"Wakie wakie," the alarm blares, slicing through the stillness of the dark room like a knife in the middle of a fruit.
Rita groans, swatting at the alarm clock with a groggy hand, her fingers brushing over the sleek surface of her latest Apple phone. She fumbles for a second, and then—Bam!.
The room explodes with light as her phone screen turns on, instantly brightening up the space. It's like the world's most dramatic sunrise—except it's 7:00 AM, and Rita's not sure if she should thank the phone or curse it.
With her face still half-buried in her pillow, she grumbles under her breath, "Not today, School!. Not today." Turning to the other side of the bed.
Her name? Rita. But wait, before you start thinking of the Rita you know—let me correct you. This isn't just any Rita. No, her full name is Adeleke Rita Oluwapelumi. Sounds pretty serious, right? Totally, not the name of someone who hates getting up at 7 AM.
Now, if you're wondering, her name yes, she's definitely Yoruba—one of the proud people from the western part of Nigeria. And for those of you who don't know, Nigeria is like the heavyweight champion of Africa .
With a groan that would make anyone believe she was auditioning for a role in a soap opera, Rita drags herself forcefully out of bed. Her eyes half-shut, she flings off her face cover, and instantly, her eyes widen as she spots the bathtub just a few feet away. "Why is this so far?" she wonders, as if the tub itself had somehow committed a personal betrayal.
Suddenly, a voice breaks the silence. "My sunshine, where are you?" It's her mom, poking her head into the room like some superhero coming to save the day.A well built and beautiful young woman, not too old for another baby.
"E kaaro ma," Rita mutters, barely looking up, still in the middle of her struggle to just stay conscious. She turns around, though, and gives her mom the kind of greeting that makes her mom smile like she's just won a Grammy for 'Best Daughter.'
"Karro omo mi, so jiire," her mom says, walking over and pulling her into a warm embrace, the kind only mothers seem to give—unconditional and full of love. "Look at you, acting all childish," her mom teases. "Come on, this is 7:00 AM! Wake up, make it snappy! That's my baby girl!"
They love it,exchanging pleasantries in their native language.
The moment is sweet—until .Rita glances at the clock again, panics, and bolts out of the embrace.
Her Mum feel detached but she understands as she turns to go.
Rita hurries into the bathroom, quickly scrubbing her face as though it holds the key to unlocking her day. But just as fast as she finishes her cleanup, she's grabbing her school bag, which, by the way, is perfectly arranged on top of the shoe rack .
"I'm coming!" Rita calls out over her shoulder to her mom, who's probably already starting another laundry load. She dashes into the kitchen like a superhero on a mission—one mission indeed: breakfast.
She grabs a quick bite of whatever's available on the plate prepared for her . She devours it like it's her last meal on Earth.
"See my daughter always rushing," her mom remarks from the other room, shaking her head but smiling in that way only mothers can, as she continues with her endless list of house chores.
With a plate still in her hand and a half-eaten slice of bread in her mouth, Rita rushes out of the house as if she's running the world's fastest 100-meter sprint. She doesn't even notice the pile of shoes by the door, and somehow—somehow—manages to avoid tripping over them.
"Goodbye, Mom!" Rita shouts, waving over her shoulder as she slams the door behind her.