You can call me Dalila.

My professor called it a baptism in Kiswahili. On second thought, it became more than that. It was me choosing to become a part of their culture in a simple way. I’ve always thought about what it would be like to have a different name as mine is fairly uncommon and I am frequently called something besides my name. It’s been even more frequent being in Tanzania. Only once or twice has it been really frustrating to not hear my name…said properly…or even be spoken to by name and not part of a general group. Back to the story…sitting in our first morning of language lessons, we were given a sheet of Swahili names to pick from. All of a sudden, I couldn’t pick a new name. It was scary to think about. I felt like I was asked to redefine myself in three minutes. It came to the wire and I had to make a choice. I chose Dalila. It means “proof” in Swahili. Somewhat suiting seeing my nature. There was another one I liked as well, but someone else picked it. I was too afraid to speak up first or else I would have a different name. I think it will all work out well. I still have to think about answering to that name. I miss hearing my name said. There is something about it that marks you as an individual. Coming from an more individualistic society, I think I expect to be recognized as an individual, as Shanea’, not Friend or Sister that I hear so frequently here. I think Ma’am or Miss would bother me less than the ambiguity of a general term.