Who the hell is Opicho?

I hate being woken up. I am not a smiley wakey person. I used to get mad at my best friend in school and snap at her whenever she woke me up even though the night before I had specifically asked her to.

I had to come up with a system when I was younger, where before my dad woke me up, I would get up, get dressed then go back to sleep in my uniform that way when he came I would snap to attention, answer him and then go back to sleep. It was all good while it lasted.

Not that my sister or mother are any better. My sister used to drag her duvet to the bathroom and sleep in the bathtub and I can’t even begin to explain my mother’s waking up process.

The one thing I do hate about waking up is if someone wakes me up before my alarm has rung. Oh, I hate those people… I really do.

One Monday morning was the worst. I had exam week and my exams didn’t start until the next day but my mother and father had found this a concept really difficult to understand so that at five forty five in the morning I am awoken by the vibration of my phone. The complete and utter horror! I pick up the phone

Me: what? [I say this with all the love I can master]

Mum: Wa, don’t you have exams today?

The Thursday before I had explained to my mother who never listens that my exams begin on Tuesday…a fact she chose to ignore. That would explain why she thought waking me up at 5:45am was a good idea. Thank you, mother.

Me: I told you that my exams start tomorrow.

Mum: oh sorry. Continue sleeping [not going to think about it]

I turn off the phone and since I’ve been having trouble sleeping, I take the next thirty minutes attempting to fall back asleep. Finally I do, but that wasn’t good enough for them because one hour and forty five minutes later I am roused from my slumber once more.

Admittedly this time it was my fault but I’m not about to take blame because my alarm is going to ring in an hour and as long as that still hasn’t happened it is their fault…it is SO their fault.

My father wanted the keys to the car and I had forgotten to give them to him. He had told me he was leaving at 6:35am but he was calling me at 7:30am…wow he was late but that wasn’t my concern so he didn’t have to use his ‘I’m in a hurry’ voice.

Me: yes?

Dad: mum, you’re still asleep?

How does he do it? [this is the sleep talking]

Me: yes.

Dad: can I have the car keys please?

Maybe I imagined the ‘I’m in a hurry’ voice but I don’t care as long as he woke me up, he is the enemy.

At the moment, he is my biggest enemy.

Me: huh…oh okay. Okay.

I slap around my bedside drawer and mess the already messed up things in there. I subconsciously find the keys and open my door. Avoiding eye contact [I won’t lie, my eyes are completely closed, it’s a good thing I know the layout of my room], I thrust the keys into the father’s face.

Dad: thanks. Enjoy your day.

Me: mmm…

I literally throw myself down on the bed. But it takes me another half hour to sleep and then I push my alarm to nine o’clock. I do this because I deserve this. Anybody who is attacked by their parents before they have fully awoken deserves another half hour of sleep.

I know my dad and mum don’t leave at the same time, so I expect my mum to leave at nine or nine thirty but I know she won’t call me again and I am not afraid of waking up again before the alarm rings.

That is until…I do wake up fifteen minutes before my alarm rings. I had pushed it to 9:15am because I deserved it too. The extra fifteen minutes.

Someone is calling me again. This must be a prank call because nobody hates me enough to be waking me up. I remember that my mother is in the house and I actually consider ignoring it until I realize she held me for nine months and a day so I owe her at least my ear. Even if I don’t actually listen she can get a hello.

I look at my phone screen and realize it actually isn’t my mother. Come to think of it, my mother is probably trying to drag herself out of her bed, which is just hilarious. But then I look at the screen once more and sigh angrily because the phone number isn’t on the screen but a name meaning that I know the person. I read each letter one by one and take it all in.

That’s when I realize that I do not recognize the name. I might have saved it but I do not register it in my head. Maybe I’m too sleepy or maybe I don’t care enough to remember.

I put my head on my pillow. But now the thoughts are in my head and I can’t get them out.

Who the hell is Opicho?

The joys of having a big brother...

A.K.A Don’t eat pepper when you wake up

When I was a young lass [I’ve been watching a whole lot of British programs, understand] I sincerely thought my brother was the meanest person in the world. Yes, that’s right my brother was a downright bully. I’m not talking shove you on the ground kind of bully, I’m talking play the most meanest tricks on your sister bully.

If you have an older brother, you know.

In my eyes, he was evil.

I’m guessing you don’t believe me. Well here’s something that should give you a push.

I used to suck my fingers and because I liked to stand out even when I was a kid, I didn’t go for the obvious thumb in mouth scenario. No, I was all middle finger and ring finger of my left hand in the mouth. I was cool.

Obviously.

It was the holidays and I think it was a weekday. I had been taken to my bedroom to have my usual afternoon nap and there is no good sleeping in this world if you have not slept with your fingers in your mouth. The action always put me to sleep, I’m talking maximum K.O.

I’m guessing in hindsight, this is what got me in the trouble that happened next.

My brother is five years older than me that meant that at ten years of age, he could do two major things; he could escape mandatory nap time, and he could reach the top shelves of the kitchen cupboards because he was tall.

Apparently he decided he would use this against me.

Even though I am a strong willed individual, it goes without saying that, I couldn’t keep my fingers in my mouth while the muscles of my lips took a time out from all the talking that I did during the day. Naturally they fell out of my mouth.

I stayed asleep.

My brother must have come into our bedroom [it was odd, and still is that we shared for a while], and seen his opportunity.

In my opinion, this is what he must have looked like seeing me lying there so open to his bullying.

He must have been salivating over his dumb luck.

[In my head] he ran down the stairs taking them two at a time. He stretched his hand and after picking bottle after bottle of spices he finally landed on the one thing that would make his day, black pepper.

He grinned like a mad scientist.

He ran up the stairs, this time three at a go. He was getting excited.

He carefully put the pepper, in surplus amounts on my exposed fingers and held back his evil laugh for fear that he’d be caught in the act.

I slept on.

He must have realized that I could sleep forever and he would miss the chance to see me in pain so he figured he should wake me himself. He ran back down the stairs and put all his ties to the crime away.

Then he set his plan in motion.

“Wa! Wake up!” he bellowed from downstairs [nobody speaks in my house, by the way, we shout…I’ll tell you all about that].

I was startled. I sat up in bed, disoriented and it took me sometime to take in my surroundings. You never know where you’ll wake up when it comes to my brother.

I recognized that I was safe and relaxed casually.

I didn’t hesitate to go about my usual wake up routine, of up and steady, fingers ready.

I shoved my favourite part of my hands into my mouth.

It was a slow reaction but that didn’t stop it from alarming the neighbours.

The heat radiated from the back of my tongue to its tip.

My first thought, was 'what had I dreamt about?'

My second was ‘I need water, a lot of water’.

I screamed, a loud heart warming… ah who am I kidding, a loud blood curling scream. In my head that was what was exactly going on. My blood was on fire and it needed to be cooled.

I jumped off the bed, screaming as I went along because I think my tongue was too numb to make any pertinent sounds. I was officially speechless.

The pain was spreading to my throat.

I went for my comfort zone again, fingers in mouth. I realized my mistake and quickly pulled them out, screaming immediately after.

I ran down the stairs, four at a time [beat that bro]. I didn’t think to run to the kitchen first. I do not have good instincts in emergency situations, I just don’t. I ran outside, with all my noise and dram [thanks to my genetics] and screamed the whole way running in a circle just for the sake.

The neighbourhood kids gave me a look and I think one of their dogs grinned [Dogs. Are. Evil… no offense Zozo]. There was no help there.

I ran back inside and to my honest surprise, I found my brother rolling on the floor laughing his head right off his body. He looked to be in pain, as if the laughter was taking out all his energy.

It quickly clicked in my noggin [the British are doing this to me]. It was him…ALL HIM!

“Buli, you put pilipili on my hands?” I asked of course it sounded more like, “oooi, oo oote e e e on my ants?” complete gibberish and my brother carried on with his laughter because to him it was just that funny.

But what about me and my tongue?

And what the hell was I doing standing around wanting to start a dialogue with a probably swollen tongue and laughing hyena.

I looked around for water. It was in the fridge but I couldn’t reach the cups. That meant I had to ask my brother for help. The same brother who had caused all this trouble. The same brother who stood there and watched me struggle for the cups. The same brother who was still laughing at me.

Wow, I was screwed.

I pestered him to help me but as I said, he was evil in my eyes. So this is what I gather happened. He laughed some more, I spat out more gibberish and in the end because he has a way of twisting things, I started laughing at myself. At myself? Really?

I was pathetic.

Eventually the pain did go without the water. I figure if I had drunk the water, it would have hurt a little more because the fridge water was really cold and I’m not sure about what extremely cold can do to extremely hot.

I hear it’s bad.

Or good. I don’t know the facts.

My brother finally calmed down too and told me he was not sorry and that he had had a lot of fun.

I took it as it was, leaned on the counter and sighed heavily.

I put my fingers in my mouth.

HOT! HOT! HOT!

The spiral began all over again, the running, the laughing and the dog.

I can’t believe I forgot to wash my fingers.

Jeez Wa! Think!

The hoax that is a birthday

It’s my birthday today and I’m feeling... exactly the same!

I used to think that when it’s your birthday there’s something so enlightening about it. It’s a special day. When I was seven, I woke up at seven [this was purely a coincidence] and ran to my parents room excitedly. I jumped on their bed until they were both forced to tell me happy birthday. I didn’t understand how they were still in bed. I had energy, it was a Saturday and I think I was having a birthday party.

At that time I thought that everybody knew it was my birthday because when it was your birthday there had to be a big sign on your forehead saying so didn’t there?

That there was what my birthday cake probably looked like. i hated barbie dolls but that's not what mum thought!

I was seven and had a big imagination, give me a break.

Anyway, so when people ask me how I feel I ask them ‘how am I supposed to feel?’

Is there like a profound change that’s supposed to happen to me? Am I supposed to materialise into a more majestic being, stronger than I was from the hour of 11:59pm to 12:00am?

Am I going to win a million shillings? No, okay.

So since there is no emission of some sort of glory, I always feel sort of disappointed when the clock hits midnight; that and the fact that I was actually born at 2am, so I have to wait another two hours to make it count.

Bummer