When Honey just wasn't enough....

So my entire life I've gotten a lot of grief for my name. It started as far back as I can remember when I had brothers who constantly chimed in with "honey bunny." I hated it! In elementary school I remember a specific teacher who teased me with the same joke every single week, probably for about three years straight. "Honey, I'm home!" Then I got to jr. high. I was super self-conscious, as most junior high girls are, and didn't like my name one bit. I even considered trying to change it, or go by my middle name instead. In high school I got over it and Honey was fine, I started to like the fact that my name was unique and that I never had to worry about being confused with someone else. I was used to the jokes and actually liked it when I heard a new, original nickname or joke that was actually funny.

When I got to college I started to observe people's responses to my name more closely. When meeting someone I would wait for a response after I told them my name. If there was absolutely no response I would know they didn't really listen and most likely weren't going to remember my name. It was just a question asked out of courtesy. If they were actually engaged in the conversation I could tell because there would be the split second of what? is that really your name? So then it was an automatic conversation starter and made making friends easier. People always seemed to learn my name before I learned theirs. Thus I have learned to intentionally learn and remember peoples names.

Why am I telling you this? Because my entire life my name has been one of the things about me that make me stand out, it makes me different. If I am remembered for anything it is usually my name, at least at the beginning. Here in Mozambique I've even been able to cross the language barrier (even if only slightly) by saying that in Portuguese my name is Mel. I still get strange looks from that, since it doesn't exactly translate as a term of endearment, let alone a name.

I want to tell you of a new name that I've recently been given by the son of another missionary family here. One day he started calling me Mamona. I asked him where he got it and he said a girl in his class. Nothing special. Just a name he's heard and decided to give me. So he started calling me "Mamona" and it quickly spread to his siblings. It started out as a little joke, no big deal.

To get to most places around my house I walk. So I walk down the street most afternoons and have gotten to know many individuals in the area, at least surface level how are you types of communication. I see them often. Sometimes there will be people out and about who I haven't seen and I am made aware of it by hearing "Malungo, Malungo!" from across the street. (which is shangana for white person). I've gotten quite used to this by now and have even caught myself amazed when I see another white person, saying to myself, "Hmm...I wonder what that Malungo is doing here." It isn't a negative term, just a matter-of-fact. But we really do stand out.

Eventually it spread to the kids in the neighborhood and they really thought it was my name. So much as the other night I was walking home and all the sudden I hear a small child's voice call out, "Mamona, tudobem!" I turned around to look for the source. It was different than the typical "malungo" that I hear. Sure enough it was a little boy who lives close by and his face was just glowing. So I stopped and chatted with him for a bit, then he walked with me down the street. It was sweet to me that he had picked up on my "mozambican" name and was actually using it. Much better than just being called whitey.

It's interesting how much a name gives us an identity sometimes. How it helps us relate to people. If you know someone's name you've already made a connection with that person, even if it seems minuscule. But isn't that how every single relationship we have starts? What is your name?