My Swahili name is Tabasam. My Swahili professor gave me the name two years ago in class. I wasn't exactly the best student, but was very enthusiastic. So of course, when he called on me, I wouldn't know the answer but I was happy to participate anyway.
Having a Swahili name is awesome. It saves me a lot of trouble of correcting people on pronunciation, which I clearly get enough of in the states (no offense, M&D, a very original spelling). Plus, you can't frown when someone just introduced themselves as smile. It's a great ice breaker before asking for a cold coke or a huge amount of phone credit. It's a little challenging to be taken seriously, though. When I have to (infrequently, thank Mungu) meet with a district administrator or medical officer, its slightly more awkward to say something like this: "I'd like you to write letters of introduction to each of the village executive officers directing them to democratically elect female representatives to participate in a seminar on family planning and community health. And by the way, my name is Smile."
Unless its from a child, I don't respond to mzungu much anymore. Or Aine, for that matter. I even have a Sukuma (the main tribe of my research district) name too: Wonday. The family planning workers have told their kids (and clearly the neighbor's kids) that my name is Wonday, which they start shouting before I get out of the car. And since the small selection of passanger-mutually-agreed-upon-across-cultural-barriers music includes Akon (What! You guys don't like the dulcet hipster tones Yeasayer and Local Natives??), every time I'm greeted in the village, I get One Day stuck in my head. Sometimes we all just start singing along. Still working on teaching the rest of the chorus to these kids...
In the mean time, I'll pretend that all their lives they've been waiting for, they've been praying for, for the the people to say... WONDAY! WONDAY!
Having a Swahili name is awesome. It saves me a lot of trouble of correcting people on pronunciation, which I clearly get enough of in the states (no offense, M&D, a very original spelling). Plus, you can't frown when someone just introduced themselves as smile. It's a great ice breaker before asking for a cold coke or a huge amount of phone credit. It's a little challenging to be taken seriously, though. When I have to (infrequently, thank Mungu) meet with a district administrator or medical officer, its slightly more awkward to say something like this: "I'd like you to write letters of introduction to each of the village executive officers directing them to democratically elect female representatives to participate in a seminar on family planning and community health. And by the way, my name is Smile."
Unless its from a child, I don't respond to mzungu much anymore. Or Aine, for that matter. I even have a Sukuma (the main tribe of my research district) name too: Wonday. The family planning workers have told their kids (and clearly the neighbor's kids) that my name is Wonday, which they start shouting before I get out of the car. And since the small selection of passanger-mutually-agreed-upon-across-cultural-barriers music includes Akon (What! You guys don't like the dulcet hipster tones Yeasayer and Local Natives??), every time I'm greeted in the village, I get One Day stuck in my head. Sometimes we all just start singing along. Still working on teaching the rest of the chorus to these kids...
In the mean time, I'll pretend that all their lives they've been waiting for, they've been praying for, for the the people to say... WONDAY! WONDAY!
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