What's in a Name?

First, a bit of lore: Ghana's and mine. Children born to Ghanaian parents are presented in a special ceremony called an "Outdooring" or naming ceremony, which takes place on the 8th day following their birth. This is when they are presented to family and friends and well wishes and sometimes gifts are bestowed upon them. Although it varies among the tribes, children are usually given a Christian or Moslem name, as well as a tribal or traditional name, which might reflect the day of the week in which they were born. This is done in the Ewe tribe, of which my husband's family is clan.

I can vividly remember the "Outdooring" for our oldest son. It was June, and already hot where we lived in Maryland. And, as can be expected when there is a newborn in the house, there was very little sleeping being done there, least of all by me. Yet, at dawn of the morning of Friday, June 10th, my husband and I and Sean, awaited the arrival of our first guests.

I have a picture of that day burned into my memory (and on regular film, for when the first brain farts occur, which could be any day now). I am sitting on the couch, wearing what I now call my "Ghana dress" which is a wax print dress made for me by my sister-in-law, the only one that fit me after the almost 50 lb. weight gain I experienced... I still have that dress, though it is so thin and ratty looking, I can only wear it around the house. Okay, I am barely alive... never before, or after, if truth be told, have I looked or felt that exhausted. I can barely hold a smile on my face, much less a baby in my arms. I look like shit.

The Ghanaian guests arrive (on time! I am amazed to announce), dressed in their Ghanaian finery, women in the best wax print kaba and slit they can have made, all of which makes me feel even more dejected than I thought possible. The living room is full of happy vibrant people (well, except for me).

Now begins the libation ceremony. A bottle of schnapps is opened and poured into a glass and water poured into a calabash. The eldest among the guests performs the ritual: a small amount of schnapps is poured on the floor, then a bit of the water, then more schnapps, and the Ewe ancestors are implored to watch over our son, to guide and help him as he grows up, to turn him into a good and moral man. The elder takes the second sip (the first going to the "ancestors"), and then presses the glass to the baby's lips (I know, I know, studies say that the poor kid's at risk for "a lifetime of alcohol-abuse related problems," but this is for the ancestors!), then the glass is passed to the Daddy (big gulp) and then to the Mommy (tiny sip, after all, I'm breastfeeding), and finally, every guest takes a sip. Our son, Sean Christoper Kwame, is now officially "presented" to our friends and family. May the ancestors watch over and protect him. Me, I'm going back to bed.

As in any culture, parents put a lot of thought into what they name their child. One common theme among Ghanaians is naming their children for a virtue: Faith, Patience, Mercy, Innocence, Justice, Peace, Prosper, to name a few. Another theme is religion: Emmanuel, Adom, Abraham, Peter, Noah, Jesus, Joseph, Judas (and the Judas I know is quick to point out that it's Judas, brother of James, not the other one!), and Godsgrace (funny store interjected here... Michael has a classmate who goes by this name, and every time the teacher should vocalize the words, "... by the grace of God" this little girl pipes up, "Who? Me?"). Then there are the Ghanaian words with a meaning: Serwa is a woman of noble character, Selasi means full of hope, Mawuli means God is with me. Oh, and here's one that I have only come across once: Agyeman which means, born fourteenth(!)

Well, despite a parent's good intentions, as we all know, everyone picks up a nickname. That can't be helped. And these children will come to be known more by their nickname than by any other name. Sometimes, the name that sticks is based on their chosen profession: "Cappie" for the carpenter, "Prof" or "Teacher" for a teacher or college educated person, or "Old Soldier" for an ex-army man. Sometimes, it's for their appearance or physical anamoly: "Heavy D" for a VERY BIG man. Sometimes, the moniker that sticks is the favorite expression -- a classmate of my husband's who always asked his teachers, "Please, may I know..." naturally, became "May-I-Know." You get the drift.

The obituary notices and posters typically list a persons name, and then their aliases or A/K/As, for how else will you recognize your old school mate? The fact is, there are relatively few surnames, in Ghana. For example, the captain of Ghana's soccer team is Stephen Appiah... and so is our electrician. So, if a funeral notice is posted for say, Stephen Appiah, A.K.A. Captain Black Stars, or Stephen Appiah, A.K.A. Kikrikee (Ghanaian version of electricity ZAP!), without the provision of their nickname, you'd likely be at the wrong funeral. And my sincere apologies to the Stephen Appiahs, for using their name in this manner... God grant long life to both of them!

Within a single day, I may be called many things. I am Mom, Babs, Auntie, Sister Barbara, Madame, Mommy, Momma, even Sir. It all depends on who is talking to me (kids, husband, niece, sister-in-law, taxi driver, house help, laborer). It takes some getting used to. On my first trip to Ghana in 1990, I hated being called "Mommy" by men old enough to be MY father. I resented it, in retrospect, maybe a bit too vociferously, and insisted that they call me by my given name. Didn't happen. Maybe Barbara was too difficult to wrap around their tongue.

I also couldn't, for the life of me, understand why my sister-in-law kept calling my husband, "Uncle Sylvester." Why? Was I missing something? Wasn't he her brother? Talk about a dysfunctional family! I finally figured out that it's a term of respect, endearment, even. But you see, I didn't know, didn't understand. I just didn't get it. Now, I get it. I can Auntie, Sister, Uncle and Brother with the best of them.

In closing, then, I see that "Uncle" Will [Shakespeare] was right, "What's in a name? That which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet."

Barbara A/K/A Obroni Babs