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?