To everything there is a season

This week, I lost a friend. The pain was immense and it took me completely by surprise. I didn’t just lose a friend; he was my confidante, my mentor, my best friend. I didn’t lose my friend to death; he is very much a live. He is just no longer my best friend. He has become something else; what? I do not yet know. Although we assure each other that we will always be best friends, I know this is fallacy. For I will never talk to him freely again, I can never walk the streets in a warm summer evenings with him again, I can never cry in his arms again, I will never call his home my home again, I will never see the world through his eyes again.

He has been a true friend; he has shared my best moments and seen me through my worst. He has been loyal, kind, generous and he accepted who I am. I took it for granted that he would always be there, that he will always be my best friend. Now, my best friend and I will settle into polite friends with polite smiles and engage in polite conversations; too scared to dig deeper, too restrained to say what we really mean, too afraid of being misunderstood; we will share polite news of the weather, our jobs, new family additions, but never about our pains, our meaningless lives, our newly found hopes, yearnings, happiness, loneliness and disappointments; instead we will exchange scanty impersonal emails and awkward embraces.

I wonder if he will walk the cool tropical forests and remember me, if he will travel the world and think of me. Will I ever cross his mind, will he ever miss me? I know I will. Someday I will go through the fields where we once walked together, the birds will still sing, but they won't sound as sweet as they did before. I will stare at the moon and think of the day everything changed.

But the wise king of Israel once said that there is a time for everything and a season for every activity under heaven.

A time to kill and a time to heal
A time to tear down, a time to build

A time to weep and a time to laugh
A time to mourn and time to dance

A time to cast away stones and a time to gather stones together
A time for embrace, a time to refrain from embracing

A time for search and a time to give up
A time to keep and a time to throw away

A time has come to part, to walk away, a time has come to pursue new dreams and callings. I have nothing to reproach him with and he will live in my memory as the best friend I have ever had.

Farewell friend. I have been truly blessed, honoured and proud to have known you in the appointed time. May your new life be a blessing to others the same way your old one was to me.

Malawian Names

Last week, a colleague asked me the meaning of Cecilia. I have never hesitated before to say what Cecilia means, but this time I did. “Blind” I said. As I expected, he was completely shocked, as were the rest of the Cambodians around the table. You see, names here are normally Khmer and tend to refer to more pleasant things. Malawian names on the other hand seem to be an eclectic mixture of native names which have clear, but dark meanings; Anglicised native names that sounds ok to us but totally ridiculous to westerners; and weird names that sound neither native nor western. It got me thinking of why are the names of our grandparents are different from our parents, which are also different from ours and our children.

Before I continue, I have a confession to make. If you were to go through all the medical birth records in Malawi, you would probably come across several babies sired by the sons of Aipira, but none of them would bear the name Cecilia Aipira. That’s because Cecilia is not my original name. No, no, no I am not telling. I am a bit embarrassed by my original name. I am not sure why actually. Maybe it’s because of its ambiguity; it sounds neither English (western) nor Chichewa and I would want it to be one or the other. My name is a bit like one of those Malawian names you often hear in Dowa or Ntchisi. No, not Eneless, Biniwell, Liverson–knowing the difficulty Malawians have in distinguishing Rs from Ls, it could as well be Riverson -or Dickson, Fanuwell, Fackwell…….well, you get my drift. Thankfully these names have pretty much disappeared. It would have been ok if my original name was more along the lines of Malitina (Martina), Patileki (Patrick) Andulu (Andrew) or if you happen to come from the North Godhiwini (Goodwin), Gifuti (Gift) might be more appropriate. But while it is possible to work out the original English name with these examples, I still cannot decipher mine. Worse still, the way it is written and pronounced just doesn’t add up. Maybe it was once a nice exotic name, but the passage of time and ignorance reduced it to what it is today. Believe it or not, I was re-named after Cecilia Tamanda Kadzamira (Google it if you don’t know her). But it was impressed upon me that this was a better name, a prestigious one even, something to be proud of. I guess Cecilia is not that bad, if you can manage to turn a blind eye to its meaning!

But why are we losing our native names in favour of western names? Is it to do with the level of sophistication- so that as we get more ‘exposed’, we aspire to get more western sounding names? I don’t know if people in my village are any more sophisticated than they were 30 years ago. Well, that’s not true really. My uncle in the village now brandishes a fancier mobile phone than the one I have. The only difference of course is that I can charge mine anytime, while his can go dead for weeks because Mr. Nkhweu’s car broke down in Monkey Bay. My other uncle, however, refuses to have a phone. The skills needed to operate one are beyond him. But even this backward uncle displays a remarked progression when it comes to naming his children. I have been able to observe this evolution because thanks to my uncle’s extremely blessed loins, he produced a litter of 10 children, spanning over a period of about three decades. I am counting live children here and yes, with one woman. Although I heard the other day that after a nasty fight with his wife, he declared he was leaving her to look for his long-lost son in Balaka. I guess that makes it 11.

There is a marked difference in the names of his children. The first born is Aleda, don’t ask me what that means. Ok, maybe that’s not the best example, but his second born is Muononga, (you will destroy) while the third is Anthu Akatha, Akatha in short (lamenting the fast depletion of a tribe). Of course Akatha promptly changed her name to Loyce as soon as she became of age and Muononga is now Liverson…errrh Riverson. Then, there is Ndasiya- ndasiya kubeleka (this is my last born) - mind you this a fourth and not last born. The last three however have normal names; Kafereni (Catherine), Joswa (Joshua) and Vincent. Funny enough the ones in the middle have weird names like mine; Faneti, Sefake, Manesi…… I mean, what the hell is Faneti?

Where do these names come from?

I presume that old names like Mun’deranji (why do you hate me), Ulombo (I am not actually sure what that means, but it sounds sinister all the same) or Iphani (kill)-Iphani is a real name by the way. I went to school with one. His father’s name was Monke (monkey), poor thing. As far as I know he hasn’t been exterminated yet -must have come from the perceived witchcraft around the villagers and that if they complained enough, through their children, then witches would leave them alone? The coming of the colonial masters brought with them the confusion of the names we now have in Malawi. Imagine our colonial masters trying to pronounce Khirivava, Chigomezgo, Phwandaphwanda, Dindwase, Liphwithi. So to become employable, our grandfathers either became boy or they had to find English-sounding names quickly. They most likely did not know the first names of their masters, just like some of us did know not our fathers or mothers had first names until the first day of primary school, but they did have the surnames to guide them, hence, the Hastings, Hendersons, Hetherwicks, Nelsons of those days.

The proliferation of names like Marita, Maria, Paulo, etc, came from the rising influence of Christianity. Accompanied by a declining infant mortality -so protection against witchcraft wasn’t necessary anymore- Yamikani (praise), Happiness, Chikondi (love), Mwai (fortune) also emerged, although Mabvuto (trouble/misery) persisted somehow. The more-learned enthusiasts spoiled everything by literally translating these names into English. White people think you are being funny when you say that your name is Beauty, Smart, Loveness, Fortune, Precious, or Happy. Enter Pentecostal churches, the era of Chisomo (Grace of God), Madalitso (God Blessings), Tamanda/Wongani (Praise God), Alinafe (God with us). Of course these wouldn’t be complete without a negative Christian name like Masautso (persecution). But we should not forget the brief period Malawi went through; thank God it was brief, when, if you called out ‘Junior’! in Ndirande, at least five kids would answer to that name.

Somewhere in between the arrival of missionaries and Pentecostals sprouted the types of name that I fell victim to. Nuliyesi, Flone, Elevess, Delina Nelita, Elenesi, Geresom, Elenata, Felita, Binosi are definitely not native, but they don’t quite sound western either. Did we make them up ourselves, as a way of showing that we are quite cultured and could keep up with globalisation? That was my theory until I started to google some of these names just for the heck of it. This is what I found: Elevess is an anti-wrinkle injectable filler, I am sure the Elevess in my village hasn't the foggiest idea what botox is; Faneti, my cousin, is some foot fetish in Turkey, trust me there is no way my uncle would have given this name to his precious daughter if he had know about this. However, I was very surprised to find out Delina, (noble, German) Felita (fortunate, Latin) Nelita (Greek) are real names. Even Aleda, my uncle’s first born means a small-winged girl in German. Flone, Binosi are Italian surnames. Unfortunately Enelesi and Geresom seem to be endemic only to Malawi. I guess you know what’s coming next, I googled my original name. I wasn’t so lucky. My original name was last recorded in Canada in 1852. So where did these names come from? My only guess is that they were probably supplied by the catholic fathers or the early missionaries. Some of them got confused and muddled along the line, hence why there is no record of Nuliyesi on the Internet.

The Chisomos and Alinafes of today are now adults, busy making children of their own. With the Pentecostal era now firmly behind us, they are now looking to the West and East to guide them. Our reference point is no-longer the daily happenings and mishaps of our surroundings; witchcraft, real or perceived; dying names mumbled by Italian fathers and confused missionaries; but the Britneys and the Ashleys on TV. Chrystee, Jasmine, Chantelle, Noreen, Naushad, now rule our Malawi urban world. We are no longer intrigued by our African names, or the history behind them. Thankfully the rural masses haven’t caught up with this frenzy, yet. Jorodanis (Jordan) and Khilisitinas (Christian) are still rampant and if you venture far into Katchele Khwanywa in Ntchisi, you might still come across a child named Fanuwell.