One of my clients recently came back from the Maldives and published an article in the Sunday Times about their experience with a very special local surf guide. To book your next surf trip to the Maldives drop me a mail :

Sunday Times

11 January 2015

Accidental Tourist: The welcoming wave at the Maldives

Jo-Ann Bekker | 11 January, 2015

A delightful surf instructor adds a whole new dimension to a Maldives holiday

Enough has been written about ski instructors and game rangers. It’s time to sing the praises of Maldivian surf guides, and one in particular, Mohammed Athoof, who prefers to be known as Kachu.

He was waiting for us at Ibrahim Nassir airport in the Maldives, wearing a wide smile, peroxided hair, T-shirt, board shorts and slip-slops.

“He’s gorgeous,” the hospice doctor, general practitioner and I agreed as our dhoni ferried us to Himmafushi island, while our husbands cross-examined Kachu about the Jailbreaks wave.

It would be incorrect to give the impression that we are sexist cougars. But who would you rather watch? Three fine 50-plus men donning rash-vests, sun-cream and surfing-peaks against the equatorial sun or a lithe, muscled surf guide who takes off his T-shirt, picks up his board and is ready to go?

At dinner that night, Kachu asked us to guess his age. Twenty-two, twenty-four, the doctors guessed. Eighteen, I said. She’s right, he said disappointedly, gesturing my way.

The next morning Kachu wasn’t at breakfast. He emerged hours later with one eye swollen shut. Our husbands were distraught – they only had eight days to pack in all the surfing they could. We women were more concerned about Kachu.

The GP fetched her first-aid kit and bathed and swabbed the eye. Kachu said he’d been up late with friends – drinking Red Bull and smoking cigarettes is about the only way Muslim teenagers can rebel. Something had fallen into his eye and he’d rubbed it all night, he said. The GP hadn’t brought eye drops. But after a trip to the hospital on Malé, Kachu was good as new.

Cut off from our own children, Kachu’s temporary helplessness made us feel maternal.

“Do you take drugs?” the GP asked him.

“No, do you?” he responded.

We worried that he would never achieve his dream of becoming a water-sports instructor, since he didn’t have the money to pay for the necessary university courses. We fretted about his alienation from his parents, who disapproved of his job and were disappointed that he no longer attended mosque.

“You care more about me than my parents do,” Kachu said glumly.

The doctors and I had an idyllic time swimming, snorkelling and exploring Himmafushi. My friends spoke to nurses in the government clinic about seasonal diarrhea outbreaks. I became increasingly fascinated by the upcoming presidential elections. The harbour and sandy streets were festooned with bunting in the colours of the political parties and stencilled portraits of party heads were spray-painted onto walls.

Kachu delivered on all his promises to our husbands, who had the best surf experience of their lives. He took us to surf breaks on other islands and we visited Kuda Bandos (a local resort only open to foreigners on certain days) for wonderful snorkelling.

He challenged us to cook a South African meal and we served him and his sisters’ families rather dry tuna steaks. His sisters returned the hospitality, giving us a Eid-style feast. Kachu brought his friends around to entertain us with traditional drumming and head-swaggering dancing.

“I hope the guests who arrive next week are fun like you guys,” he mused the next day. He was probably thinking about how we were in bed by 9pm and had opted not to spend a day at a neighbouring resort, where booze and bikinis were allowed (unlike on Himmafushi). “But one thing I know,” he continued in his melancholy way. “They’ll love me. Everybody loves me.” The GP said she hoped he never lost his confidence.

Too soon it was time to leave. Kachu gave each woman a stiff arm’s-length embrace and bear-hugged the men. He didn’t look back as our dhoni pulled away.

We became Facebook friends. I wrote to say we’d never forget our holiday, and he said we were his best guests ever. We’ll never know if it was our tips or if he says that to everyone. We’ll fade into an amorphous group of enthusiastic surfing tourists. But for us, there will only ever be one Maldivian surf guide.

 – © Bekker is a freelance writer based in Knysna