Welcome, dear people, to Open Mic Friday! The format is simple. Every week there will be a featured “reading” in the body of this post. In the comments, you’re warmly invited to share some work of your own — and it doesn’t have to be text. To keep conversation and creative spirit flowing, please applaud and cheer for others’ offerings just as loudly as you would at a physical reading — by commenting on their work and giving props to everyone.
Tips:
- Writers, if your work is lengthy, I recommend posting it elsewhere and including the link in the comments (with a sentence of description so we know what we’re clicking for).
- Comments are threaded, which means you can reply directly to each reader by hitting the “reply” button within that comment box. Converse!
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This week I’m delighted to feature an autobiographical piece by my dear VONA friend Kuukua Dzigbordi Yomekpe. Three of Kuukua’s essays, including this one, were recently published in African Women Writing Resistance: An Anthology of Contemporary Voices, a book more than six years in the making.
All Because of a Name by Kuukua Dzigbordi Yomekpe
Claiming your name with all its baggage of ancestral memory brings with it a certain comfort that is very cathartic!
It is 12:16 a.m. on Wednesday morning—the day on which I was born. To us Ghanaians this is very important since most of us are named according to this day. I have just finished reading the preface and some of the introduction to a book written by one of my professors from college. I finally sign my name in a book that I have owned for almost 4 years. Without thinking, I sign “Kuukua Dzigbordi Yomekpe” with oomph; I realize that I like the sound of my own name, my African name.
Why I had never given any earlier thought to protesting my European name was beyond me. Of course, most people I knew in Ghana strove to be regarded as “white” or Europeanized. From my maternal grandmother who tried to make proper ladies out of my sister and I, by teaching us the proper use of cutlery at Tea or the mannerisms of a lady, to the nuns in habits who charged us 10 Cedis for speaking our native languages during recess, everyone made it their business to ensure that this new generation of children were brought up right; trained to fit into the mold that the colonizer was creating for the so-called “educated African.” To top it all off was the Anglican, and later, the Roman Catholic Church, to which my ancestors were probably forced to convert, that demanded that all baptized children of God be named after saints; of course, it came in handy that most of these saints had English names! So, with all these forces working against me it was no surprise that my name was, and had been for 24 years, Melody-Ann D. Yomekpe and not Kuukua Dzigbordi Yomekpe.
I can recall feelings of shame when called upon in class to enunciate my “full name” or to tell my teachers what my middle initial, D, stood for. The teachers, also victims of the colonizer’s brainwashing, didn’t make these feelings any easier to deal with, ridiculing the sound of my names. These names, inherited from my father, originated from the Ewe tribe, who occupied the eastern part of Ghana, who, historically were not counted among the most assimilated and Europeanized of the Ghanaian tribes. I grew up hoping and praying that someday I would be married off to a man from a place outside of Africa and then my last name would change and I would never have to blush when asked to pronounce my last name again! Yes, it was a traumatic experience for a child who strove against all odds to be Europeanized. There were even occasions when I denied the existence of that side of my heritage. Denying my association with my father’s tribe always cost me dearly because quite a few of my fellow students in class were also members of this tribe and this denial was always seen as a betrayal. I would think to myself that they would do the same if they had names like mine that meant “grave stone”…
Continue reading at Kuukua’s blog, ewurabasempe.wordpress.com.
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Thank you for reading and applauding Kuukua’s work! She’s currently working on a culinary memoir, so keep your ears open for more from her in the future!
And now… it’s your turn. The comments are open!
satsumabug.com | Lisa Hsia 
PS. I have some more guest posts lined up for the future, but not one for next-next week (Friday the 27th). If you’re interested in having your work featured here, please contact me at satsumabug at gmail. And again, it doesn’t have to be a textual work; any kind of art is welcome!
Wow. What a wonderful piece!! Thank you for sharing this, Kuukua. I can’t wait to visit your blog and read more.
Beautifully written, Kuukua! Thank you for sharing your experience, and opening our awareness about what it is like to be required to supress your natural self. To some degree I think we are all expected to do this, though not to the extreme that you describe.
Wonderful! I recall reading this on your blog a while ago, but not being able to respond at the time. Thank you for sharing your journey with your name. Naming can be so wrought with meaning and struggle, and I love how you elucidated it here.
My full name is Anna Maria and my mother gave me those names to double dose me with purity — she was deeply religious as a Catholic and was especially attached to the Virgin Mary. And Mary’s mother was St. Anne. Thus “Anna Maria.”
It’s interesting how I evolved to merely “Anna.” In grade school, I went by “Ann Marie.” The shift to middle school and then high school had me dropping to merely “Ann.” Yet concurrent to this, I took up softball when I was 9 and played competitively all throughout –summer and winter leagues, traveling tournament teams, 4 years high school varsity. My coaches called me “Anna.” Before sports, I was a mouse and never spoke. I was afraid of my own voice in public, though was chatty at home. In softball, I played shortstop, then centerfield — both positions that are “generals” out in the field, calling out plays, keeping the out count, directing throwing traffic. I found my voice there. It was interesting once I got to middle school and high school to have some of my softball peers and school friends mingle, each calling me a different name, depending on which context they knew me. And I found that I liked my “Anna” persona best — she was fearless and fun and athletic and adventurous.
So when I went to college, I chose “Anna” only and for good. And I’ve been just “Anna” ever since. I think she suits me. 🙂
Anna, yay for finding your name and your voice! 🙂 Funny that you and Kuukua both dropped Anns from your names. 🙂
Here’s my contribution to the open mic! I read a thoughtful post about avoiding ethnic tropes in writing, which included the following suggestion: focus on verbs and nouns, letting those speak for the character, instead of relying on adjectives and adverbs to convey what someone is like. I’ll think about the ethnic tropes another time, but for today I decided to write about a character in a game I’ve been playing (yes, that’s been my procrastinatory tool for the day!). Here he is, in fewer than 300 words:
He strides into his living room, knocking over boxes and piles of supplies as he enters. He bends to right one of the piles but his fingers fumble it to the ground, while he upends two more piles with his rear. He straightens and wades on through the mess. The album he needs is in the lower-left cabinet. He flings open the cupboard door and kneels before it, tossing tunics and potion bottles over his shoulders, emptying the cubbyhole. He lowers his head into it and peers around. The album is not there. He tries to sit up and curses as the top of his head makes contact with the wood. He scans the room and his eyes settle on the trunk on the other side of the room.
He moves toward the trunk and swears again as he trips over a heap of scrolls and falls over the chair, his midsection catching on the chair’s arms. His eyes bulge and he grunts, but he pushes himself up and carries on. The trunk is locked. He doesn’t remember a key. He gazes at it for a moment, then lifts the latch with one hand and gives it a shake and a tug. The metal crumples and separates from the wood. Inside the trunk, he finds nuts and dried berries, a jar of balm, a pair of boots, a portrait of his mother, and the album. Its pages are stained with wine, but he can read the writing: the first poems he ever wrote. These will settle the bet! Clutching the album to his chest, he wipes his hands on his breeches and trips over the boots before he makes it to the door.
This conjures up a picture of Shrek — big, somewhat clumsey, smart (a writer of poetry). I was trying to figure out where/who he was by the items in his living room: tunics, potions, nuts and berries. But I think he must be a fairy tale character?…..I read this last night and I’ve been playing with it since then. A fun 300 words, Lisa – very descriptive! Who needs adjectives and adverbs?
I was writing about a character in a computer game I was playing. 🙂 Now that you mention it, he is a lot like Shrek, but I think Shrek is smarter!
It was a fun exercise; I think I’ll try it more often!
Great exercise! I should try it myself — I think I rely way too much on adverbs and adjectives. I definitely got a cottagey-fairy tale feel. It was the feeling of the too-cozy scale of the room, the potions being tossed, the tunics, breeches and boots. Could also be a from a fantasy tale as well (thus, the game!). Well done!
Thank you, Anna! 🙂 Give the exercise a go when you’ve got a moment! I like it because it’s adaptable to any length piece you want to work on, whether it’s a couple of paragraphs (like mine) or pages longer!
Thanks for sharing Kuukua – I can hear your voice reading this aloud when I’m reading it on the page. And congratulations on getting this published!
These lines seemed to sum up the whole feeling of the piece for me in a way:
“Without thinking, I sign “Kuukua Dzigbordi Yomekpe” … I realize that I like the sound of my own name, my African name. ”
I like the way the sentence sounds, especially the repetition at the end. Keep writing!
This is a wonderful story. Growing up I always hated my last name, Sloan, because it was not my African name and I will never know what my African name was but with “Sloan” being an Irish name and not one of marriage but rather ownership I hated it.
But then when I was in college, my friends knowing this story accidentally made it my nickname and eventually as important to me as my first name (which I actually had always hated because no one else shared that name, I could never find those cute key chains with my name on them, etc.) And I also hated my first name because the only association anyone could make with it if they did pronounce it correctly was, Oh, like Willona from Good Times? I’d have to smile and say, no, my dad says he never saw the show. (but what I’m thinking to myself is no my dad didn’t name me after the loud neighbor on that 70s show about the ghetto. He named me after himself). Anyway, as you can see, both names were a source of struggle for me. But over time and with maturity I came to love my names as they represent me in the world. Whether you call me Sloan, Willona (or my middle name as only my father does because, of course, I hate it) then I feel a certain connection to my parents, and to my family, and know that they are being spoken of also.
Willona, I love what you’ve said here. Thank you for sharing your name story. You’ve unfolded so much richness out of your names.
I’ve never liked my first name either, actually, though everyone tells me they think Lisa suits me perfectly. When I was a kid I felt it wasn’t serious enough — I used to wish I was named Elisabeth so I’d have a longer and more grown-up name. 🙂 And there were so many Lisas out there! I could never find those key chains either because the Lisa ones were always sold out!
Even now when I sign my name to drawings I’ve made, I feel a little distant from my name. Purely aesthetically, I haven’t yet found a way to sign it that pleases me, unless I use only lowercase letters, but intellectually I don’t like my name all in miniscule. I guess, even if it is my birth name, unlike Kuukua I have yet to really claim it!
claim it ladies! thanks for all your comments.
[…] a more positive note, I am quite happy with my new bag design. Last week Kuukua showed me some fabrics she’d brought back from Ghana, and asked if I could use them to make a […]
[…] you for reading such a long entry! Come back for the Open Mic tomorrow when Kuukua Dzigbordi Yomekpe returns for her second guest post. I’ll see you […]
[…] overjoyed to welcome back Kuukua Dzigbordi Yomekpe, whose work was featured here previously as the inaugural guest post back in August. Her piece today speaks deeply to the challenge of art-making amid the all-consuming […]