Moving me down the highway

9 July 2015

Like the pine trees lining the winding road, I’ve got a name.

And now, you can call me Nakajubi.

That’s right, I’ve been given a proper Ugandan name.  I’m now a local.  Almost.

It means: One who tells good stories.

And how appropriate is that?  All I do is tell stories.

Instead of hearing “Bye, muzungu!  Bye, muzungu!” chanted by the kids as I walk around town, I stop and introduce myself.  “Kelly” can be confusing because of the L’s, so Nakajubi sticks a little better. 

Now, when I walk by on my way to class (usually late), I hear chants of  "Nakajubi! Oli otya!?” which are encouraging.  It gives me an identity in an unfamiliar country.

Most people, when I tell them, have a good laugh.  I say in Luganda, “I am not muzungu, I am Muganda.  My name is Nakajubi.”  And that makes them laugh even harder.  I just wave and walk on.  I know I’m not here in Mityana for much longer, but to be recognized less as just an outsider and more as an individual with a name is comforting.  I’m excited to introduce myself over and over to the people at my future site in Biikira.

So thanks, Jim Croce, for the slight inspiration in asking for and receiving a name.  I’ll use it proudly and often.