Name of Name
Bush, Forest, Rice and other names
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Dear Bolu,
When I was a boy with bright prospects, I might have confessed to another that I would gladly take a bullet for her. I know I meant it because I’ve always tried to be sincere and honest in my dealings, although it has caused me much pain in this speck that is my existence. Admittedly, it’s such a bold thing to say, but boldness is never beyond the reach of the young—dare I say it’s a defining characterstic of the young, so you must understand why I was a willing bullet shield. Those burning embers of youth that threaten to burn even brighter till they engulf the world around us push us to say and do certain things. They had me in a chokehold, so I said many things. I did many things. The years have, however, tamed me, and I am not as eager to lump myself in the Marsian gang of men who you could depend upon to catch a grenade, throw a hand on a blade, jump in front of a train, and take a bullet straight in the brain for another.
My aversion to being a bullet shield also comes from my recent experience of getting shot during a robbery, and that’s not a performance I’ll willingly oblige to reenact, except, of course, it’s on the set of a movie. It was a savage incident that ended unfortunately for a couple of people but before you lend your gasps of surprise and sighs of sympathy to my case, take care to note that I needn’t have been a victim of the aforementioned incident. Yes, yes, I might have been the perpetrator. In any case, I write you now with the blessing of only one functioning arm as its twin rests suspended in a sling and will be in that position for a good while. So you must padon the typos you’re sure to see in this letter. There’s only so much writing and typing one arm can do, and I can’t bear for you not to receive a letter. Anyway, away from the gloominess of my condition and on to a thought of mine.
A long time ago, when I was not much taller than a walking stick, I found the name “George Bush” fascinating. To be fair, it was more amusing than fascinating, but it wasn’t just so to me—it was so to everyone around me. We knew nothing about the bearer of this name except that he was the leader of the free world, and we didn’t even know what that meant. We only knew that phrase and associated it with him because it made us excel at Current Affairs face-offs, which always helped our reputaton. We knew nothing of Mr Bush’s graces and faults, so it wasn’t his person that amused us whenever we heard the name. It was simply the name itself—Bush.
Although our thoughts weren’t well-formed, I think we found the name funny because it seemed strange for someone to be called that. We knew what a bush was, and we thought it a ridiculous endeavour to name someone after wild shrubs. And it wasn’t just Bush, no. Woods was amusing. And Forest, Cage, Green, Bird, Rice, and many more. They were strange names because we couldn’t see any signifcance in them. Why name someone after food? Or a colour? It didn’t make much sense, and we thought such names silly at the very least.
Our names, on the other hand, seemed significant to us. They were laden with meaning, and although we were never conscious enough to aticulate it, we felt that that’s how names should be. Some names were references to people in the Bible; Esther, Ebenezer, Hannah. Others were references to people in the Quran; Ibrahim, Ahmed, Umar. We also had some in our native languages that meant something; Ayomide (Yoruba for “my joy has come”) or Chinasa (Igbo for “God answers”). Others made intuitive sense, and we considered them pleasant such as Joy, Rose, King, Queen, Prince, Princess, and Justice. There was some “message” in them, for lack of a better word. They expressed a hope, wish or feeling that was good. We could understand and accept them in a way we couldn’t Bush, Forest, and Rice. They just sounded silly to our little ears.
To be clear, I’m not calling these names “silly” or mocking them, no. Names are more personal than global, and I’m pretty confident that each of those names bears a significance of some sort. As kids, we simply couldn’t see far enough to recognise it. In fact, as an old man, I still can’t understand the rationale behind some of them, but I supose that’s because I’ve not searched for answers long and hard enough. In any case, some part of me feels that names should always bear some significance, and I think most people feel the same way. This is why it often happens that we ask what it means when we encounter someone with a new, exciting name. If names are mere identifiers, we wouldn’t care at all for what a name means as long as you respond when you’re called by it. But we care. Bearers of a name themselves care about the meaning. We ask our parents; what does Ifemelu mean? Why did you name me Suzanne? And usually, there’s a story behind it. There’s a story behind us.
Do you ever wonder why we create “special names” for people we care about? I think it’s because, as I mentioned earlier, names are not merely identifiers. They’re significant outside their function as identifiers in a way that I’m unable to fathom. There’s no logic to it, but we have a strong desire to call our lover by a name different from what the rest of the world uses. It’s a natural and raw urge that we hardly think about, but it’s prevalent. One morning, we just decide that we’ll call them Jojo instead of Joseph; Bitty-Bitty instead of Beatrice; SweetTea instead of Timilehin. We could add an extra letter to their name. We could call their actual name in a slightly different way—say by stretching a syllable or omitting one. How we arrive at these names, I don’t know. But we do. We always do. These special names needn’t be derived from our lovers’ actual names. They could be a word in a foreing language. They could be outside references to an object, an idea, a song, a movie, a joke, anything at all. And whenever they hear that special name, they know it’s you because it carries some significance. I think that a helpful heuristic to tell if you’re halfway in love with someone is whether or not you call them by a special name. And if you happen to have several special names for them, then, dear friend, you’re gone.
A long time ago, a friend told me one of the names she was considering calling her kids, and it was a reference to a tree. I promise it was a beautiful name, but I found it amusing. And I teased her about it for the same reason that I thought Bush, Woods, Gates, and all those other names strange. I simply couldn’t comprehend their significance. Again this isn’t to say they lack significance of any sort, only that I fail to see it. Ah, perhaps none of these matter. Perhaps names needn’t carry any wholesome or significant meaning. Perhaps names are enough by themselves. But what do I know? I don’t even know the meaning of your name, dear friend.
Fin.
P.S
In South-West Nigeria, there is a place called “Challenge”. That is literally the name of the place—Challenge. I thought of the possible motivations for naming a place as such, but nothing seemed to make sense. Was that the venue of a momentous challenge between two parties? Was finding a proper name for the place so challenging that they decided to name it after the difficulty? I just couldn’t understand it, and I still can’t. There’s likely a sound explanation for the whole thing, and I hope to know about it someday because it’s now on my list of known unknowns. This was what led me to write this letter on names, by the way. What do you think could possibly justify naming a place “Challenge”?
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Write you soon, merci!
- Wolemercy