What’s in a Name?

Blog Post #15 -- Monica Rae

-December 18th, 2020-

Day 3

After days of tunnel vision headaches, my body begins to shake uncontrollably midafternoon. Night sweats, chills, fever, mental delays.

Day 4

My tongue feels like it is covered with a thin fuzzy coat that will not come off no matter how hard I scrub it with my toothbrush.

Day 5

In the morning I can smell the peppermint essential oils next to my bed. By night fall, I do not know whether I ate a piece of toast or rubber as I preemptively swallow extra doses of vitamin B and D with water that retains its flavor of nothingness.

Day 6

Bored, yet productive. After organizing my Christmas gift pile (that I should probably keep in a quarantining closest for 14 days before distributing), balancing my budget, cooking food I can not taste and reading my back log of People magazines, I find myself binge watching a Netflix series about a 20 something’s time in France.

Day 7

As a multitasker with four part time jobs, I am seriously inconvenienced by the Covid brain fog. I make a better care giver than a patient as I wait for each wave of symptoms to pass.

Day 8

Fever has dropped as extreme exhaustion and chest pain ensue. Craving pastries and grateful I am still at home with normal oxygen levels, I begin to brainstorm ways to recover my lost wages from this extended quarantine!

I stop counting the days…as long as I keep improving.

But the quarantine has me wondering…

The power of this name.

As soon as you say it.

Covid.

Covid.

It has the power to frighten and confuse.

Some denounce its existence, while others wear a mask when driving in their car—alone!

Fear gives Covid its name.

Many wear this ‘C’ alone in their hospital bed aching for the touch of healing from a loved one! Others live in anxiety and isolation for months in attempts to maintain their health.

I have had multiple bouts of pneumonia, breast tumors, a swollen spleen, shingles, an autoimmune disorder, food poisoning, pre-cancerous cells, etc. But in all the sickness I have encountered I have never experienced such a profound trepidation in the very mention of a name.

Day 11

An elephant has taken up residence on my chest. I am as pale as a ghost because I have not seen the sun for almost two weeks and now it is time for another nap!

What is it about a name?

Sometimes a name defines us…

Sometimes we define a name.

It was 1997.

I was an intern at a physical therapy office.

My boss’s name was Bill.

American media in the 1990’s reported on one story repeatedly—about a president named Bill (Clinton) and an intern named Monica. (for readers of my blog who are too young to know this reference—Google can better inform you!)

“Your boss’s name is Bill?” was followed by chuckles and innuendos.

I was on the receiving end of this commentary repeatedly for the year I interned…and the years that followed.

I am not sure why my parents chose to name me Monica. My mother says it was simply because they liked the name. But at 17 years old I wanted more than the giggles and connotations surrounding the actions of my country’s president and an intern who shared my name.

With over 7 billion people on earth, countless cultural and religious traditions, and even more languages, how can it be that certain names have the power to ignite emotion regardless of your address or education?

Shakespeare.

Jesus.

Martin Luther King.

Mother Teresa.

Obama.

Oprah.

Hitler.

Nelson Mandela.

Muhammad.

Gandhi.

A name is used for identifying. While a name in and of itself cannot change the person or entity it is naming, it somehow has power. How else can you explain your reaction to the names above? Can you see a ‘Hitler’ climbing on the playground with your children? Or a ‘Gandhi’ tackling your teenager on the football field?

Names have always fascinated me. The sounds, the emotions they evoke, but mostly the stories behind them.

While my mother did not have a story to go with my naming, she did give me a catholic picture card, with an image of St. Monica on it. ‘Monica’ is an ancient name of North Africa, deriving from the Latin verb monere, meaning ‘to advise.’ Saint Monica, born in present day Algeria, North Africa, was the mother of the famous Roman Catholic theologian Saint Augustine. I carried this card around for years in my silk fold-over purse—imaging this holy lady could somehow direct my pursuits.

Names differentiate you from others and the impact of a name on identity is intercultural.

"In the Bamoun tribe we replace the dead and relate everything to the deity," my friend in Cameroon shares with me.

Replacing the dead is common in many cultures as we name our young after those we have lost. We celebrate the hope of a new life with naming ceremonies in the Gambia and baptisms in cathedrals of Europe and the west.

In Arab cultures, when a man has a son, his name changes—he is addressed with a combination of Abu, which means father, and the name of his son. Because fatherhood is considered sacred, this new naming breathes honor onto the father for the rest of his life.

In Chinese cultures, a boy receives multiple names as he transitions into adulthood. While in contrast, some village women remain nameless. Nameless! How degrading—like a prisoner in the United States who exchanges her name for a prison number.

And what about the ‘last name’?

Traditionally and in many cultures the last name is the family name—the legacy of the man passed down through marriage. We refer to a maiden name as the one before marriage. But even that name is another man’s name—a father’s.

My daughter once asked me, “When does a girl get her own last name?”

She was of course referring to the idea that last names are the result of a man’s name. There is no ‘female last name.’ A girl has her father’s last name. A woman keeps this until she marries and takes her husband’s last name.

As a feminist I wondered how to answer my daughter’s question.

I may have overcompensated ... by giving her four names!

Her first name is a reminder of the sweetness I assumed she would still possess at an assisted living center at age 90; her two middle names are a reference to the gift she is from god and a tribute to my mother. And her last name is her father’s. She carries with her names that tell a story of where she came from.

But, who she BECOMES—that remains entirely up to her!!

The power of a name comes from the life we breathe into it.

I have been called mother, sister, nanny and friend. I have been given nicknames from family, terms of endearment from lovers and formal introductions at board meetings.

And yet, my favorite name is one that has stayed hidden for much of my life—like a key kept under a door mat.

Not too long ago in the middle of a pandemic, a man, his family, and a tiny African country unexpectedly sauntered into my life…

They are waiting for me…

They call me…

Rae

DEDICATION:

To Flechi (Mounga), for your passion to know and even greater determination to share. To Feyet, for your loyalty—challenging me to cling to what makes me happy and free! Two brothers whose honesty and pride is royal.

To Agie… and the names that make us new!!

And to my Emma—the gift she is. She breathes life into the story of her name.