ID Crisis, Continued

My ID Crisis continues. I made a point to keep introducing myself as Damadje rather than Michelle when I came here. But of course some people had already learned me as Michelle. And for awhile the health center staff continued to introduce me to new people as Michelle, although they’re trying to call me Damadje now. The kids usually call me Michelli – a lot of French words become Bambara words by adding “-i” at the end – (“Banki” and “posti” for bank and post) although the ones who hang out at my house switch back and forth pretty regularly. My host family originally wanted to name me Mariam, and the dugutigi (village chief) of the village on the other side of the road decided I should be “Mam,” a nickname for Mariam, so occasionally one of them will joke around and call me Mariam or Mam. Just last week the head of the health center joked that I need a Minianka name – he suggested Niere.

As for last name, when I first visited, I was introduced as a Doumbia. After I moved here I switched my name to Sogoba, as I was the only Doumbia in village and my new host family are Sogobas. However, it seems that Sogobas are also pretty rare in this area of Mali. Instead, we have tons of Coulibalys. Besides, since Coulibalys are the butt of all Malian Joking Cousins jokes, everyone always asks if you’re a Coulibaly anyway.

On top of everything else, Damadje seems to be difficult to remember/pronounce. So I get any combination of Michelle, Michelli, Damadje and all of its variations (Samadje, Damagay, etc), Mariam, and Mam, Niere; and Doumbia, Sogoba, and Coulibaly. And of course, Toubab. The littlest kids are learning that I won’t respond to Toubab anymore, but usually they’re so excited to see me walk by that they start jumping up and down and yelling “Toubabu! Toubabu!” until they remember they have to call me Michelli to get a response.

While we’re on names, have I explained why my name, Damadje (pronounced Dah-ma-jay, and spelled Damadiaye by some people) is such a difficulty? Apparently I was named after my homestay great-great-great grandmother. So the way I figure, I’m kind of like the American equivalent of a Muriel. One of those old-time names that no one really names their kids anymore. I got so frustrated with people here not understanding my name that finally one day I complained, “You know, Damadje is a Malian name – it’s not American!!”

It could be worse. Two other girls from my stage also were placed in the San area. One was given the Malian name ɲamanto Sako, the other Buguri Coulibaly. ɲamanto means “trash pile” and Buguri means “dust/dirt.” Malians – and Africans in general, as far as I know – will give their kids terrible names if several children have previously passed away young. It’s supposed to be a deterrant to Death – “Nope, you don’t want this one, this one is ‘Trash!’” Which is great and all, but why would you name your American “child” a crap name? Buguri at least was named after her homestay grandmother, but ɲamanto seems to have come from nowhere in particular.

The three of us were walking in San one day when a man stopped us in the street (as often happens to us toubabs) to say hi and ask our names. I went first, and it took him a couple of tries to get it right. ɲamanto went next, and the man started to giggle. Finally Buguri went and the man doubled over laughing – poor girl is named “dust” and has the last name that is most made fun of out of any Malian last name! In addition, her village’s name is Samakele Buguru, which just makes it that much worse, since it sounds like she named herself after her village.

ɲamanto has since changed her name. She is now Nana Traore (chosen by her new host family). Buguri is sticking it out. Power to you, “Dust Bean-Eater!”