Hey, bullies… who’s laughing now?!
From timid teen to reality TV star, Fatima Timbo, 21, from east London, has a message to her bullies
They picked me up by the ankles and dumped me in a bin
Sitting in class, eyes fixed firmly on the blackboard in front, I tried my best to ignore the sniggers all around me. ‘Hey, midget girl!’ said one boy, sending the rest of the class into fits of laughter.
Mortified, I rushed out to the toilets. Slamming the cubicle door shut, I burst out crying.
Why do people have to be so mean?
All my life, it’d been the same story, the same cruel comments, the same thoughtless stares as I walked down the street.
But it wasn’t my fault
I looked the way I did.
When my mum was six months pregnant, doctors discovered I had a common type of dwarfism, achondroplasia, which causes people to be short in stature with a regular-sized torso and short limbs.
It meant I’d always be much shorter than everyone else. But that didn’t make my mum Rugiatu and dad Amadu, both 54, treat me any differently to my three older sisters.
My siblings were teenagers when I was born in January 1997, so the height difference between us didn’t seem so unusual at that time.
Then, 10 months later, my brother Abdul came along.
As toddlers, we’d roll around on the floor together, playing, scooting and crawling just like any other children. But when he started to shoot up, I stayed small – and my condition became more apparent.
Soon, Abdul could reach coat pegs and cupboard shelves that I couldn’t, and stopped using a booster seat in the car long before I did.
Mum and Dad told me I was special, and that I shouldn’t worry about my height.
When I was 6, my doctor prescribed daily hormone injections to stimulate my growth, but they didn’t work.
I was always the smallest person in the room.
By the time I reached secondary school in 2008, I’d stopped growing at 4ft, while all my friends towered above me.
It meant that while they could show off their long, lean legs in skinny jeans, I always covered myself up in baggy trousers.
Everything
I bought had to be shortened and adjusted. I could never wear something straight off the hanger.
But it was my upper arms that caused me the most grief. I hated them, so I always tried to cover them up with shapeless jumpers.
People often asked me if I had to buy children’s clothes, which was really annoying. Especially when I had to explain over and over again that it was just my legs that were shorter, at 16 inches. But my body was an ordinary size-8.
Still, that wasn’t the most ignorant comment people made.
In secondary school, I became an easy target for bullies. One group of boys in particular delighted in calling me offensive names like ‘shorty’ and ‘midget’.
They’d often send me abusive messages over Instagram, telling me I was ugly and weird. Eventually, I just deleted my profile.
I thought if I kept my head down, I could avoid their bullying. But one day, while I was walking across the playground alone, they picked me up by the ankles and dumped me in a bin.
Terrified, I had to be hauled out by the other students. Sobbing and shaking uncontrollably in front of everyone, I’d never felt so scared or humiliated.
Naturally, my parents were furious and lodged a formal complaint with the school. Although the boys were given a warning, I knew – deep down – that things wouldn’t change.
After that, my confidence took a huge nosedive, and I started to retreat into myself.
I stopped putting my hand up
If I could speak to my old school bullies now...
in class, or eating lunch in the canteen. I was too scared the bullies would be there.
In fact, the only place where I felt truly accepted was at my local drama group. I’d been going since I was a little girl, and loved how liberated I felt on stage.
In many ways, my height was an advantage in drama group as it meant I could be cast in the really special roles, like when I played a Munchkin in our summer production of The Wiz.
But ultimately, ballet was my particular forte, and I even managed to do my exams right up to grade 3.
Not that it counted for anything in school. As soon as my ballet shoes came off, I’d go back to keeping my head down.
Only, one day, as I walked down the corridor in school, I overheard another girl talking to her friend.
‘If I had a baby like Fatima, I’d abort her,’ she said.
Her comments hit me like a train, but not because they upset me. Rather, they enraged me. Who was she to say I wasn’t worth a chance at life, as if I was some pathetic figure, a person without any value?
It was then that I realised I’d have to take myself seriously before anyone else would.
I had to stop feeling ashamed of who I was, and show people just what I was worth.
So, that evening, I re-activated my Instagram account, and started posting photos of my friends and me at drama group, performing and singing.
I ditched my shapeless, baggy clothes, and started wearing the denim dresses and trendy, off-the-shoulder tops I’d always wanted to.
I even became louder and more opinionated in class, refusing to let bullies shout
me down or talk over me.
Before I knew it, my grades were flourishing, and I was accepted at Middlesex University to study Accounting and Finance.
In a sea of so many new faces at freshers’ week, it was mine that stood out from the crowd – in a good way.
My uniqueness worked to my advantage.
To my surprise, the more people I met, the more I was applauded for my positive attitude.
You should become a diversity model, somebody once commented underneath one of my Instagram photos.
Although I never knew there was such a thing, her words stuck with me.
So when I saw a call-out a few months later for a self-love campaign by the clothing company Nunude, looking for people with visible differences, I decided to apply.
I was invited to a casting call, where a panel of judges asked me questions.
I explained my journey, and amazingly they asked me to appear in their campaign.
Afterwards, I started getting involved in other campaigns to
promote body acceptance. And then, in spring 2017, I was asked to appear on The Undateables, the TV dating show that sends people with misunderstood conditions on a blind date.
At first, I was hesitant. I didn’t like the name of the show for a start.
But then Mum persuaded me. ‘You can be a role model for other little people,’ she said.
We filmed the episode in September 2017, at a cocktail bar in London.
Although my date David and I didn’t meet up again, I felt so proud of what I’d achieved – to go from being bullied in the school hallways to starring on a TV dating show. Now, at 21, I’m just about to start my third year of my Accounting degree.
Although I’m not in a relationship yet, I know that, one day, I’ll find love with somebody who appreciates me for everything that I am.
If I could speak to my old school bullies now, I’d tell them I’m proud of the person I’ve become and wouldn’t change myself for the world.
And I’d ask them if they could really say the same about themselves...
Visit Fatima’s Instagram @fatstimbo.