it’s early evening and i’m with my old friend hamdhee, walking towards summer beach maldives along boduthakurufaanu magu.

‘i called you because my wife had to go somewhere and i was suddenly free for the evening,’ explains hamdhee. ‘and i remembered you and i thought, of course, why not we go out for coffee?’

he likes explaining the very mundane. you see, when i said he’s my old friend, i also meant elderly. and yes, we’ve been friends since the birth of democracy. that was almost 20 years ago! dear god, life has really passed me by.

upstairs at the restaurant, the view is splendid – the light-dotted bridge, the dark stretch of sea between us and hulhule, and the artificial beach lit in the yellow glow of the streetlamps.

‘this probably means the food won’t be too good,’ i tell hamdhee. ‘we’ll be paying for the view.’ hamdhee nods distractedly. i get some watermelon juice and hamdhee orders coffee.

‘do you have lavazza?’ he asks the gentle indonesian server. they are unsure and goes to get help.

‘coffee at this time of the day?’ i ask him.

‘coffee actually helps you sleep well,’ says hamdhee.

‘what?’

‘you go to bed within the first hour and it won’t trouble your sleep,’ he says confidently. ‘in fact, it makes you sleep better.’

‘how do you know that?’

‘my wife does it all the time,’ he replies and goes heh heh heh, showing his tiny even teeth.

the server returns with the barista.

‘sir, we get our coffee beans from civil coffee roasters,’ he says.

‘do you know them?’ hamdhee asks me.

i think for a bit.

‘the guy who roasts the beans is the grandson of the late umar zahir,’ i reply.

‘umar zahir!’ exclaims hamdhee, slapping the table and startling everyone. ‘he was a hard working man. my late father’s friend.’ then he turns to the barista and says: OK, get me the coffee.

i try to hide a smile.

‘i’m going to kolamaafushi,’ begins hamdhee. ‘because my grandfather from my mother’s side is from that island. he came to male and became a very successful businessman.’

‘yeah, i see someone’s still living off that wealth,’ i tell him and he goes heh heh heh.

‘i have many relatives on that island.’

‘aren’t you worried about them trying to get on your will, being an old man and all?’

hamdhee laughs.

the server brings our drinks. i like my watermelon juice.

‘it’s good coffee,’ says hamdhee. ‘very good.’

‘of course.’

we look beyond the balcony into the brightly lit night. hamdhee takes photos on his phone with trembling hands.

‘do you think about death much?’ i ask.

‘not very much. but sometimes i wonder why i am still here,’ he says.

‘what do you mean?’

‘it’s getting harder and harder to enjoy life. i do sometimes. but only sometimes.’

the server comes with our bill.

‘is husenfulhu making you any money?’

‘why?’

‘it would be nice if you could get the bill for once. i think you should get a government job.’

funny.