What Is In A Name? From Hatred To Love Of My Name
How far will you go to accept yourself?
In the beginning, I hated my name. I am African and my first name is — Adaobi. The second name — is Okwy. While ‘Adaobi’ is very popular for firstborn daughters in my tribe, the kids at school were appalled that I had no English name.
I remember that in primary school, my teachers were usually surprised, “Are you Catholic?”
“No,” I said, “Anglican” (My mother’s church).
“Anglicans don’t give their children an English name?” They would ask.
I don’t know. I am just a student. I don’t know what the naming laws in your church or my parent’s church, are.
Was everyone around me Catholic then that they all had one English name- usually their middle name?
“What is your saint’s name?” The kids would ask me.
“Saint name?” I would ask
“Yes, like saint Theresa…saint Anthony…”
I had no clue what they meant. I wasn’t even a teen yet and they expected me to know. The Anglican church I attended as a child did not spend time talking about saints.
The questions surrounding my name got me curious though and I realized, Catholic or Anglican, they all boasted an English name. The Anglicans did not have saint names but, they had English names.
They were appalled: No English name. No respect for saints. I felt like I had given a personal insult to God.
With time, I too became appalled about the fact that I had no ‘sweet’ name.
Through “oohs” and ahhs”, we learned there were ‘sweet’ and they were all English names.
My classmates had all these sweet names like Princess, Linda, and Sophia.
I was just plain Adaobi Okwy. I was hurt: I had no sweet name. I also realized none of my siblings had an English name.
I took my mother to task and I will never forget her answer: “I did not feel like it” (just like that)
And no, she let us know she named us all without input from anyone.
What a tragedy. My mother’s only motive for damning us to a lifetime of non-sweet, bitter names was because she did not ‘feel like it’.
She did not feel like it but even her illiterate parents felt like it when they gave her an English name.
In other news, this should have been my first peek into the very stubborn mind of my mother.
What followed was secondary school. The fascination of students with my name was less about the fact that I had no English name than no saint name.
My name crime was smaller this time around possibly because, in secondary school, there were Catholics, Pentecostals, Anglicans, Methodists, every Christian belief, and Muslims.
“But, why don’t you have an English name?” They would ask every time it came up.
A few people believed I was just straight-up lying. Raised a people pleaser, I carried the pain of that allegation as though it was the truth.
In the same secondary school (high school), I learned the next thing that was wrong with my name- apparently, most people know my middle name: Okwy, to be masculine.
Now, WTF!!!!
Who names their first female child such a masculine name?
Mummy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
A man’s name? I was not just deprived of a sweet English name, now I had learned it was masculine.
My mother would not budge. She was not sorry. She regretted nothing.
Did she just grab any names? Did she even think? Did she do any research…I hated her for doing this to me.
Was my name going to be the bane of my existence?
The next stop was the university. I first introduced myself as “Adaobi”. But, in that first week, something changed in my head — Adaobi did not suit me anymore. I wanted to exercise “Okwy”. I wanted to throw it in people’s faces.
There are very few male Okwys. I still have never met face-to-face, another female Okwy. So, maybe that will be my name superpower?
There were many Adaobis anyway. It was time for a change.
When the next person asked — “What is your name?”
I was ready, “Okwy”.
We are all from the same country but ethically unrelated. She was a Yoruba girl and butchered my name. My tribe is Igbo. I was not offended. I helped her say my name until she got as close to it as she possibly could.
Okwy is the shortened version of my name. But I kept it that way for two reasons:
- One, I had never had a nickname. I always wanted one but because I was either not as cuddly as the girls who did or because I was very plain looking, people shouted “ADAOBI!” all the time.
Many Adaobis were called “Ada” mind you. Why was I different?
- My mother hated nicknames and when someone shortened our name, she always corrected it.
Here in school, I could be defiant.
I have been Okwy for many years now and I. Love. It.
So what is in a name? A few things:
- I must tell you that I love my name and reflects that I am not exactly girly or cuddly. My mother was right about that. I thank her now for her judgment call.
- I hate this fascination Africans have with English names. I so hate it. What in the world is Brian?
I gave my daughter an Ethnic name for a first name and an old but popular Spanish name for a middle one. Unlike my mother, I folded under the pressure of everyone saying my daughter will go through what I went through.
My compromise was- no English name. I think I still regret that she doesn’t have Ethnic names all through. I have no relationship with Spain (except if someone wants to adopt me? Say yes. I will come!)
But, let my shame be a topic for a sequel.
What is your name and did you always love it?
Thank you for reading. Buy me coffee?
