A Loner's Journey Through Lemonade Making

Chapter 29|

On one sunny afternoon when we were in Yoruba class, our teacher, Mrs Sijuade, mentioned something about people's names being written on their tummies with sharp objects. Like people got tribal marks to tell what family they belonged to and where they came from, children got their names written on their tummies so someone would be able to tell who they were if they got lost.

I had that.

Not on my tummy, but on my left lap. I assumed it had been done with a blade, because Mrs Sijuade said they were usually done with blades.

Everyone knew me as Yewande, and I hated it. I hated the name with every fibre of my being. My mates had modern and cool Yoruba names like Ibidun and Ademidun, and I had Yewande, a local name.

I had four other names: Oluwayemisi, meaning God honours me, Oluwatoni, meaning God is enough to have, Adunni, meaning someone who is sweet to have and Adetoun, which Mrs Sijuade said basically meant princess, when I asked her in her staff room after class.

Those names were beautiful and I loved them. I wished I had Yemisi as my first name and Yewande as a name nobody knew I had.

When one heard my names, they would think I had parents that really loved and cared for me. You didn't name a child you didn't like Adunni, after all. And that made me more curious to know who and where my parents were.

In second term when we had done our data capturing for our external exams, I had heard my classmates' other names. Joju had told me his other names without asking for mine. He told me Sydney was on his passport, but he also had Oluwatosin, meaning God is worthy of being served, Mayowa, meaning bring joy, Olakunle, meaning the house is full of wealth and Toluwanimi, meaning I am God's own. He told me about his siblings, Olajuwon and Olajumoke.

I'd mused on how his name was Oluwatosin and mine was Oluwatoni. I'd teased him about being a typical Yoruba child with more names than necessary. And I admitted to liking his first name, Oluwajomiloju, which basically meant God did something that impressed me.

Munachi had Abigail, Cynthia and Olaedo, meaning gold.

Ibidun had Tiwatope, meaning our situation is worthy of thanks, Eniola, meaning a wealthy person, Omobolanle, meaning the child met wealth at home and Omowonuola, meaning the child entered wealth.

Kari had Chantel, Leonie and Tamarapreye, meaning God's gift.

Safia had Zainab and Hauwa.

That time we spent talking about our names made me realize that names were very important, and parents should give their children names they would be proud of. Yewande, meaning mother has returned, a name that was given to females who were born shortly after the death of their grandmothers, certainly wasn't one of them.

But I had to give them credit for the other ones, I loved them.

☆☆☆☆☆

The final year students were slowly becoming scarce. Even Shalewa had become a boarder.

It was Thursday, around six o'clock, and I was in the garden with my friends, watching the sunset. The horizon was a mixture of red and yellow. The birds flew about, and the trees danced. It was a beautiful evening.

After the sun had set, we continued talking. Kari and Munachi were currently telling the rest of us how they had seen TK and Ebun kissing after dinner the day before.

"I swear I was shocked!" Kari remarked. "I used to think Ebun was holy, I even used to call her Mummy G.O."

"I was really surprised." Munachi shook her head, registering her disappointment. "I thought she was different, levelheaded. Baby girl was just producing different soundtracks!"