What's in a Name: Abby Jackson

“Murasa.”
A quiet giggle bounces around the classroom as I announce the name of our play’s main character. Our students have just finished sharing what their own names mean and brainstorming possible titles for the brave, honest, question-asking girl whose journey ties our play together. The board is covered in names-- everything from Rihanna and Frank to more traditional tribal names, like Murasa.

Lauren and I gently prod the class to find out why they laugh when tribal names are spoken. We struggle for a few minutes to get them to move beyond their shy smiles and teach us about the culture. Finally someone stands, in the tradition of students here in Tanzania, and says, “I think maybe Joyce would know. It is her name.”

The energy shifts a bit and the room softens as Joyce rises from her chair to answer our question. She stands slowly, her head swathed in scarf and her eyes seeming to hold some secret.

“Murasa,” she begins tentatively, “is a person who is confidence and respect and happy all the time.” She glances up at me. For a moment I see that this is her true name-- somehow a truer name than Joyce. She is suddenly older to me. Perhaps it is the elegance of the scarf, or the knowing smile, or the secret-keeping eyes, but I think it might be that in the revealing of her name, she too has been revealed. Not exposed or stripped of defenses....but beautifully unveiled. The confidence and respect and joy within her become visible in the owning of her name. I wonder how she would be different if she was called Murasa....would something new emerge? Is it possible to become a Name?

As she sinks back into her chair, I look around at our students, with the meanings of their names still ringing in my ears. Brightness of heaven....honest one....gift of God. Their faces are full of an innocent strength I have not encountered in American students. Their willingness to play, their imaginative minds, their generous spirits....there is such a childlikeness about these teenagers, and yet somehow I always feel they know things about life that I will never know....at least not yet.

With only a little over a week left, I have so many unanswered questions about our dear bunch of students...so many conversations to have, dances to dance, drums to beat, and stories to tell. I cringe at the pressure of time. But I am so thankful for the time I have had with them....for these beautiful, wide-eyed souls....for their dreams and for their stories and for the names that contain them all.