Meet The Opios
The Parents
My father, Mr. Anthony Opio, comes from Akaoidebe village in Ayer, Kole District, and my mother, Mrs. Hellen Laker Opio, comes from Bobi in Gulu District. Their union was the perfect blend of two cultures – Lango and Acholi – and somehow their differences balanced out in the most beautiful (and sometimes hilarious) ways.
Daddy was the quiet, humble, prayerful type who leaned on his Catholic faith to shape us into “model citizens.” Mummy, on the other hand, was… let’s just say the general in charge. She had this famous warning whenever she sent us to the market: “Come back before my spit on the ground dries.” You can imagine the panic. None of us dared to test how fast her saliva evaporated under the Ugandan sun. That’s how disciplined we were, and trust me, it worked.
Together, they were like the African version of “Cash and Tango” — one soft, one tough — but both running the home with love, faith, and just the right amount of fear. And with one Lango parent and one Acholi parent, we grew up speaking from both sides of our mouths, mixing cultures, and eventually inventing our own secret “Opio family language” that nobody outside the house could understand. It could only be in a look or a simple sigh, but we would know paragrahs were already spoken.
I could be engaged with work, but they will make sure to visit Noel during visitation day at school
Even after over 44 years in marriage, he still calls her his girlfriend
One of the great thing about them, which I will certainly pass on to my children is, there are decisions about my future that I made that they did not agree with but their support never wavered. It was a proud moment for me when they came to support me in 2018 as I performed at Africa Laughs. Since then, they have regularly attended my comedy shows, especially Son of Opio.
2018 – Africa Laughs
2025 – Son of Opio
The “Sons” of Opio
Now, let me tell you about us. My parents had nine children: two boys and seven girls. But if you asked anyone who lived in Nakawa Quarters back in the 1980s, they’d swear our household was full of nine sons. Why? Because the Opio girls were no pushovers. At the public spring, we stood our ground, and the neighborhood quickly learned not to mess with us. Skirts or no skirts, we earned the nickname “the sons of Opio.”
Life in our home was never boring. When “load shedding” (power cuts) struck, we’d all gather in our rooms, and instead of sulking, we’d turn it into a comedy competition to see who could tell the funniest story in the dark. Looking back, those nights were my first comedy stage. That’s where I sharpened my wit and learned the magic of laughter — lessons that still carry me to this day.
And even though we’ve all grown up, married, and scattered to different places, one thing hasn’t changed: the bond we share as the Opios. No matter the distance, the love is fierce, the loyalty unshaken, and the laughter still loud. We might live apart, but in spirit, we’re still that noisy household in Nakawa, united by the legacy of Anthony and Hellen Opio.