Mariyam Mohamed

“Mummy, it hurts.” “Mummy, I don’t want to see them anymore.” “Mummy, I don’t have a choice… I have to speak.” “Mummy, why is he like that?” “Mummy, why do other kids have two parents at school… but not me?” These are not just words from a child; they are echoes of pain, confusion, and abandonment. In the Maldives, a country known to the world as a tropical paradise, there exists another reality that is rarely spoken of: the invisible struggles of single mothers and the children they raise, often alone. The Maldives holds one of the highest divorce rates globally. While separation may offer safety or relief, the aftermath leaves many women battling life on all fronts. Overnight, a mother becomes everything: the sole provider, emotional support system, driver, tutor, nurse, protector. The roles that allow no rest, no pause, no time even to cry. She keeps going, often unnoticed, often unsupported. The emotional weight is heavy. Many mothers struggle with anxiety, isolation, and depressio...

  My best cousin and I As I walked towards my training destination yesterday morning, something unexpected happened. A sudden wave of memories swept over me, pulling me into a time long gone but still vivid in my heart. I realized I was on a road I had walked for over twenty years — my familiar road. The same path that once led me to school, to neighbors, to endless games, laughter, and childhood dreams. I passed by our old house. It looked almost the same — frozen in time — yet something felt different. The entrance had changed. The tiny walkway where we once played for hours, chasing each other and drawing with chalk, was no longer ours. It had been claimed by the government and renamed as a public lane. But in my heart, it will always be a part of our home — a sacred piece of my childhood. I could almost hear the echoes of our laughter — innocent, wild, and free. It rang in my ears as if calling me back. I paused for a moment and asked myself, Where has all that laughter gone?...

  I live in Malé City, one of the most densely populated cities in the world, nestled on a small islet in the Maldives. As the capital, it attracts people from across the islands who come here in search of better opportunities. I work as a corporate trainer, and one of my techniques to build rapport with participants is to engage in conversations about their personal lives. These conversations are more than icebreakers—they offer a window into the hopes, struggles, and silent sacrifices people make each day. Over the years, I have met many brilliant individuals—talented minds with entrepreneurial energy and potential far beyond the confines of a 9-to-5 job. Yet, many of them hold down full-time employment despite running their own businesses. When asked why, the answers are often similar: “We need a stable income.” Business can be unpredictable, especially in a fragile economy, and the cost of living in Malé is relentlessly high. A stable salary provides a sense of security—a way...

Over the past four years, I have had the opportunity to conduct training sessions for a diverse range of professionals, from entry-level employees to business owners managing teams of over 100. One thing I have noticed consistently is the preference for indoor, classroom-style training. It is structured, familiar, and feels like the “proper” way to learn. Outdoor training? That is a different story. Very few have requested Outdoor Management Development (OMD), and I have not yet had the chance to design or deliver one myself. However, I have spoken to participants who have attended such programmes, and their feedback has been a mix of curiosity, confusion, and caution. Some said they could not truly understand the purpose of the session. It felt more like a day of games than a learning experience. Others mentioned that personal boundaries were not always respected, especially during physical or high-pressure tasks. While a few admitted they did learn something, like how they respond un...

It was almost 10:45 PM when I arrived at the island of Huraa. At the jetty, I was greeted by a smiling woman, the principal of Huraa School, who had come personally to receive me. This small gesture spoke volumes about her leadership. She could have easily delegated the task to someone from her team, yet she chose to come herself. As we drove to the hotel and later sat down for a discussion in preparation for the next day's training, she shared that her team had been busy all week. That was why she told them to rest while she came to meet me. In that moment, I saw a true leader—empathetic, thoughtful, and genuinely concerned about the well-being of her team. In my four-year career, I have met many leaders, but people like her are rare gems. She reminded me that before titles and responsibilities, we are human beings. That simple yet powerful truth stayed with me. The following day, I met the school staff who participated in the training on Stress Management . The participants wer...

  My recent visit to Kaafu Maafushi for a training session was intended as a professional engagement — an opportunity to share knowledge and help build competence among the Council team. However, it evolved into something far more meaningful. It became a personal journey of reflection and reconnection, not only with the island itself but with a part of life that often gets buried under the noise of the city. After the training, one of the participants kindly offered a brief tour of the island. I had been to Maafushi before, more than four times in fact, but this visit came after a 24-year gap. The island I remembered had changed — visibly and significantly. Once a modest tourist destination, Maafushi now stands with newly built guesthouses, vibrant cafés, and recreational spaces that bring both locals and visitors together. Yet, what struck me most wasn’t just the transformation in infrastructure. It was the spirit of the island — familiar, warm, and unchanged in the best possible...