Everyday money, family, home, faith — the journalism you actually use.
The short version: most streaming services will add 8% from June. Remote work and consulting income is unaffected. Freelancers earning under Rf 1M/yr remain below the threshold.
Eight home cooks, one food critic, and a generation of office-lunch regulars are pulling mas huni, bajiya and gulha out of the freezer aisle — and back onto the morning tray.
Smoked skipjack, fresh coconut, red onion, chilli. No shortcuts and no blender. A four-generation recipe from Hithadhoo, at last written down.
The Maldivian anchovy paste has a new generation of fans — and a scandal about what goes into the mass-market jar.
A crunchy, pleated, tuna-filled pastry, tested in five Male’ tea shops and one home kitchen.
Rice flour, palm sugar, coconut milk — steam until it smells like your aunt’s kitchen in Fonadhoo.
Young coconut, lime, ginger, salt. A Ramadan-season classic, back year-round.
Three interior designers, one architect, and the carpenter of Villingili all agree on this: the best houses on the island stopped pretending to be resorts five years ago. Rattan stayed. Concrete softened. The lacquer came back.
A walk-through of six homes, from a 120-year-old Addu cottage to a brand-new Hulhumalé duplex, and the crafts people who made them feel like Maldives again.
A three-day kaiveni built around a great-grandmother’s mat, twenty hand-written invitations and a bouquet grown on the sandbank next door.
Two lawyers, forty minutes, eight witnesses — and a photographer who only works after 6pm.
An Addu wedding menu, in its exact order, from the bodu mas to the last cup of kalho kahvaa at 4am.
Low tide, bare feet, no phone. Thirty Male’ residents tried it for a month.
And what four nutritionists think about it.
A practical how-to for renters with one bulb.
When Ayesha Rasheed left her Colombo studio in 2023, she thought she’d miss the city. Two years and four hundred students later, she teaches barefoot on the Hulhumalé jetty every sunrise — and has a waiting list you can measure in atolls.
A long read on the quiet boom in Maldivian home-grown wellness, the island spots that anchor it, and the question nobody is quite asking: what happens when the resorts want in?
Five phrases to retire, and five that open doors.
A recipe from the late Fareeda Ali, as remembered by her three daughters.
From Villingili channel to Dhuvaafaru reef.
For a long time the paper decided, privately and without saying so, that life-and-style was the part that happened between the real stories. When Parliament went home the pages came out. This year we stopped thinking like that. The short-eat counter at Sea House is a story. The rattan chair in your aunt’s Hulhumalé living room is a story. The way a Gadhdhoo grandmother teaches her niece to set up a loom — that is a story the Maldives is losing, if we don’t write it down.
When we launched, we called this desk Dhuniye— “the world” in Dhivehi — because we meant the small private one: the corner shop, the Friday lunch, the honeymoon you never took, the house you finally finished. Readers, kindly, told us the name was confusing. Dhuniye belongs to the World desk; this one is about how you live. So from this issue we are Dhiriulhun. Same magazine. Same editor. Clearer door. We will cover all of it — twice a month in print, every Saturday online, with a recipe and a recommendation in every issue.
Thank you for reading. Write to us at dhiriulhun@masnooee.mv (the old address will keep forwarding). Send photographs of your kitchen; we’ll print the ones we love.