Fouziya’s Humiliation

It was my first day of college. My parents dropped me off at the gate with words of encouragement and pride, but I felt only dread. I knew what would await me – the dreaded “ragging” or hazing rituals that freshman girls endured at the hands of sadistic senior boys.

I sat nervously in my first class, my ankle-length dark hair hidden under my traditional hijab headscarf. How I loved my luscious locks, my one source of vanity and beauty in an otherwise plain, modest Muslim girl. I fingered the soft strands under my hijab, wishing I could show them off. But such immodesty was forbidden.

As the professor droned on about syllabi and coursework, I felt eyes boring into me from across the room. I glanced up to see two senior boys smirking at me, whispering and pointing. I shrank low in my seat, praying I could go unnoticed.

But during the next class, one of the boys sauntered up to me with a wolfish grin. “Hey, Hijabi. I’m Rakesh. My buddy Karan and I have been watching you. We noticed you’re new. Guess what that means…” I gulped, fearing I knew exactly what he meant. “No…please, I don’t want to be ragged! My parents warned me but I’m scared of you! Please don’t hurt me!” Rakesh chuckled darkly. “Oh we won’t hurt you, sweet thing. We’re going to help you. In fact, we’re going to help you so much, you won’t even need this anymore.”

He reached out and tugged my hijab, sending it tumbling off my head. “NO!” I shrieked in horror as my boys gasped in awe at the cascade of raven hair spilling down my back. Rakesh and Karan grabbed my arms in iron grips. “Look at all that beautiful hair,” Rakesh purred, running his fingers through the silky strands. “What a waste, hiding it away. You need to share it with the world. Starting with us.” Karan produced a straight razor, the cold steel glinting menacingly. “Don’t struggle now. Hold still and be a good girl, and this won’t hurt a bit.” I fought and flailed as they forced me into a chair, but I was no match for their strength. Rakesh yanked my head back while Karan began shaving my head with agonizingly slow strokes of the razor, the blade scraping and nicking my tender scalp. Tears and screams poured out of me as I felt my beloved hair clippings rain down on my shoulders and lap. The boys jeered and taunted me, telling me how worthless my hair was, how I never deserved such a beautiful mane. With each swish of the blade, more of my hair fell away, leaving me exposed and broken.

After an eternity, Karan finished, leaving me completely bald. I wept and wailed as the full horror of my situation sank in. I was utterly hairless, a freakish bald girl. And this was only the first day. Rakesh produced a mirror and shoved it in my face. I recoiled in shock at the pitiful creature with a shiny bald head staring back at me. “You’re going to keep your head shaved like this all year, Hijabi,” Rakesh sneered. “Every morning, Karan and I will personally shave you ourselves. And you’re not allowed to wear anything on your head, ever. We want you on display at all times. “Anytime you try to hide or resist, we’ll find you. No hijab, no hats, no headbands. You’re going to be our personal bald plaything. Do you understand?” I could only whimper and nod, crushed and defeated.

I knew I was doomed to endure this torment for the entire year, a walking laughingstock. My only solace was that my parents would never know the true depths of my suffering. As Rakesh and Karan dragged me to my next class, I stumbled along on shaking legs, feeling every eye boring into my exposed bald head. I was Fouziya, the bald hijabi, a victim of the cruelest hazing imaginable. And it was only the first day…

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