This piece was originally published in Commonwealth Adda as part of their creative nonfiction series.
‘This is My Home. I want to live here and be buried here’ was my aunt’s repeated wish every time the impending move from her island, Dhidhdhoo, to the capital city, Malé, had come up in our conversations. Now that she had been unwillingly brought here, I dreaded meeting her knowing we were unable to fulfill her wishes.
The towering edifice of concrete and steel seemed to bear down on me as I waited in line to enter the elevator. Cramped inside the box, I could hardly breathe as it ascended to the fourteenth floor where my aunt had moved in a few days ago.
She looked defeated. She had refused the move for many years and only did so now to please her children who wanted better healthcare for her – services not available on or near my island. Her concerns were many. These big buildings scared her; the elevator took the life out of her. Would she be able to make her own Rihaakuru1 and Valhomas2 here? ‘Mithaa kihineh’tha meehun dhiri ulhenee??’ (How do people even live here??)

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