By: Kandjengo kaMkwaanyoka
Often, when I meet people, I introduce myself by what is termed my first name, Gabriel.
I get responses like, ‘Oh, you are an angel, Gabriel’. Due to the biblical teachings that were inflicted on me growing up, I used to cherish such flattery.
I am now grown up, enlightened, and I realised that the name given to me has nothing to do with who I am, my land, heritage, lineage, customs, and tribal roots.
I am also inspired by one of my favourite songs by one of the finest industry veterans, Big Ben. The song is called Venaune.
He sings, “Call me by my name, Venaune”.
I have arrived at a brutal conclusion: this Gabriel name erased my whole identity and made me someone from a far land.
I know we have been robbed of so many things as Africans by colonialism and Christianity, but the strategy of baptism that was used to remove our tribal names irks me the most.
Who said the creator hated African and tribal names? Can the Christians please enlighten me?
What is wrong with my beautiful Kwanyama name that I received when I entered this earth, the one that described the circumstances and vibe surrounding my birth?
How did it become a second name on official documents? Government, can you enlighten me?
Now people cannot tell that I am from Okwalondo, between Epuku and Onandova, because Gabriel says nothing about Epatululo or Okambebe, where I roamed the land looking after goats and running away from frogs.
Growing up, our uncles and aunties used to describe themselves with their totems, poetic words, and callings that describe who they were and their lineage.
Now I am stuck with a Gabriel; my work and contribution are attributed to a Gabriel.
My ancestors and bloodline will find it hard to relate to the name that is supposed to represent them.
Now I will become omukulu-wonale Gabriel when they are going to sing and tell stories about my work. It irks me.
Thus, I will quote the bible that was used to brainwash us. For me, I think the bible is a weapon that was formed against us Africans, and it prospered.
The most interesting thing now is that when I introduce myself as Kandjengo, my fellows ask for my first name, and it annoys me so much and troubles me to the core.
How can a Kwanayama man, a Mbukushu man’s first name, be of European origin? I want to understand this.
Back then, our parents named their kids with intentions and in response to the surroundings, signs from nature, and all that was going on.
The name given to a child tells a story. It carries them into villages and introduces them when you travel and enlightens others about the home that birthed you.
Now all that I carry is a reference to an angel of some sort that existed long ago. In all the cultural and traditional teachings, our guardians had no foreign names.
It is so strange that all angels that look over the earth have no African names, according to Christian teachings.
There is no angel Mandume or angel Kandjabanga.
Only angels named Michael and Gabriel.
I guess before Christianity, there were no angels.
I feel robbed, and now I spend time telling people I cannot relate to angel Gabriel at all. I am no angel.
But I can relate to Kandjengo. He was a great mechanic who touched every car in Ongwediva and Oshakati, a great man.
So, for those who heard about him, when they say, “Are you named after Kandjengo from Ongwediva?” I beam with excitement and belonging.
We have lost so much as Africans due to colonialism and Christianity. We have been assimilated into other people’s culture, and we are losing our roots.
A name is an identity. It is a vessel that carries your ancestral roots and lineage. Who we are is not just carried by genetics but by our names.
A name is a footprint for the next generation to follow and to cherish us, and to follow our work and continue carrying the ancestral task.
I fully acknowledge that those who colonized and brought Christianity were better strategists. Their strategy was the best, but with names, we can do something with our names.
If your church pastor doesn’t want to baptize your kid because his name is Nghililewange, leave that church and come join mine. Kalunga/Ndjambi was there before church.
Your name is the footprint that you leave behind for the next generation to follow and relate. Is a continuation of your roots, tribe, and clan.
Above all the doctrine and brainwashing about ourselves and our culture, our tribal and heritage names can be maintained and restored.
Going back to your first name should be the first step in restoring some of the cultural losses and decolonising the mind.
Please, when you meet me, don’t ask me to give you my other simple name, or to shorten it, ufanenge Kandjabanga.
