My Name: A Love- Hate Relationship

I have always had a love hate relationship with my name. I was one of those kids that  would cringe and quickly scream “Present”, during a roll call.

Why? My name is Ojatobare Adjekuko. A name not common in the south west-Lagos. I never thought my name was difficult.  In fact, it could be broken down into simple syllables. Once you hear the original pronunciation, its actually quite simple to pronounce. Still, telling people my name, would always give me an unexpected reaction, substitution or confession.

My first Name

The name Ojatobare was coined by my father on some random day before I was born. Like me my father is a writer and he tends to get very creative in the most unexpected times. The meaning of my name is “suffering has come to an end”. The Irony right! I mean I was born in Nigeria, and brought into this world that is full of suffering. Most times, native names given to children in Nigeria, seemed to have a connection with how the child was conceived (in pain or in joy), what the child brought to the parents, the timing of the child (wanted or unwanted), or even just the sex of the child (my great-grandma’s name was ominingbo, which literally means it’s a girl).

There was no mystery around my conception, I was not unwanted and my parents did not have to struggle to conceive me. So, I always wondered what suffering I brought to an end at the time of my birth. I do not think my parents were in such dire suffering that a child could bring an end to. I just accepted that my name was a prophetic name, because all suffering will eventually end. Nevertheless, perhaps I truly ended my father’s suffering. Not long after I was born, he got a visa to the United States of America, for the average Nigerian (at least in the late 90’s) seems like the end of your suffering.

My last name

Adjekuko – Run away from trouble. I do not know the circumstances of the birth of the man that owned this name. This man was my great grandfather. An Urhobo man from Oghara, in what is now called delta state. He was a hunter, quite famous for killing a lion which really doesn’t scream running from trouble. My father passed this name down to his two daughters joining a clan of Adjekuko’s in the south-south.

My contention with my name

During my childhood it appeared that everyone had a middle name, even my parents had. Oghenedoro and Mercy, mum and dad respectively. But my father couldn’t be bothered to give us middle names. Most times these names were English names while the first names were native or vice versa. I always wanted an English name. At the tender age of 7, I was already tired of people mispronouncing my name and needing a quick escape from the name. If I had an English name, I wouldn’t have to deal with the humiliation and mockery whenever my name was called especially in school.

Whenever I asked my father for an English name, he would always respond with, “I am not an English man”. This I found quite hypocritical, because my father had adopted a Greek name from the bible, which was considerably easier to pronounce than his native name, yet he denied me this opportunity.

Despite his refusal I adopted the name ANGEL, I didn’t come up with this myself , I’m sure I would have done better. My aunt gave me this name, even though I didn’t know why I seemed like an angel to her then, because I certainly am not one now. It was better than all the nick names I’d gotten; Toby (given by my mum which people always mistook for the Yoruba name Tobi), Oja (given by a naughty classmate, cut from my first name literally meaning market in Yoruba) and Aje (a mockery of my last name meaning witch in Yoruba).

This didn’t last long, because the name became a pick-up line, from sleazy old men that linger at a hand shake, whenever I told them my name.  So, I quickly dumped the name as a teenager.

Anything but my tribe.

Whenever I tell people my name, they’d always guess anywhere in the country but where I am actually from. My last name always sweeps people to the west, guessing I am Yoruba and my first name would rightly sweep them to the south-south but never to delta state, most times to Bayelsa or port Harcourt the common tribe Ijaw.

Even my own people always question my name, the more popular name similar to mine in Urhobo is Tobore. So, when I tell Urhobo people my name, they assume I am mispronouncing my own name for Tobore. This has led to a barrage of insults, before finally understanding that it is not the same name and it doesn’t mean anything close to the name. To cap it all, they find it had to resonate my look with the name because according to them I look and speak nothing like an Urhobo girl.

A weird encounter

I have had weird experiences with reactions to my name, from people just saying amen to people laughing or mocking my name. However, this was an unexpected one. One day on my way home from work, a car pulled up beside me while I was walking. He asked for directions as he was new to the estate. He offered to give me a ride which I declined because I was really just a few blocks from home.

When I told him my name, he reacted with such awe and when I told him the meaning, this man broke down crying. I was so confused and didn’t know how to comfort a grown man just crying on the street in his car. It even got worse, he pleaded with me to pray with him so as to end the suffering in his life. I declined quickly. Well, I am not a pastor and besides my own suffering had not even ended so who was I to pray for a random stranger. Furthermore, as I came closer to the car, I could smell a whiff of alcohol and guessed the man was likely drunk. After an awkward 5minutes, I waved him goodbye and never saw him again.

Acceptancing my name

I don’t know when I began to love my name, but the older I got I realized how unique my name was. It was quite amazing to google my name and I was the only one that popped-up. The only one in the digital universe named Ojatobare, that gave me joy. I know it won’t last long, perhaps there’s someone without a digital footprint that bears my name. Still, I have also come to love my name even for its meaning, because when I have those bad days when I question the point of life, it gives me hope that my suffering will come to an end.

And I have a  new appreciation for native names because just one word can tell you so much about a person’s history and even breathe life into a being.

Perhaps this is what my father wanted to teach me!