She sat in the middle of the class
Standing out like charcoal in snow
With her long traditional Kente outfit and her head wrap
Eyes focused on his gesticulating hands
Lips and jaws clenched.
Her fingers fiddled with her bracelets
And the soft touch of them, reminded her of home
She thought more of it now that it had snowed
The coldness made her nostalgic of the warmth back home
She dived in her memories
Memories she edited in her mind
Making them more beautiful than they had probably been
Like we do when the present does not live up to the past
The instructor asked students' names
And from where she sat,
With her back straightened by nervousness,
She glanced and saw intimidation painted on some faces.
Peers who like her, couldn't call this new place home
She watched them chew their names with insecurity
And watched him repeat them with disdain
Names that came out with a new layer,
A layer of superiority.
She followed the count with her eyes as it went on
And finally it was her turn
“What’s your name?” he
asked
With a sudden hesitation
As though she never knew her name,
She gave a blank stare.
A stare that screamed she didn't belong
She thought of what her easiest name was
Of what name will be softest
Of what name he will easily enunciate
The African that she was, wondered
And for a moment that seemed for like ever,
She forgot what she was supposed to remember.
Remember she wears the name of a queen
Like her grandmother did before her,
Like her grandchildren will after her.
With a tone wrapped in pride
Sounding every syllable slowly, she said
“I am Djou-ko-o Ke-le-ke-e Ko-me-ke-lah”
Making sure he paid attention
And pronounced it right.
She remembered at last!
That her name was a memory
Like the sun that shines every day, reminding her, she was here
She dare not hide it for heavy tongues
Tongues lazed by scorn of differences
Tongues weighed down by fear of the unknown
For she was here before being
And she’ll be here after
̶ Immigrant Name
