Wesonga Robert.
“‘What’s in a name? What is called a rose, will by any other name, still smell as sweet.’” Beni began. “Those are the words of Juliet in Shakespeare’s tragedy, Romeo and Juliet.” Concluding that I had not understood him, my friend then proceeded to explain what he had meant: “What matters is not the name, but the substance of what is being named.”
At this point I remembered. My brief reminiscence took me to a time when I asked my grandfather what the term OGIRIMITI meant. I was then in class eight and curiosity was getting to its peak. The old man did not just tell me what that word meant; he went into the history of the LUHYA-lization of English words. Now, I know that OGIRIMITI and ISAMANZI are luhya versions of the English words “agreement” and “a summon” respectively.
One weekend when I could no longer bear the cold that had come over me; I lazily walked to a dispensary situated at Kisima. It is here that I came face to face with what the extravagance in naming can lead to, if left completely unchecked. “Container Lengarum!” called a nurse’s voice from the Consultation Room.
Oblivious of the true meaning, I believed that the nurse was asking a certain Lengarum to bring a container. Surprisingly, a woman I was sitting next to responded and rose with her child. It is then that I discovered that Container Lengarum was the name of the child. Surprised I was because that was years ago before I encountered more startling names.
On one occasion, an NGO leader gave Beni a job to type the names of beneficiaries of a donation. It is during this venture that he came across names that made him call me to witness. I advised Beni to wait for the client to come the following day before printing the names, just to be sure that those names were supposed to be what they actually were.
I wondered what on earth would motivate a parent to give a child a name like: Woollen Julia Lerikwei, Assasin Ram Ram, Imagine Ng’arua. There is one set of parents who took this art to the absolute beyond which there can be nothing. These parents named their son after a male genital part that begins with letter ‘P’! When they were told to change the name to DENIS, they insisted that they could not change because their radio had said the name at the time of his birth.
A conversation with a friend who is a native of the district would later reveal the art behind this naming. Children are sometimes given a name of a known visitor who happens to be in their home, village or town at the time of their birth. If for example Kinyanjui visited Leleur’s home, a daughter born on that day could be called Sacrament Kinyanjui Leleur. The difference in gender between the visitor and the child in this case does not matter. This means that the child’s ‘home’ name is Kinyanjui and it is to that name that she will have to answer most times because the first one is a Christian name and the last is the family name.
Beni reasons that this experience in the naming holds the key in reducing tribalism. Without regard to tribe, each of the main tribes living in Samburu exploits this liberty in naming. It is only in here that you come across such combinations like Nyongesa Lempara, Wangui Edapar, Adolfo Lemantile, Lesonga Napanu and Onyango Lobei.
This freedom of naming has not been enjoyed without its own complications. In some cases, natives of the district have rightfully complained that sometimes non-locals residing in the area have samburulized their names so that they can benefit from some of the programmes in the area. Such programmes are primarily meant to uplift the standards of the disadvantaged natives.
This explains how people like, Lesonga Lengoseg or Lendingi Anzeki, have managed to queue and get some of the relief food, or even qualified for a bursary. Because of the possible benefit, I am working towards Samburulizing my name. Beni has moved with speed and he is now called: Benedict Nyagesasi Lelkipayengi.
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