“They call it quid”

Startled, I look behind me and it’s my friend. He has joined me in UK to complete his bachelor’s degree in mechanical engineering.

“What?”

“Quid. Nickname for pound.”

I exit Tesco express with the usual: meal deal sandwiches, free meal rice, quaker’s porridge, quack’s meal.

I might be breaching my friend’s confidence but let me tell you this, eager grammers, this is the first time he has been outside of Maldives.

His scholarship and visa ensures he will be in the UK for the next 4 years and no amount of good sense can expel him. He did his A Levels in F. Nilandhoo and what could only have been a mistake he got all A’s in all of the 7 subjects. Even I managed to get only 3.

“When they said there will be hot water, I really thought they meant ‘warm’. Dho?” went on Jabeel.

I turn to him, impatient, and he explained it to me.

He had burned his male organ in hot water while attempting a shower.

“Ahannah varah saafu” (Here the writer must interject, nothing has ever been clear to him. He is stumbling in a forest of unclarity).

“There has been some benefits to colonialism”

Tired old me: “What?”

“For example, in the British Museum there were the griffiths-”

“Griffins”

“Fine, griffins of Syria-”

“Assyria”

“Well there’s only one, so no need of an A!”

“Not A Syria, Assyria”

“Ekam bunan” (as if he’s been silent all this time)

“Nothing will come close to Al Andhalus. That was the time. Anyways did you check if Tesco was halal?”

Here I must stop because my phone rings (call from my new lover who is a graduate of Imperial College London) and we are about to get on the eastbound train from Bakerloo station. No service in the underground. They call it the “tube” (pronounced as chuuub).
—
Saththaaru: reporting from London