Of Feathers and Names

I turned in my first paper last week. It was supposed to be on “the significance of naming children in Africa.” And it was. Mostly. It was just that I spent most of my time attempting to figure out how to add the word “uBhekimpilo” to my Microsoft Word dictionary because I just can’t type when that red squiggly line keeps telling me that there are no spelling suggestions.
It was an interesting topic, though, because a lot more meaning goes into the traditional African naming practices than the average American baby name. They usually represent something: either the specific events occurring in the family’s life at that time, or what they hope that child grows into one day. Those traditional African names are more than just a label; it’s more like a prayer. That this child will grow up and fulfill their title, or wake up each morning as a living testament to the memory they represent. This naming process is a big deal.
For example, the name “uNduminseni” means ‘Progress’ in the Zulu culture. It’s a request for movement: a plea for growth. And when uNduminseni looks in the mirror, he no longer sees just brown eyes and Dad’s chin. He sees college graduate. Good father. Hard worker. And maybe, ancestors willing, that mirror will ultimately reflect ‘Progress. ‘
However, there are other names that are given in a less… optimistic environment. “uVelaphi” literally means “Who does he look like?” and is given to the illegitimate kids in the village. “uXolani” is the Zulu word for “Sorry.” I guess that’s pretty efficient, if you anticipate baby wild child.
And after reading through pages and pages of complex naming practices, I couldn’t help but wonder what my parents would have named me had they expected it to reflect on my future. Surely they didn’t call my grandma all excited and say, ‘We are going to call her Ella! That means, ‘good-at-climbing-things-but-not-so-good-at-brushing-her-hair.’ We really hope she can live up to that!”
However, I can see my dad holding my sister Remi in the air all Lion King Style and declaring, “We will call her ‘Good-at-fixing-anything-that’s-broken-without-an-instruction-manual-or-formal-training.’ Because that is just a really beautiful name.”
My sister Chessa would be “funnier-than-you” because, well, she probably is, and Amy, my beautiful friend from home would easily be called “laugh-that-makes-everyone-else-laugh-too.” People grow into their names and the Word usually represents them pretty well, even if at first there is no intended meaning behind it.
There is a saying in the uBuntu culture that goes something like this: “intake yakha ngoboya benye.” “A bird builds his nest from the feathers of other birds.” In other words: we build our own personal identity on what we see around us: the thoughts, ideas, beliefs of the people we encounter and the places we have seen or experiences we have felt. Each one of us takes a little sliver of that and adds it to our own nest until we have a beautifully unique and perfectly formed identity. This is a great thought for “uThukayizwe” (insult) and “uSiphipho” (cause for divorce), because despite your name, or the family you were born into or the outstanding, withstanding, in-the-rain-standing circumstances, you choose your own feathers and you build your own nest. Nobody else can do it for you. Not even your name.