Nothing in Nigerian life matches the terror and ritual of bringing home a bad report card. The silence when you walk through the door. The way your father folds his newspaper. The moment your mother calls your full name — all three of them. This skit lives in that specific, universal fear.
👥 CHARACTERS
- Temi — 17 years old. Armed with a report card that contains results he has not fully processed himself.
- Pa Adegoke — Temi’s father. A man of few words and maximum judgment. Speaks slowly, deliberately. Every sentence lands like a gavel.
- Mama Temi — Temi’s mother. The mercy branch — but only after father has finished. Also the one who will “tell everyone at church.”
- Sisi Kemi — Temi’s older sister (19). Present for moral support but secretly enjoying every second of her brother’s suffering.
🏠 SETTING
The family sitting room in a Lagos home, late afternoon. Pa Adegoke is in his armchair — the seat of judgment. The dining table has been cleared for the occasion. A glass of water sits before him, untouched. Mama Temi is nearby, pretending to iron. Sisi Kemi is “reading” in the corner but watching everything.
🎬 FULL SCRIPT
Temi enters the house quietly, clutching his school bag. He moves on tiptoe.
PA ADEGOKE(without looking up) Oluwatemi Adegoke. Sit down.
Temi freezes. He was not yet in the sitting room. How did his father know.
TEMIGood afternoon, sir.
PA ADEGOKEYour report card. On the table.
Temi slowly places the envelope on the table. Pa Adegoke stares at it for a full 5 seconds without touching it.
MAMA TEMI(from the corner, not looking up) Temi, do you want food?
TEMIYes Ma—
PA ADEGOKEHe does not want food yet.
MAMA TEMI(quietly) Okay.
Pa Adegoke opens the envelope carefully, unfolding the report card. He puts on his reading glasses. He reads for what feels like four years.
TEMI(internally, to camera, aside) Lord. Father God. It is not that bad. Mathematics was… okay, mathematics was bad. But English was good. English is a language. Languages matter.
PA ADEGOKEMathematics. 42.
The ironing board squeaks.
PA ADEGOKEPhysics. 38.
Mama Temi’s iron stops completely.
PA ADEGOKEChemistry. 31.
Silence. Even the clock sounds afraid.
SISI KEMI(whispering, not looking up) Temi.
TEMI(whispering back) Don’t.
PA ADEGOKEEnglish Literature. 78. Social Studies. 71.
TEMI(relieved whisper) Yes. English and Social Studies. Strong—
PA ADEGOKESo you can read. But you cannot calculate. You can write about other people’s stories but you cannot solve a problem. Is that the kind of person I am training in this house?
TEMISir, the Maths teacher—
PA ADEGOKEThe Maths teacher what?
TEMIHe… does not explain well, sir.
PA ADEGOKE(long pause) I see. So in 1987, when I sat my WAEC in a school with no electricity and one textbook shared between twenty students… the teacher also did not explain well?
TEMI…
PA ADEGOKEWe had no generator. No lesson teacher. No Wikipedia. We had books, a torch, and the fear of God. And I passed.
MAMA TEMI(from the corner) He passed very well oh. Seven distinctions.
SISI KEMI(quietly, to Temi) We have been hearing about these seven distinctions since 1994.
TEMI(suppressing a laugh) Sisi—
PA ADEGOKESomething is funny?
TEMINo sir. No.
PA ADEGOKETemi. Tell me. What is your plan? When you fail these sciences, what are you planning to become?
TEMISir… I was thinking… maybe… arts. Or media. I like writing and—
PA ADEGOKEMedia. MEDIA. So I have been paying school fees since you were three years old so that you can go and do… media.
MAMA TEMI(walking over) But Baba Temi, media is also a profession now. His friend‘s son in Abuja is—
PA ADEGOKEIs this your interrogation or mine?
MAMA TEMI(backing away) I am just saying. Times have changed a little bit.
PA ADEGOKE(to Temi) You will have a lesson teacher for Mathematics and Physics by Monday. You will spend your holiday studying. And you will bring me—
TEMI(quietly) I know, sir. First Class.
PA ADEGOKE(softening almost imperceptibly) Not First Class. I am asking for your best. If your best is a B, show me a genuine B. But this 38 in Physics? This is not your best. I know my son.
Temi looks up, slightly surprised by the softer tone. Pa Adegoke folds the report card.
PA ADEGOKENow you can eat.
MAMA TEMI(rushing to kitchen, relieved) I made jollof rice! Special!
SISI KEMI(whispering to Temi) You survived.
TEMI(whispering back) He said my best. Did you hear that? He said he knows his son.
SISI KEMIDon’t quote him. He might take it back.
🎭 ACTING TIPS
- Pa Adegoke should never raise his voice. The power is entirely in the stillness and the slow, deliberate delivery. The quieter he is, the more terrifying.
- Temi’s aside to camera is crucial — it gives the audience a window into the character’s inner world. It should feel like a private confession.
- Mama Temi is the comic pressure valve. Her interjections should be innocent, genuine, and perfectly timed to interrupt the tension at its peak.
- Sisi Kemi should maintain a small, suppressed smile throughout — she has been in this exact chair before and she knows exactly what Temi is going through.
- The “seven distinctions” callback must land. Sisi Kemi says it quietly, like a fact she has repeated to herself a thousand times.
📷 CAMERA IDEAS
- Open with a close-up of the sealed report card envelope on the dining table. Pull back slowly to reveal Pa Adegoke waiting.
- Shoot Temi’s aside to camera very close, slightly off-centre, like a confession booth interview.
- During the result reading, cut between Pa Adegoke’s face and Mama Temi’s hands — her ironing slowing with each bad grade is visual storytelling.
- Final moment: over-the-shoulder shot from Temi looking at his father. Hold the two-shot before the father looks away.
🔊 SUGGESTED SOUND EFFECTS
- Slow, ticking clock throughout — silence amplifier
- Ironing board squeak synced to each bad grade announcement
- Muffled Afrobeats from a neighbour’s house (distant, ironic backdrop)
- Paper unfolding sound — deliberate, ominous
- Jollof rice sizzling sound for the happy ending beat
📱 TIKTOK CAPTION IDEAS
🔄 ALTERNATIVE ENDING
Before Pa Adegoke reads the report card, he receives a call from an uncle whose son — who studied “media” — just bought a house in Lekki at 24. Pa Adegoke hangs up the phone, looks at Temi, then slowly, very slowly, puts the report card back in the envelope without reading it. “We will discuss this tomorrow,” he says. He goes to bed. Temi and Sisi Kemi stare at each other in complete disbelief.
