and one day my dad scared the bees off and got the honey from the hive.’

‘what? what bees? don’t you mean wasps?’

‘nah man, we had honey bees here.’

‘HONEY BEES? in MALE?’

‘yeah man.’

‘goddamn.’

‘yeah this is so good. it’s like biting into nature and tasting her blood or something. only it’s warm and sweet, and there’s this really cool aftertaste. bitter. but good bitter.’

‘oh yeah,’ i say. ‘it reminds me of something. maybe beer. and gulkandhu.’

‘i know what you mean.’

‘tell you what, my friend keeps honey bees in lanka.’

‘in lanka huh? and soneva fushi has bees right here in the maldives.’

‘oh yeah, that’s right. what the hell’s up with that though, just bringing in a bunch of insects and letting them loose here.’

‘hmm,’ says moosaalhu clicking his tongue like a gecko. ‘man, we have so much weird shit here these days.’

‘yeah we’ve got fucking african greys.’

‘yeah, and they released a bunch of mynahs when they built sultan park.’

‘no respect for the environment,’ i say. i taste a little bit of the honey again. mmm, so rich, it’s the kind of decadence that precedes the fall of empires.

‘know what? we’ve had too much of the honey now,’ i tell moosaalhu.

‘too much?’

‘yep. much too much. i think i’ll have to take this home with me.’

‘you sly dog.’

‘no man, this was never my intention. i’ll get mamma a new jar when i get paid ok?’

‘like hell you would.’

‘shut the fuck up and drop me off home.’

i clutch the jar against me and walk towards the door with moosaalhu in tow.

‘i’ll get you a jar i swear mama,’ i mutter.

‘you say something?’ asks moosaalhu.

i shake my head. we bid scoop adieu and like a pair of snakes slink into the muggy heat of a male afternoon.