we’re in a car bound for mohonaa’s house in thinadhoo and dr boo is telling me about the time he jumped from the fourth floor of a building. no, he wasn’t suicidal, he says, it was in fact an attempt to save himself.

‘from what?’ i ask. this is the first time he’s explaining it to me in detail.

‘the evil black spirits that were coming for me,’ says dr boo, his bearded face intense and smiling, showing the gap between his small front teeth. he smiles a lot, boo, but this time he isn’t joking.

‘i fell and hit my head on a the seat of a motorcycle,’ says boo. ‘and then i was on the ground. and man, did that feel good.’

‘good?’ i ask. ‘how can that possibly feel good?’

‘you don’t understand,’ says boo. ‘it’s because i had escaped the spirits, and i was alive. i was alive there on the ground. i had been blessed with a new life.’

‘OK, shut up dr boo,’ i say, opening the door of the car. ‘act normal.’

it is night though the day’s heat seems to linger like the shadow of an oppressive ruler. mohonaa is outside the gate, waiting.

‘come in, come in,’ he says, leading us in to his house, which has a little yard with a joalifathi and a mango tree brimming with beautiful green fruit.

dr boo doesn’t notice this and heads right into the dining room where mohonaa’s wife dhonbibi sits by the table that’s laden with rice, chicken curry, a salad of cabbage, carrot, and onion, and some paaparu.

‘i’m dr boo, how do you do? you may call me boo for short,’ says dr boo introducing himself.

‘are you a medical doctor?’ asks dhonbibi.

‘i specialise in the above-head region,’ replies dr boo.

mohonaa grins, and we take our seat.

‘the guests should start,’ he says. so dr boo puts some food on his plate, i do the same as does mohonaa.

the curry is splendid, the chicken succulent, and taken together with a bit of salad and paaparu, the dish hits all the right notes. it’s simple, delicious.

‘why aren’t you eating with us?’ dr boo says to dhonbibi who smiles. ‘people do the same on my wife’s island too.’

mohonaa looks curiously at dr boo.

‘where’s your wife’s island?’

‘japan,’ replies dr boo, deadpan. the husband and wife laugh.

‘no really, it’s part of their culture. the women aren’t allowed to eat with the men. my father-in-law treats my mother-in-law like a slave in fact. he even makes her carry heavy things.’

dhonbibi laughs, a little embarrasedly i think.

‘things are changing in japan though, the younger generation won’t have any of that,’ says dr boo.

‘where are you from dr boo?’ asks mohonaa.

‘i’m from a couple of different islands, but i lived and grew up in henveiru, male,’ says dr boo, eating with great fervour.

‘what’s the address?’ asks mohonaa, observing dr boo with some amusement.

dr boo mentions a name and mohonaa beams.

‘are you related to dhonfuthu, by any chance?’ he asks.

‘he’s my elder brother,’ says dr boo, getting excited. ‘why, do you know him?’

‘we’re very good friends,’ says mohonaa. ‘well, we used to be at least, back when i lived in male. i haven’t heard from him in years though, how is he?’

dr boo’s face drops a little.

‘he’s dead,’ he says.

‘dead? what happened?’ asks mohonaa, astonished.

‘they killed him in prison, beat him to death,’ says dr boo. ‘his body was black. i saw the bruises when they bathed him at the saharaa.’

‘innaa lillaahi,’ says mohonaa and dhonbibi looks concerned.

‘were you around when nasir crushed the thinadhoo rebellion?’ i ask attempting to steer the conversation into calmer territory.

‘i was four,’ says mohonaa, his face turning blank. ‘i don’t remember anything.’

‘it’s an excellent meal,’ i tell him quickly. ‘thank you. we must take a photo for thakuru shouldn’t we?’

‘yes, we must,’ says mohonaa. i get up to wash my plate but dhonbibi asks me to leave it.

so, once we’re done washing our hands, we stand in the brightly lit dining room and take a pic.

‘can i be in the photo as well?’ asks dr boo.

‘of course,’ says mohonaa. so we snap photos of the three of us.

in the yard, dr boo finally sees the mangoes hanging low from the boughs.

‘oh, my,’ he exclaims and without a single thought, grabs a mango and begins to eat it.

‘it’s really good,’ he says.

‘you didn’t even ask mohonaa, boo,’ i say but mohonaa shakes his head.

‘there’s too many for us,’ he says. ‘boo is welcome to have more. you too, husenfulhu.’

‘i look like my mother, and when a man looks like his mother he has no shame,’ says dr boo, munching on his fruit. mohonaa laughs, and the three of us walk out into the black, silent night.