Hello, My Name is Stephanie

A rose by any other name, would be as sweet.

I remember playing around with this line back in the days of Lit class. I'm sure I pondered about the ways in which this notion could be applied in other areas. That is the beauty of poetry - one's own interpretation. Thus, the flaw in it. I cannot then go and tell you how to interpret a matter.

The thought that brought me to this line I am writing was of the article titled, 'hello, my name is Stephanie'. I am yet to discover if that will be the heading that will precede this article. So, let us start, shall we. 

Hello, my name is Stephanie. If you are reading this because I have sent it to you, chances are, you already know that. Perhaps you stumble upon this in another way, likely by referral so, you know someone that directly knows me. In a fantasy world, this article would breach the third degree of separation. Either way, it became increasingly clear to me that in our growingly interconnected globalised modern society, a rose is known by many names.

I would like to share a story about how I grew to introduce myself as Stephanie. For those of you who may not know, my full government name is Tadiwanashe, Stephanie, Chivizhe. For years now, I do not think I have included my first or last name in any introduction. I think in university is where I completely dropped my last name. In university, you were given the option of introducing yourself as you pleased, with those who choose to go by peculiar nicknames. Though, I am not one to judge, I too have been hassled as to use my 'real name'. Hence why I felt it pertinent, to share this part of my journey.

I have had the privilege of traveling young but the disadvantage of growing up disconnected from 'my community'. For what was most of my life at the time, I had been known as Tadiwa. I do not have perfect recall of that period but, I was a young child, I cannot be expected to. I know there was a lot of joy, and I do not really remember the struggle, but I know it was there and also the reason my family migrated. In those days, I thought it would be temporary, a few years. Though what does a child know about the passage of time.  

An international community embedded in a foreign land would soon become my home and the chapter that was 'Tadiwa' would soon grow distant. In this foreign land, the 'di' in my name was simply not a syllable their language had encountered. The choice was simple, live in the torment of my name mispronounced or, Stephanie. It was tough at first, the adjustment. Not only was I enrolling into a new school but, a new climate, culture, language and society. Then to top it all off, my name seems to be a problem in this new environment.

I longed for the days I could be in my own environment. The society I had been raised to know as home. When the day came, something had changed. I was far too young to understand why my own family approached me with such hesitation but, they did, and it left a mark that still echoes until today. What I could not understand then was I had become an outsider in my own community in a mere 2 years. I no longer sounded like the cousins I once grew up playing with, I had been slowing learning and mirroring the new society was I being raised in. In this time prior to social media, there was no way for a young school child to be in touch with the trends in the lives of other school children oceans away.

Home was still home though, and there truly is no place quite like it. I returned to my foreign my land and I did not know it then but, the life of the ins and outs of the here and there had just begun. I would later get the option of going back home for high school and take it with great joy. In my first two years of high school, I would finally take the opportunity to be Tadiwa yet again. I remember being asked for my name and being overjoyed to be back home where the tongues' flexibility bends to the will of my name. Yet, for some reason, I became Chivizhe.

It was odd at first but, I did not completely hate it. I then learnt there was another 'issue' with my name, many struggled to spell my last name. Perhaps my pronunciation or their understanding of the rules of language or, perhaps the geography they project onto my name when they hear it. Either way, I still had not had the opportunity to be Tadiwa. So, when I changed schools 2 years later, I tried again. Much of that period my life is honestly such a blur.

The few years I had spent in the foreign land had done more 'damage' than I could truly comprehend. I no longer fit the mould of Tadiwa and the more I tried to be 'Tadiwa' the more I disappeared into the shell of who I thought I should have been. It all seems so dramatic until I let go of trying to be the girl who left home at a young age and I allow myself to be the girl who came back home.

Being Stephanie has always been hard. Once you grow up and understand the complexities and nuances that come with a name, a name can be a hard thing to bare - names with which we play no part in choosing. As a descendant of a former British colony, there are certain schools of thought I have encountered around the topic of my name. I will not detail all but the few that come to mind are; 1 - These are the names of the coloniser, 2 - You have been brainwashed to aspire to whiteness, 3 - It is not your real name.

1. These are the names of the coloniser

This may be true - to say my ancestors would not have carried the name I carry now. I am okay with that. When people carry names that have been taken out of religious text, we often forget the means through which religion has achieved globalisation. History is riddled with tales of migration that resulted in the subsequent cultures that form our modern societies.

2. You have been brainwashed to aspire to whiteness

I was raised in internationally diverse environments. I was influenced by, and in those environments. As an individual journeying through life, I have accepted and turned away various influences. As a first-time lifer, I can only make decisions that I believe align with me and who I am trying to become. The unfortunate truth is sometimes choices one makes about how they choose to live their lives can offer offence to others as it does not mirror the choices they make about their own lives. Alas, a little girl is powerless in her hopes to remain home when her parents understand that migration will be the only way to put food on the table.

3. It is not your real name

My cousin often says, if someone wants to misunderstand you, they will simply do just that. I paraphrase but the sentiment is simple, some things just do not make sense, and it is a hopeless battle trying to make one understand. I remember when I learnt what my name meant, I was swept by a feeling of aspiration and remembrance. I have carried my name since the day I was born, I am not sure what more is required for it to thus be my name.

Much of who I am today was influenced by choices I was too young to be able to participate in. For what has now been most of my life, I have been Stephanie and my home is in a foreign land. What I have recently learnt is that, though I live in my mother's home, my mother's home is in her homeland. A place where home is offered but is no longer my home, at least not the way it was to young Tadiwa and maybe, not yet.

The reason I felt it necessary to share this story is because I am no longer a child trying to be someone, I know who I am. Life is long, and I am ready to be myself.

My name will always be Tadiwanashe, Stephanie, Chivizhe. Even if I were a 'one name celebrity', my wiki profile would simply expose me if I tried to get away from the full breadth of my name. I like my name, I do not wish to change my name in order to avoid its discussion. So, if you would be so kind, I would greatly prefer it if you called me Stephanie.

Though a rose by any other name would be as sweet, only a rose, is a rose.