Of Names and Identity

My name is Chelangat Naomi. I prefer that order to Naomi Chelangat without any intellectual explanation whatsoever. Can we agree that when you say, Naomi Chelangat, it’s not me you are talking about? Thanks for understanding. I think it is important for me to mention at this point that that (Chelangat Naomi) is how my name appears on my National ID and academic documents because it occurred to me recently that the order is somewhat an anomaly. While filling some form a few days ago (it was specified on the name clause to write in block and begin with the first name), the supervisor interrupted me mid-sentence and said,

“No, you are supposed to begin with your first name.”

“But Chelangat is my first name.” I said firmly, fishing out my ID card. The look on his face was revealing!

I’m mostly known as Chelaa, a shortened version of Chelangat (read Chelang’at), and a name I’m very fond of. The name doesn’t really have a meaning, because the meaning of Chelangat is contained in the last two syllables “Langat” (read Lang’at) meaning “evening”. So Chelangat means that I was born in the evening –or early night. A boy born around the same time in my community is Kiplangat (read Kiplang’at).

There’s something that I find interesting and nearly ludicrous, and that which needs to be unlearnt, around names in my community. It is the fact that it is considered right and respectful to call an adult by their English name but belittling and utterly disrespectful to call them by their Kip- and Che- names for men and women respectively( speaking of Kipsigis). What this literally means is that one is supposed to outgrow these names at some point. Which is to say that at my age, for example, I should have outgrown my name Chelaa and be mainly known by Naomi- boys outgrow theirs during transition to manhood, marked by circumcision. We don’t completely get rid of the name, it is somehow made redundant. Although Chelaa/Chelangat is the name I prefer to give to anyone seeking to know me, there are only a few people who call me that name in the upcountry. And it is not uncommon to hear a child or anyone relatively young being rebuked for referring to a “big person”, read adult, by their Che- and Kip names. I recall a scene from a few years ago when I was working as an untrained teacher in my alma mater, Kedowa Girls’. It was on a Prize Giving Day and after everything was done we partook in that revered ritual of all occasions that is photo session. I posed for a photo with one of my former teachers and there were students all around us chatting heartily, with that teenage vibrancy and energy, some waiting to go next, others saying “Chelaa, Chelaa” with that ease of familiarity. I remember the disapproving look from the teacher as he said, “She’s your teacher now”. Of course he never said that because he were a bad person. It is just socialization.

Two years ago, while at a function in the upcountry, the emcee, a man well known to me, by which I mean he knows me as Chelaa-and just that, was visibly at loss of how to call me forward when it was time to give speeches(impromptu, to be precise).  He waved at my direction while producing unintelligible “ee…r,  ee…r”. I avoided eye contact because I thought, well, if indeed it’s me, I have a name. Then, “Madam” rolled off his tongue finally, and people seated next to me said, “It’s you”. So I went to the front and the first think I did to the amusement of everyone in attendance, was to introduce myself as Chelangat.

As earlier mentioned, circumcision is what marks transition of boys in my community into adulthood. It is at this point that their kip- names are rendered unusable. Now, think of circumcision as something that is supposed to be authentically African and if any new names are to be given, they should be names of African origin. But isn’t it interesting that it is at this point that to be respected and recognized as a man is to be called Geoffrey, Benard, Wesley(Please note that I have nothing against the bearers of these names) and to be disrespected is to be called Kiplangat, Kiprop, Kipkoech and so on?  I remember from my primary school days that some would get so upset to a point of slapping girls or younger boys who would, in a slip of the tongue, call them those names. What sheer irrationality!

I asked my mother what inspired her choice of my name –Naomi. She said she just liked it. It is the same way I named my son Adrian because I just liked it. Had I the same knowledge and understanding I have today nine years ago, I would probably called him names like Jabali; the Swahili equivalent for rock, or Taji to mean Crown, or Tai to mean Eagle or First (In my language), or why not Simba, my favourite animal? My elder brother was named Nelson, because at the time of his birth, Nelson Mandela was in prison, and to name one’s child after him was some form of solidarity. I think there’s something affecting about that. I actually know a number of my brother’s age mates who are called Nelson.

On the religious front, why do our priests insist on English (saintly) names during baptism? Of course I understand that religion is a borrowed culture but does it mean that saintliness is a preserve of the English? I say it as a joke often that I will write to Pope Francis to request him to direct and permit Catholic priests to baptise Catholics with African names. There are beautiful names on this continent. Let’s take the example of Nigerian-Igbo names. (I love Nigeria. It’s a country with its own weaknesses but one that I regard as a bastion of African Culture and Literature.) Consider names like Chimamanda which means My God will not fail, Ijeoma which means a beautiful journey, Emeka which means God has done so much, to mention but a few. Don’t we all need names whose meanings we know? Is that a yes? Indeed, we need new names.