Majeediyya was enough....

My time at the prestigious Majeediyya School began in 1996. I was an honor student. Extremely well behaved, and even cried at home to my parents, even if I was one minute late to school. Straight A's were always a target and a given. Became a prefect in 1997, and continued my straight A's streak in to 1998 to the 8th grade. I was happy, content and was looking forward to CHSE, and higher studies. I had chosen the science stream, along with English Literature as the optional subject. Both my parents would attend the parent teacher meetings and even my fellow students would ask, why do both of them come? I would smile and be silent. I was really happy that both of them were there each time. I ended the year 1998 with straight A's again. We moved to a new beautiful house in henveiru, 5 minutes walk from school. All was well.

Then it all fell apart. In the holidays of 1998, my dad and my mom split up. He remarried and moved away. For the first six months, everything seemed ok, but Mom kept warning us that Dad might not be able to support two families at the same time. There were countless arguments and fights between them both and mom was in the depths of depressive hell. We were all affected, badly. Our life was deteriorating slowly and steadily. I got the first 'B' report of my life that first term in the 9th grade. I remember coming home and sitting outside the house. Too embarrassed to go in. It was the beginning of a downward spiral that I could not see forthcoming.

Like Mom said, Dad couldn't support us. The structure of family life fell apart within a few months. Mom moved away with two of our younger siblings. We had to move, to a smaller place and me and my older brother and older sister were placed in the care of our uncle. It soon became a hangout for our sisters drug addict boyfriend and their friends. I had no hope of making it to the 10th grade as I had not studied at all. But somehow, I scraped through. And things got worse.

We had to move again. This time we got placed in a room of a house of a distant relative. The food was horrible. Meal times weren't set or defined and most of the time me and my brother ended up sleeping hungry. It was the first term of 10th grade and I was always hungry. Now a hungry teenager makes an angry teenager. I was going to school angry at the world, angry at my father, angry at everyone. And I took out that anger on the teachers. (Breakfast program makes a lot of sense to me, wish we had that) I had broken my shoes and went to school in slippers. The teacher kicked me out. Obviously they didn't know what I was going through and I was too angry, and ashamed to talk to any of them. My 10th grade class teacher hated me. Her name was Ms. Spencer. She called me "nuisance" in relation to my name. What did I care anyways. I was a nuisance to everyone in my mind. Soon I was bunking school. I spent most of the classes of teachers I hated in Sultan Park. And then, I stopped going to school all together. Two weeks passed.

And then the school finally got through to my mom. They had been trying to reach home, but by now we had moved to three houses in less than 6 months, so the contact information was obsolete. Me and my brother were kicked out of the relatives house and we were placed in an accommodation room of a small restaurant that Dad was running. The room was shared with the chef of that restaurant and he used to bring women in there at night. Awful, horrible experience that was and we slept hungry, almost every night. School and education were not a priority for me. Anyways, mom goes to school and the teachers at Majeediyya finally got the full story. Mom came to see me and asked me to go to school again. So I went.

The first person to speak to me was my 9th grade ponytailed Physics teacher. Mr. 'Pirate' Fayaz. I don't remember his full name. He took me in to the staff room. His words still rings in my ears. "Think of me as your father, son. If you're ever hungry, tell me. Come to school. And make sure you meet me everyday."

The next person was my 10th grade Physics teacher, Mr. Inthiran. His brand of advice was firm and logical, like physics. "Forget everything, come to my class, do as I say. Forget everything else, I will make sure you pass"

Then I went and met my class teacher, Ms. Spencer. Her anger was gone. She was extremely kind and quiet when she spoke to me. Asked me to be just present in school and do my lessons. Even said, "You can wear slippers, I'll handle it". The next day, she gave us an assignment to write a comprehension. An essay. There were three topics. She told everyone to finish writing before the first period. She turned to me and said "You can finish it whenever you want. Take your time. Just finish it". So I looked at the topics. The first one was "My favourite school", the second one "My ambition when I grew up" and the third one was "The black cloud". I didn't know how significant this choice of comprehension would be until later in my life. I went for the most difficult topic. The black cloud. And I poured my heart in to it. I wrote about my family, my life and my desire to escape the black cloud. And I finished first. I handed it over to Ms. Spencer and she looks at it and she calls the class to attention. She started reading it aloud. Halfway through, she started to cry. Everyone was teasing me about making her cry that day. She came to see me after class and said, "I will be your mom at school if you'll let me". And she was. She gave me food and drinks in the morning. And she never ever said anything aloud. The other students even accused her of favoring me but she ignored it. I had a mother at school now.

The final parent teacher meeting came around. I was asked beforehand by the teachers. I told mom. She wasn't in Male' so she told Dad to be there. (We were talking using phone booths. Big headache). He told mom that he would meet me at school. So I went there that night and stood outside the gate. No one came. Other students, and parents met me outside, looked at me in that weird way. You know. The boy who always had both parents at the parent meetings was now alone. I lied to them that Dad was coming. I knew he was not. Then a fellow student of mine, Ismail Mohamed Didi came out and told me that Mr. Inthiran had asked me to come inside. He took me aside and said. "Son, I know how you feel, but life is like this sometimes. I want you to go home, but I also want you to remember that you are not alone. We are all here for you". Then Ms. Christina, my literature teacher spoke to me. She told me that I was the best student in class and that I was scoring distinction level marks in literature without even attending her classes. She told me. "Don't lose hope. Do what you do best. Focus on that".

It was that night that I finally accepted the fact that, my family, and the comfort and protection that I as a child had taken for granted from its structures, was gone. It was up to me and only me now. I only had my school, my uniform, and whatever books I had left.

It was too late for me to do anything in Mathematics, Biology or Chemistry. I was too far behind to catch up for GCE O'levels. But the rest was possible. Mr. Inthiran ensured that I was in his class listening. Physics was logic. Cold logic. And I understood that well. English was a breeze. I enjoyed writing and reading. Literature interested me, as it was about analysis of literary text, and writing clearly to define what I understood.

I went to the national library and got a review of Animal Farm, read extensively about the Russian revolution. I did character analyses for every character in the book. Napoleon, Snowball, Moses the Raven, Squealer, you name it, I did it. I studied Karl Marx and Lenin, I poured over the character of Joseph Stalin. (Probably the reason why I take politics with a pinch of salt today). I studied Macbeth, the Merchant of Venice. I studied William Shakespeare in detail. What I was doing was a hell lot more advanced, but I was determined to do my best in what I was good at. I was thinking analytically. I was seeing beyond what was said and written. I was creating stories from emotions. I had no clue that I would end up being a marketer, but that was where the fuse was lit.

I passed in Physics with a C. But in English and Literature I had two distinctions. Two shiny bright A's. I passed well in Islam but in Dhivehi I got a D. Not because I didn't understand it. I fell very sick on the day of the exam and I couldn't write properly. I can write in Dhivehi extremely well, better than most people. That was just some dumb bad luck. Anyways, didn't make it to CHSE. So I ended up hunting for a job. Now this was 2001, and people were looking for degree holders. They were looking for maturity. I had none. No self confidence either. I had my grades but I didn't have that structure or personality that higher education and guidance embeds in you. After numerous interviews, I got a job at Damas as a sales person, but I suffered from the lack of understanding of the work environment. I wasn't bad at my job. I just was getting to grasps with it. I was ashamed that I didn't have a good shirt, or a phone so I sort of shrunk inside. Sadly, I got fired from that first job, just as I started enjoying it. I was sad but I decided that if I ever get a job again I would never ever let them fire me.

I started job hunting again. Interview after interview and no luck at all. All negative responses. To be honest, the interviewers were so poor. They were only looking at the certificates. What we were wearing. I almost gave up. I was sleeping during the day and running around Male' at night. I was spiraling again. Hanging out with the wrong people. Then Maldivian Air Taxi called for an interview. Now this interview was different. They gave us all a test with multiple choice questions. And guess what I had to write to complete this test? An essay. And they even gave three topics to chose from. The first two topics were boring and generic, but the third was about teamwork. It was the most difficult one. You guessed it. I went for the difficult one. I poured my heart in to it just like that day in school with Ms. Spencer. I wrote about how a single stick alone would break easily but if all the sticks were bound together it would be unbreakable. We handed our tests to the man there and he took us down to the terminal. He informed everyone that they will call us, but he asked me to remain behind. After everyone left, he came to me and introduced himself as Mr. Thushara Perera. He said that they were actually looking for a girl for the GRO post. So I asked him why I was kept behind. He said that my essay had blown him away. And he promised me that if he ever finds a position where he could recruit me, he would call me. I was happy and disappointed.

Six months passed and I still had no job. Life was being wasted. I was playing football at night and sleeping during the day and watching Kasautii, Kyun Ki and Kum Kum every afternoon from an extended cable borrowed from our landlords. Then on a rainy afternoon, the girl in the adjacent room of ours (we were living in a single room, mom and us) came and said that a foreigner has called and wants to talk to me. I go to their room and pick it up and it's Mr. Thushara from Maldivian Air Taxi. He asked me to come for an interview as they had an opening. That day, he took me to see the General Manager, Mr. A.U.M. Fawzy. He told me that my English and intelligence was too good for the opening they had. (It was for a sales person at the souvenir counter). I said that I would be more stupid without a job. I promised him I wouldn't leave for at least two years even if I was bored to death. So he gave me the job.

For the next one year I drank coffee from morning till dusk at MAT Terminal. And I talked to almost every passenger I could. I sold souvenirs, T-shirts and sometimes made more than my salary in tips. I was commended by almost all the foreign pilots and management and vilified by almost all the Maldivian staff. You see, it was and still is sacrilegious to do anything beyond your job scope, to go out of your way to serve, according to most Maldivians. Anyways, I got transferred to customer services and soon I was working in check-in, and ramp operations. My communication skills developed extensively. Most importantly my confidence improved immensely. And then Wataniya announced that they would be coming to the Maldives.

I applied to Wataniya, aced my interview and went to work as a Customer Services Representative at the Call Center. My English was excellent and now I finally got my hands on a computer and the internet. I trained myself in the use of office tools, the PowerPoint, Word and Excel. And due to the confidence that I had built up, I caught the eye of the Marketing Director Ms. Eleanor Azar. I went to a Telecom Fair in F. Nilandhoo and our team's performance generated a lot of interest in me. So in early 2007, I was transferred to Marketing on the Director's request. I was now a PR & Communication Specialist in the Marketing Department at Wataniya Telecom Maldives.

Marketing was new to me, but also familiar in a weird way. I didn't feel lost. Marketing was about caring, about selling, about analysis and analytical thinking, about seeing beyond what was said and written, about creating stories from emotions. Everything that had happened to me in my life had trained me for this. People were surprised at the speed that I would learn and lead. I met Ms. Claire Mattei, the Wataniya International Group Marketing Director in 2007 for the first time and I remember her telling me on the way to the ferry. "You will handle the agency. You've got everything in your head". I was surprised then, but today I understand why she gave me that task. I could talk and communicate better. I could write and create. I could present anything on a PowerPoint, work an Excel and draft up a press release on Word equal to or better than any marketing graduate. And I did. And we (communications team and the agency Think) created campaign after campaign that set the benchmark for Marketing in Maldives.

And after Raastas, Bodu Mas Parades, Ramadan campaigns, ambient doorway campaigns, in 2008, I was promoted to Manager, PR & Communications at Wataniya Telecom Maldives. And I still only had my GCE O' Levels. Now to be honest, graduates didn't really want to work at Hulhumale office. HR interviewed a lot of them and they always declined, because you have to take a ferry of 20 mins to work. I got the promotion because I was at the right place at the right time and did most of the things right. I mean the Mas Race should count right? It did get tougher for me without higher education later on, but I had made it. I was 23 years old and a career that I could have never ever imagined in my life was a reality. I had become a Marketer.

My classmates who were studying in Malaysia came back around that time and it was fun meeting them. I remember Mr. Ali Waheed asking me, "How the hell did you get to where you are?" He had last seen me as a ragamuffin on the street hanging out with a gang up to no good.

In 2010 I left Wataniya, like I said, it was hard to deal with office politics and the perception without the protection of higher education. With the rent and all I still couldn't afford it. A Manager's salary was just MVR 12,000.

So I left to work at Think. From 2010 to 2015, I worked for almost every brand in the country. Mostly worked for Dhiraagu and created the Maldives first brand ads for Ramadan, which is something I look back today at fondly. Did numerous campaigns and events.

Got a salary boost in 2012 to MVR 25,000 and I studied and got my postgraduate diploma and joined Allied Insurance. Spend five of the most creative years of my life making insurance fun and engaging. Remember that little kid on Maldivian Idol? Yeah that was fun. Got promoted three times and won the MD's Excellence Award in 2018. Allied was magic. And I honestly felt like Harry Potter at times.

Today I am running my own business. My own marketing firm. It's been a year. It's a struggle but I am getting by. Doing work I love for clients I love. My dad and mom never reconciled properly but we exist as a family. I have no anger towards my father. He was and is a good father. And I love him even with all his faults. Anyone can make a mistake. And I know he loves us all. It's from him that I inherited the work ethic I have.

Yes, I don't have many awards or recognitions. Nor do I hold a powerful position in society. Nor am I filthy rich. I am still living paycheck to paycheck. Yes, this is not a movie. No Hollywood ending here.

But I have been blessed with the most valuable gift of all. Family. That which I lost years ago, the almighty blessed me tenfold. I have a family of my own and a home full of warmth and kindness. A loving and caring wife, a beautiful daughter and two handsome boys. And an iron will to never ever take away the protection and the structures of family life from them. I am happy. Insha Allah. To me that's success.

If this story went the normal way, I would have ended up in jail, probably. But this story became special, all because Majeediyya School and it's teachers became my family when I lost mine. These teachers didn't just teach me in those final months. They made me whole. They made me learn. And they armed with all that I would need to make it in life.

Yes, I had to work very very hard. But then again, for every Majeediyan, that's a given. When it comes to that we say 'bring it on'. We will work hard and we will brighten where we are with the light of Majeediyya. Because 'Nihil, Labore, Difficile' - Nothing is impossible with hard work.

Happy 95th Anniversary Majeediyya. You were enough for me.