kanduhulhudhoo

it’s a cool place, kanduhulhudhoo. there’s nothing going on, time is a bullet that seems only to have grazed the island’s cheek.

at the guesthouse, an old man stumbles toward us and looks at boo.

‘whut you looking at old man?’ says boo.

‘who are you? why do you have pictures on your skin?’

‘we’ve come to take control of the island,’ boo snaps. ‘stop staring ya mad old bat.’

the old man stands open mouthed.

between them, boo is madder. by far.

we eat hedhikaa and omelets at coffee gallery, a rustic cafe that serves our eggs with teaspoons on the plates.

‘it’s the bangladeshis,’ says mickey. ‘they don’t understand cutlery.’

vaadhoo

i’m sitting under a mango tree watching the clouds go by. it’s dusk. the clouds are grey, lined with flame.

earlier, dr boo and i rode around the vaa of vaadhoo. it smelled green, like all the wild grasses and the trees and the moss and the browning leaves. it took me back while propelling me forward.

under the tree, a friend texts me to ask what i’m doing. i tell him to send me some jokes.

‘so, you’re in vai-dhoo, huh?’ he says.

funny. you know who you are.

thenadhoo

our room at the guesthouse looks like a set from an 80s smut film. dr boo is pleased. he gets the urge to see a girl. off you go boo.

i walk to a cafe with the thenadhoo zuvaanaa ‘mistake.’ he’s known all over the south.

‘i love walking in thenadhoo,’ he says. i agree. there’s a lot of shade, the good kind, and the roads are mostly empty.

the cafe’s called ‘zimmermann by adly’. i want to find this adly and ask him how he came up with the name.

in a little booth, with a busy fan that buzzes like a maaburu, mistake and i have a mixed omelet and some juice.

life’s good.