Stories Written, Moments Captured, Thoughts Framed.

Posts tagged ‘Najma Hussain’

MY MOTHER: THE BEST PART OF MY MORNINGS

Every year, today, the Maldives celebrates Republic Day.

And my mother celebrates her birthday.

I’ve always found that rather amusing. The entire nation gets a public holiday, flags go up, and celebrations take place. I’m not suggesting the country arranged all this for her, but knowing my mother, I wouldn’t entirely rule out the possibility.

This year has been particularly special for her.

Just three months ago, my mother received the National Award of Honour for her remarkable contribution to broadcasting.

Nearly four decades of service. A voice that became part of countless Maldivian homes.

But today, I want to celebrate the woman behind that familiar voice.

The mother who once handed a little boy a ten-sheet drawing book, unknowingly setting him on a lifelong journey of storytelling.

And the woman I now have the privilege of sharing breakfast with every morning.

For the past three years, this has become our little ritual. I sit with my mother over breakfast, and we talk about everything under the sun. Family, memories, politics, films, the world, and sometimes absolutely nothing important.

Just like two best friends having a conversation over coffee.

I cannot think of a more rewarding way to begin my day.

There are little things about these mornings that I have grown particularly fond of.

My mother has arthritis, which makes reaching certain things on the breakfast table difficult. She would point towards the bananas or her special portion of breakfast, and I would pass them to her.

These days, I’ve learned to arrange everything within her reach before she even sits down.

She no longer needs to point.

It’s such a small thing. But as I grow older, I’m beginning to understand that love often lives in these little gestures.

This is the same woman who spent much of her life looking after us. Now, being able to do something as simple as arranging her breakfast gives me a happiness I cannot quite put into words.

Since my father passed away, I’ve become more conscious of how precious these ordinary moments are. The conversations we take for granted. The laughter. The familiar voice across the table.

And the comfort of knowing she is there when another morning begins.

At fifty-five, I’m still that little boy with a head full of stories. Only now, I understand who first encouraged him to tell them.

The nation honoured my mother for the voice she gave its people.

I celebrate her for the love she gave me.

Happy Birthday, mother.

May Allah bless you with good health, happiness, peace, and many more beautiful years with us. Aameen.

With all my love.

NAJMAATTHA: THE VOICE BEYOND THE STATIC

On 3 November 1988, the distance between Colombo and Malé was measured not in miles, but in static.

I was in Colombo continuing my studies. Every day, I tuned in to Radio Maldives. The signal was faint, but whenever my mother’s voice emerged through the noise, it brought home a little closer.

Then Malé was attacked.

I knew what was happening, but the telephone lines had been cut and the radio signal had disappeared. I could not contact my family. I did not know if the people I loved were safe.

That night, I kept waking and turning on the radio.

Static.

Then, towards dawn, a signal returned.

And I heard my mother’s voice announcing that the Maldives had been saved.

To the nation, she was delivering the news.

To me, she was delivering my family back.

If my mother had gone to the radio station, I knew everyone at home must be safe. For a frightened son thousands of kilometres away, that was proof enough.

Thirty-eight years later, on the National Day of the Maldives, that memory returned to me.

My mother, Najma Hussain—affectionately known to the public as Najmaatha—received the National Award of Honour in the Field of News and Information Dissemination from the President of the Maldives for her outstanding service to the nation.

Today, the nation carried its gratitude back to her.

My mother joined Radio Maldives on 8 July 1970. She began as an announcer and rose through the institution as a senior announcer, presenter-producer, programme organiser, senior programme organiser and finally, director.

By the time she retired on 1 April 2009, she had devoted nearly thirty-nine years of her life to public broadcasting. Retirement, however, did not silence that familiar voice; she continues to lend it to private radio stations.

But job titles tell only a small part of her story.

She read the news, wrote and presented programmes, produced content and trained a new generation of broadcasters. Her programmes covered almost every part of Maldivian life—our national identity, Islamic history, fishing, health, family, youth, the environment, and Dhivehi language and literature.

In many ways, her work became a record of how a young country spoke to itself while it was growing.

She continued learning throughout her career, undertaking professional training in the Maldives and abroad. More importantly, she returned and shared that knowledge with those who followed her.

A voice can present a programme.

A mentor helps create many more voices.

My mother never served the nation in search of applause. Like so many people of her generation, she simply believed that the work entrusted to her had to be done properly.

This award does not create her worth.

It recognises what was already there.

For generations of Maldivians, Najmaattha was a familiar and trusted voice. Her programmes informed them, educated them and kept them company.

But my own history with that voice is different.

It is the voice I searched for through the static.

It is the voice that reached me when every other connection to home had been severed.

It is the voice that told me my country had been saved—and, without speaking directly to me, told me that my family was safe.

On that morning in 1988, I felt proud of my mother.

Today, I feel that same pride again.

Only deeper.

The nation may remember Najmaattha as a broadcaster, producer, mentor, director and recipient of the National Award of Honour.

I will always remember her as the voice beyond the static.

The voice that brought home back to me.

Congratulations, Mamma.

May Allah reward you for every moment you devoted to the nation, bless you with good health and happiness, and make this honour a source of pride in this life and the next.

Aameen.