Bad report card, Bad Day (Part 7)


My dad said that I should stop being so violent in school (You know. How I keep attacking Xycobra and…people) and then maybe I would get better grades. He then said that 57% in Math was a disgrace to the family (You know how Indian people are. “You are not going to become a doctor with this type of marks!”)

And then came the lecture. Oooh and my favourite part, finding things to blame.

“It’s that phone, I’m telling you it’s that phone!” my mom was yelling above her lungs, bashing the table with her fist.

“No, it’s the TV! It’s that blasted TV!” my dad was screaming even louder, waving his hands frantically in the air, addressing some unknown spirit.


I get bad grades, it’s the TV. I’m too tired at school, it’s the TV. I can’t wake up in the morning, it’s the TV.

I’m fat, it’s obviously the TV.

I sighed. School was pretty rough the next day, looking at my exam papers and realising how well I could have done.

I walked towards Uncle Sipho’s taxi home time, and to my surprise found Xycobra sitting inside.

“What are you doing here?” I asked suspiciously, waiting for him to make one of his usual jokes. I needed cheering up.

“Why must you know everything, inquisitive, much?” he said scornfully, giving me a spiteful look.

“Whoa, someone’s in a bad mood,” I said, taking a seat right at the back at my window. My place. Just then Iola hopped on to the taxi and took a seat next to Xycobra, gushing about the new highlights she got that very day. Yes, that very day! Could you believe it? Yes, actually. I notice “fake” from ten miles away. 

What was going on!!! This was MY transport! Darn invaders!

She then walked (I don’t know if that was a walk, okay. It’s that walk that models do on the catwalk. When they’re drunk.) over to me and told me that I was sitting in her place. Gosh, the nerve.

I rolled my eyes (Don’t judge me, I had a right to do it this time!) and ignored her. Big mistake.

“You deaf, Indian B****?” she screamed, and then lifted me off my seat by my hair. My hair! OH NO SHE DI’NT!

I immediately took hold of her hair too and tugged, screaming insults in Hindi and Afrikaans at her.

“I just got highlights today! Let go!” she screamed.

“You let go!” I roared on top of my voice.



“NO SHUT THE HELL UP!” Xycobra’s voice boomed across the taxi as he made his way to us and separated us. I hung my head in shame. Violence was never the way to deal with these things, no matter how many times I’d did it before. Iola then tripped over her school bag and fell on top of me. Uncle Sipho chose that moment to become alarmed, started the taxi and accelerated so hard, my head fell out of the window.

“Aaaaaah Iola #$%!* get off me there’s other cars on the road!” I shouted, wind whipping in my face.

“I’m stuck! I’m stuck oh God I’m stuck!” she yelled, trying to free herself from me.

“My nails, Oh God my nails! My hair! My highlights!” she continued to yell. I growled. Yes, I growled. Don’t ask why, or how, I don’t know myself. All I know is that my head was out of the window and I could see Xycobra staring at us.

“Xycobra, help!” I pleaded, sugar coating my voice and adding honey for good measure. But Xycobra was smiling. Laughing, actually. For the first time that day.

“Aww, wittle Sky baby needs my help. Should I help the baby?” he asked, pouting his lips again. I began growling fiercely again, using my hands to lash out at the air behind me, searching for Xycobra’s face. But he contined laughing.


10 minutes later

Uncle Sipho is a lifesaver. I got off the taxi at my house and turned around to find Iola in tears.

“You’ve ruined my hair and nails! You ALWAYS ruin EVERYTHING!” she sobbed, mascara dripping down her cheeks. She looked like a wet raccoon.

“I’ll pay for-” I began.

“NO! You will do NOTHING! You will LEAVE my school and never return, ok? You ruin EVERYTHING, I HATE YOU! You even ruined my plan with Krayden’s drink…” she stopped as soon as she’d realised what she had said and covered her mouth with her still perfectly manicured hand. My mouth dropped open. To the floor. Maybe even lower.

Wait, what? WHAT!!!

Copyright Aakifah Mahomed 22 July 2014

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Here’s a link to Part 1 if you’re slightly lost: Part 1

A reminder that this story along with all its characters are fictional and are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real life people is merely coincidental.
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Dedicated to every woman who has ever had the misfortune of being judged.

From me

I have not been deluded into thinking that
the world is at ease
I am not a barbie doll
Oh so easily pleased.

I possess a brain. Intelligence.

Which you choose to ignore,
for fear of being teased.

You judge me by my pretty clothes
As if
That’s the only thing I know
My knowledge and intellect
by you who see through blinded eyes.

My turn has arrived.
And I shall speak.

I am as free as a Fairy Flycatcher in flight
And my hijab is my soul
If I love it
Why can’t you accept it?

Aakifah Mahomed

Copyright Aakifah Mahomed 8 July 2014

Any use of any part of this material without written consent and authorisation from the author is illegal and prohibited under the laws of © Copyright.