i booked a table for four before i went to som tam thai, that small thai restaurant deep in maafannu. i’m with a small group of friends – moosaalhu, his brother mohodhay, and my acquaintance naseembe.

‘moosaalhu says you’re giving us a treat,’ says naseembe grinning, and taking the seat next to mine.

‘did he now?’ i respond. naseembe keeps grinning, his small teeth yellowed by the light of the restaurant, and with half his head in a grey beanie, he is a very peculiar sight.

the owner of the restaurant, an older man, waits by our table smiling as we debate what to order.
finally, we agree on a tom yum goong for the table, pandan chicken for the boys, larb for moosaalhu. and some beef red curry and jasmine rice for me.

then naseembe looks at me and says: why are you wearing yellow, anni has left the party.
before i can think of anything he adds: i’m sick of all these elderly people running the country. i want a revolution.

‘a revolution,’ i repeat.

‘you heard me,’ he grins. ‘i want something big, something that’ll scare the shit out of us.’

‘yes,’ says moosaalhu in his thinking-man’s voice. ‘actually, yes. we need someone to shake up the system again.’

‘now, what if it turns out we just want to be where we are?’ says mohodhay. ‘what if we’re just fantasising like an old couple who’d really rather have things remain the same?’

‘i know i’m fed up with things,’ says naseembe animatedly. ‘aren’t you? we’ve got a bunch of boomers and gen-x’ers representing us. they don’t know us. they don’t know SHIT.’

‘maybe we should form a party,’ says moosaalhu.

‘hell yes,’ says naseembe.

the food arrives, and we set aside the politics and slurp up the soup, not much different from thai wok where you’d pay twice as much and for less. the prawns are fat and curled in on themselves. very good.

the red curry, which is just for me, is thick, spiced medium and they are generous with the meat. naseembe scoops some up with his spoon, chews, and begins to nod appreciatively.

later, i ask for the bill. it cost us just over 700 rufiyaa.

‘well,’ i say, calculating my share of the bill. ‘you guys need to pay 480.’

‘what?’ barks moosaalhu grabbing the bill from me. he begins to calculate fiercely and says: no, YOU need to pay 350, we’re paying the rest.’

‘that’s bullshit,’ i cry. ‘i just need to pay 250, not a laari more.’

‘give me the bill,’ says naseembe. ‘i got 99 in maths.’ he begins to calculate on my phone but for some reason, gets an outlandish sum.

‘it’s your stupid phone,’ he says. ‘i’m going to do it on my iphone.’

‘could you please keep it down, please?’ says the owner.

at the end of his tether, mohodhay says: just divide the whole thing by four and pay up.

when we step outside, mohodhay lights up a cigarette and shakes his head.

‘we almost killed each other at our party’s inaugural meeting,’ he says. ‘maybe we should give our politicians some credit and resign ourselves to doing stuff we’re actually some good at.’

‘huh,’ i say. when it’s just me and moosaalhu things run pretty smoothly but when the group gets bigger…hmm. maybe it’s some law of large numbers.