The Sunday News
ONE of my father’s sisters is called Phandliwe. Loosely translated, it means blinded. As a young girl, I found that name amusing. I remember thinking my grandparents must have been crazy to name her that. Of all the names in the world, why would they go with such an offensive, derogatory, embarrassing and negative name?
My aunt doesn’t seem to mind it though. I say so because she doesn’t have a nickname, she introduces herself as Phandliwe, and we all call her by that name. I used to wonder why she seemed to be unmoved by the name, at times I would even suspect she was proud of it.
One day I took it upon myself to confront my grandmother about why she would do something so cruel as to burden my darling aunt with such an ugly name. She sighed heavily, and her face was immediately covered by a cloud of pain. She told me that years ago, when they were still a young couple, she and my grandfather lost a child in a tragic accident.
She explained how for a long time she was shrouded in grief and thought the pain would never ever go away. She talked about how she felt overwhelmed by the heartache, broken inside without any hope at all. At the height of her sorrow, she had a baby girl, and from the moment the baby was born, she felt alive again; she says having that beautiful, healthy, baby girl, seemingly full of life, immediately blinded her from all her suffering. She says the pain was still there, and is still there even today, but the baby stood between her and that pain, ‘‘Ngazizwa ingani ngiphandliwe (I felt as if I had been blinded), because for once I could not clearly ‘see’ the pain’’.
On my mother’s side, we had a Tafilani. A Kalanga name, that means ‘‘what did we die for, or why did we die?’’ My maternal grandmother explained to me that Tafi was born in the year that my grandfather had been sold out and brutally murdered by soldiers in the war. Tafilani was born at a time when the family was still torn by the death and everyone was still querying the senselessness of it.
This all got me thinking of the significance of names in our culture. It seems every name carries some history and every name has an explanation behind it. Our names are warnings, praises, appreciations, lamentations, celebrations, reminders and revelations. Our names also expose, taunt, defy and even insult. Rarely are they meaningless.
Qaphela tells us to be careful, and the story behind it will live with you forever, preventing you from ever falling prey to that which your parents wanted you to be careful of. Zondiwe is a painful reminder that we are hated, and through the name, the child knows from birth who is a friend and who is a foe.
Danisa, could have brought sadness to the family, and through his name, the sad history of that family will never be forgotten. Senzeni ask questions, what have we done, or what should we do? This could be a result of deep regret or a family looking for a way forward.
Siphelile, we are finished, could be a lamentation, a child born in the throes of grief.
Long before we learned to read and write. Our history was carried in our folktales, our language and also in our names. Even the most ridiculous sounding names have a story behind them. We do not just ‘‘pick names from a hat’’. Our names are well-thought out and carry a lot of weight.
Our names define us, they are our identity and our badges of honour. Just by your name, I should be able to tell which continent and country you are from; which province and what language you speak.
One’s name can tell us in which historical era he was born. Our names therefore clearly reflect when we were stripped of that identity through colonisation and religion.
We have a generation of Zimbabweans with English names and their names tell the story of a time when our parents had to have Christian names for them to attend mission schools. They also tell us of an era when our forefathers were mesmerised or fascinated by English names, for how many of us have grandparents called Edward, Elizabeth, Margareth, George and Charles?
Our names show clearly which families were most influenced by the English revolution, as we have families whose children all have English names. They also show which families were defiant, those who do not have a single member with an English or Biblical name.
Cultures evolve, and merge over time and the culture of naming has managed to insert itself into the present day world of English dominance. Where English names were ‘‘meaningless’’ like the Georges and Lindas, we now have an influx of Never, Shame, Miracle, Have-a-look, Notice, Godknows, Pain and Takemore. These names tell of an era of the educated black man who is attracted to English names, but has put meaning into them.
Embroiled in our naming system, is the practise of naming children after people we love, or influential people. We name children after our ancestors, their grandparents or aunts and uncles. It is an honour to have a baby named after you and there is a responsibility to the person you are named after or the person named after you.
This practise has continued in this era of globalisation where we have children named after pop stars, great footballers and even liberation war heroes. We have Beyonces, Fegursons, Nelsons and Changamires.
Unfortunately, of late, the names of our children display a serious identity crisis. For some reason, we still feel we should give our children foreign names that take away our uniqueness, and are, at times, a reflection of our inferiority complexes.
Were we proud of our languages, our origins and our identities, our names would reflect that. We would not feel the need to blend into the cultures, societies and beliefs of others by naming ourselves after their heroes and not our own.
I dream of a generation of children with names that reflect an era of rebirth. An era where we found ourselves and fell back in love with ourselves. A generation of names that reflect an era where a consciousness was awakened and we once again became proud of our language, culture and history.
Our names are beautiful; they are our labels, our pride, our brands, and they all tell a story. The next time you come across someone with a weird or funny name, stop and ask them the story behind it, you may be surprised. My name is Thandekile, I am the loved one.
