Chapter 10: Barking Jackals - My Name Is Samim

Every morning when I wake up, I tell myself how lucky I am to be alive, to live in a safe country, to have a nice home and to go to school. I repeat it over and over again while having a shower, brushing my teeth and getting dressed.

I’m so lucky, I think as I walk inside the school building. But then my demons wake. They grow big and loud in my head, making me feel small and awkward.

What do others think of me? Do they think I’m ugly and stupid? Do they know I have nothing? Do they pity me? I hope they don’t. I’m tired of worrying.

“I’m pretty sure they don’t think about you at all,” Zayn says. “They’re too busy staring at their phones.”

It’s true. Almost everyone around me keeps their heads down, gazing at the flashing screens.

“And if any of them do think you’re ugly and stupid just because you’re a refugee, then, as my sweet grandmother, whose face was as wrinkly as a date, used to say, ‘The moon doesn’t take notice of the barking jackal,’” Zayn says, pointing his finger up like a professor.

Snakes, barking jackals… Zayn’s sweet grandmother was never wrong. Why am I such a coward? I shut my eyes and take a deep breath.

3.14159265358…

* * *

At lunch break, Ayan, Rita and I eat sandwiches on a small wooden bench at the back of the school. It’s a perfect spot, as no one hangs out here. With fewer people around me, the bat in my chest settles and I can breathe.

“How was school like in Afghanistan?” Ayan asks me.

“Nothing like this one,” I reply, a smile tugging at my lips as memories flood my mind. “We’d spend breaks in the dusty schoolyard, playing football barefoot, stealing each other’s food, wrestling and laughing. Our faces would be red, clothes and hair covered in sand. Then we’d burst into the classroom sweaty and breathless, glugging warm water out of plastic bottles. Our teachers would scold us, knowing too well that we’d behave the same way tomorrow.”

Thinking back to that time makes my heart shriek. I rub my gritty eyes, drop my head and take another bite of my cheese sandwich.

“What were your schools like?” I ask Ayan and Rita.

“Mine was like yours in Afghanistan. Small, dusty, happy,” Ayan mutters with his mouth full, chewing and staring into the distance.

“I never went to school in Eritrea,” Rita says, her head down.

Ayan and I gape at her, waiting to hear why not, but then a screechy voice behind our backs makes us flinch.

“What are you freaks doing over here?”

Max and his gang walk in front of us, sneering.

“Eating our lunches, as you can see,” Rita says.

“This is our bench. Get out of here!”

Rita flushes with anger. “This is a school bench. You don’t own it.”

Max walks right in front of her, bends down and hisses in her face, “It’s my country. So I own it more than you do.”

Rita turns away from him, lowering her eyes.

“Come sit, enjoy lunch,” Ayan tells Max, standing up. He nods for us to follow him. “Let’s go.”

Rita and I get up and walk away from the bench, slouching in defeat.

“Barking jackals,” I say under my breath, but then I notice Ayan’s face light up with a faint smile. “What is it?”

“I did a big-bang fart before we left,” he says proudly, and Rita and I burst out chuckling, covering our mouths.

“A legend!” Zayn giggles.

“Ew! What’s that smell? That’s manky!” Max shouts behind us. “Who did that?”

We stoop, laughing into our hands, but the next second, a sudden push on the back makes me fall face down. I land in a puddle, and mud splashes up. It’s in my mouth, too, so I spit.

A thunder of laughter blasts behind me.

Rita is on the ground, too, and Ayan is stretching his hand out to her, helping her up. I guess whoever tried to push Ayan wasn’t strong enough. I jump up and start wiping the mud off my clothes.

Max and the gang take pictures of us with their phones and walk away sniggering.

We walk back towards the school in awkward silence. As we approach Rita’s group of friends, their mouths drop.

“Did the two of you mud wrestle or something?” a girl called Maya asks, pointing at me, and the girls laugh out loud.

Rita dips her head. “We just fell.”

Maya gestures for Rita to stop. “Please stay away, or you’ll get your dirt on us.”

“Ouch.” Zayn jerks his head back. “Maya bites like a snake!”

Rita’s eyebrows draw together, and she takes a step back.

“They are bad friends,” I say once they can’t hear us.

“They’re fine,” Rita says.

Ayan watches us, his eyes wide.

“They’re mean to you. I can’t believe you don’t see it!”

Zayn folds his arms. “No one asked you, Samim.”

“Those girls may not be perfect, but guess what? No one is,” Rita says. “And it’s Maya’s birthday soon, and she’s having a big party, and she said she’s going to invite me.”

I hear Rita, but I don’t understand her. “You can’t let them be mean to you just because you want to go to the party.”

“She was just joking! And who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do?” She storms off, disappearing into the school building.

My stomach tightens, and I turn to Ayan, who is looking at his phone and shaking his head.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“This.” He shows me a video of us falling on the muddy ground.

“And everyone in our class can see it?”

“Everyone – on Snapchat.”

* * *

Rita and I bump into each other in some classes, but she ignores me. Her friends cackle and whisper behind my back. A worry swells in my chest like a balloon. I run to the bathroom and lock myself in a toilet cubicle, gasping, trying to push air into my lungs.

“3.1415926…” Zayn mumbles while inspecting different scribbles on the cubicle’s walls. “You know, counting pi with you was more fun when you were in actual danger.”

“I don’t know why Rita got so mad at me. She should be mad at them! And she shouldn’t be friends with those girls.” I lean on the cubicle door and close my eyes.

“She should! She shouldn’t! I don’t think she asked for your advice, Samim.”

“So you keep saying! I’m just looking out for her.”

“Rita has been through what you and I have been through. She can look after herself.”

I know Zayn is right, but it only makes me feel worse.

“Does she not remind you of someone?” Zayn’s voice is suddenly serious, and he lowers his head.

I know who he’s talking about and how much remembering that person hurts him.

I nod, and we stay silent for a few seconds.

“What do I do?” I finally ask.

“Once, when I was five, I cut my sister’s hair while she was sleeping. Only some of it, with my mother’s scissors,” Zayn says.

My eyes widen. What is he talking about?

“My mum always hid those scissors from me, so I was just wondering what all the fuss was about.”

“Well, she obviously knew you couldn’t be trusted with them.”

Zayn waves his hand at me with annoyance and turns away.

“Okay, okay, so what happened next?” I try to sound serious. I don’t get to make fun of Zayn very often.

“It was bad. Really, really bad,” Zayn continues. “So bad that my mum had to cut the rest of my sister’s hair afterwards.”

“And what does that have to do with Rita?”

“Nothing. Why? I just remembered this funny story.”

My face darkens with fury. Oh, how I wish I could flush him down the toilet right now!

“Okay, okay! Lighten up!” Zayn lifts his arms and steps back from me, sensing my rage.

It’s not like I can do anything to a ghost!

“The thing is,” Zayn says, “that cutting my sister’s hair was probably the worst thing I’ve ever done, and I felt bad about it for weeks afterwards. Until I apologised to her.”

“Why did it take you weeks to apologise to her?”

“Why do you keep interrupting me?”

I roll my eyes. “Just tell me already, did she forgive you?”

“Oh no, she threw a vase at me. But the important thing is, I still felt so much better afterwards.”

I glower at Zayn in silence, thinking how wonderful slapping him on the head just now would feel.

“How can you be so wise sometimes and so stupid at other times?” I ask.

“It’s a gift, really.” Zayn straightens his shoulders with pride.

I shake my head at him and storm out of the toilet cubicle.