Words by Daniel Bosley; Pictures by Aishath Naj
Hameed remembers little of his long life. 78 years old, he once worked as a prayer reciter (salawath kiyun), going from house to house on Fridays and special occasions. 10 rufiyaa for some, free for others. A community service.
Worn verses peel from the walls. He has always lived within them. Alone for almost ten years.
He stopped working some time ago. Tired now, he says. The calendar on the wall reads February 1999 but his eyes go much further back, drifting into the dusty corners as we talk.
He sleeps on one bodu ashi, the other is empty. All are old but all are steady. They don’t need to change.
Back and forth on the undhoalhi Hameed swings, uninterrupted by events elsewhere – a place he says he’s never been.