people are scarce in male at this time of the year and here near the ekuveni, the mood is snoozy, and there’s no one in sight.

‘it’s because all the rubes have left town,’ explains hasanfulhu, with the gravity of an epiphany.

‘you’re still here,’ i tell him. he’s a lawyer, for those of you who don’t know the man. a very good lawyer who’s worked with the who’s who (and who’s that?) of the legal scene. if such a scene exists, and it must because almost every other person is a student of law.

‘what are you mumbling?’ asks hasanfulhu as we venture into the restaurant. it’s called devour, i doubt there’s any irony in the name.

‘i only have a hundred to spare,’ reminds hasanfulhu in his special voice, that is, one that speaks at great volume.

‘keep it down,’ i tell him, hanging around by the counter until one of the servers suggests that we take a seat. and we do in one of those fancy tufted sofas – in fact this whole place seems very upscale.

‘i’ve got a sixty,’ i tell him.

‘in your savings?’ he asks.

‘yeah.’

‘on top of the 200MVR reserve?’

‘no, with.’

‘goddammit,’ he says. ‘i don’t want to eat. you order something. i’ll pay for you.’

‘yes you told me, that’s why we’re here,’ i say, a little irritated.

‘oh, right then.’

i look through the menu and settle on potato noodles with chicken.

‘it’s been a tough month for me,’ says hasanfulhu while the server takes my order. ‘those alimony payments are killers.’

hasanfulhu has all the pitfalls and none of the perks of marriage – he’s taken it upon himself to care for his brother’s family. the man could even be considered admirable in a sense.

the noodles arrive – they’re fat and doused in a sweet sauce. there’s a generous amount of chicken. it’s nice but not quite what i expected, i had in mind something less soggy, with a little more ramen flavour. this isn’t it though, and maybe i am wrong to think of it in this way. but it leaves me feeling underwhelmed and i decide to take it home to sampaafulhu.

‘you should let the state care for them,’ i say.

‘who?’

‘whom,’ i correct him.

‘ok, WHOM should i let…’

‘your brother’s family.’

he pays for my meal by the counter.

‘but they’re MY family,’ he says. ‘what kind of man would i be if i didn’t care for my family?’

‘a more well off man,’ i tell him and he raises his eyebrows. we step out into the warm afternoon and get on the bike to have a cooling ride around the city before heading home.

‘are we stupid people to be this broke?’ i ask him as we drift through male.

‘we like to think of ourselves as cleverer than most,’ he says. ‘but look where we are. not twenty rufiyaa between us. and it’s not even the middle of the month.’