my childhood friend ahanma and i meet outside my in-law’s in phase one, right by the beach. nearby is a shabby cafe with outdoor seating, so, in an attempt to be frugal, we go on in. a server comes quickly to take our orders and we ask for iced coffees and a large bottle of water.

‘how’ve you been, man?’ i ask.

‘good good,’ says ahanma. ‘but my sleep’s a bit off, i haven’t had much of it these past couple of nights.’

‘ah,’ i say. ‘i think i’m having sleep apnea.’

‘that’s no joke,’ says ahanma. ‘you should do a sleep test.’

‘i should,’ i say. ‘my body is giving up on me already. and i’m not even in my fifties. good god, isn’t it awful?’
ahanma chuckles.

‘well,’ he says. ‘you’ve got to be thankful it’s not in worse shape for all the hell you’ve put it through.’

‘yeah, yeah.’

the server brings our drinks. they are really watery nescafe coffees but they are cool, cheap, and perfect for the late afternoon.

‘what are you working on?’ asks ahanma.

‘well, i put out a book recently.’

‘oh, yeah, i saw that. bit of a stretch to call it a book, don’t you think?’

‘fine, a bookLET then,’ i say. why must everyone be so goddamned technical when it comes to MY stuff?

‘did you say something?’ ahanma asks.

‘no,’ i say. the sunlight is fading on the sides of buildings beyond us – we’re well into the golden hour. a memory comes into life: me, stark naked in the bathroom, the light coming in through the window, a light much like this, and falling in a pool by my feet. i must have been around seven or eight.

‘you alright there?’

‘i feel like i’m living in a dream sometimes,’ i tell my friend.

‘what do you mean?’

‘i mean, i feel like i’m dreaming all of this, recounting the past to myself while lying on my deathbed. i’m really reliving everything, like they say.’

‘ah, i see,’ says ahanma. ‘life is but a dream, eh?’

‘you remember our childhood? it’s all gone man,’ i say, snapping my fingers. ‘like that. all those years.’

‘yeah, what a childhood we had.’

‘you remember how you scared me that time we were at igmh for a health check up?’ i say, taking a sip from my coffee. ‘you told me they’d give me an injection and it drove me nuts.’

‘oh, yes. i actually do! your heart rate was so high they had to do an ECG!’ laughs ahanma.

‘you big BULLY!’ i say and we laugh.

‘but really, i had no idea you were THAT scared of needles. are you still?’

‘i almost fainted the last time they took a blood sample.’

we sit quietly for a little while, sipping on our lacklustre coffees.

‘what were we doing that check up at igmh for anyway?’ ahanma asks.

‘i think for body building. at hamid abdul ghafoor’s gym.’

‘haha!’ laughs ahanma. ‘hamid. ah, he wasn’t quite there even then. but he predicted your current predicament.’

‘which is?’

‘he said you’d be thin with a big belly if you ever grew flabby.’

‘haha, is that right? who’d have thought. hamid being right about something.’

‘yeah, who WOULD have thought? anyway, man, fancy a walk on the beach? my back is a bit sore after all this sitting.’

i nod and ask the server for the bill.

‘it’s 250 rufiyaa?!!!’ ahanma is almost shocked out of his skin. ‘how is that even possible? we just had two nescafe coffees and water.’

‘there must be some kinda mistake,’ i say. ‘how much IS a coffee? it says 178 for two. like almost 90! for a nescafe coffee? that’s nuts.’

‘can we see the menu?’ ahanma asks the server who scans a QR code and shows us the menu.

‘it’s 88 for an iced coffee! wow.’ i say. ‘meraki prices for kaanivaa kada coffee.’

‘well. serves us right for judging a cafe by its looks.’

ahanma and i pay up and off we go towards the beach, trying not to let the mishap cloud the rest of this afternoon. children run around in play, some parents tell them to ‘be careful.’ crows caw from the trees, and in the distance, the misty blue horizon is touched with gold. i sense all this becoming memory – it’s almost like i am looking back on it right now.