Nicknames and Totems

 Sometimes we have to learn to laugh at ourselves a bit more. I know I do. That's a lesson that can be hard to learn, but it can be fun, if you have the right attitude.At first there was no possible way that I was ever going to tell this story, but now I'll put it out there. It's kinda fun.
 Go way back; way,way back to our very first work day at Karanda. Everything is still quite new. Michelle has gone to nurses chapel, and is now in a meeting of the mind on how to tackle her week.I have wandered down past the hospital, a little nervously down the wheelchair ramp, past the peds ward and the male ward, into the back corner of the hospital property where the maintenance workers are having their daily chapel session; in Shona, and spoken very fast. A group of about thirty Shona men sat on rag-tag, worn-out wooden benches listening to one of the hospital chaplain speak. It was quite intimidating.
The group suddenly parted, and in the very back row one spot opened up. I made my way through the crowd, and chapel resumed. At the end of it all, the chaplain said, "For our white-skinned brother, I will explain what I was saying". He they told me the passage, and a few points, and what else could I say but thankyou.
 Chapel was over. All the men got up, with a flurry of noises that worn-out benches make, and every last guy lined up to greet me. All of them!! I couldn't believe how friendly they were! I was grateful when Jon Christiansen, my new boss, stepped in beside me.
 Over the next couple minutes, there were guys crowding in closer, all trying to pronounce my name, which apparently is harder than lassoing the moon. "Ghana. Oh, like the country in Africa?"
 "No, Garner." Jon countered.
 " Gha....na..... Gha... na.....  Gha.... na...."
  One guy got a little further. "Gha...rrr....na....rrr. Oh, now I am a westerner" John Siamukwari said.
 Jon Christiansen laughed. "Maybe we should give him a nickname. How about an animal or something?"
 Elvis, the heavy-set Shona truck driver, offered a suggestion. He spaced his legs apart, flexed his biceps, and said, "Nzou!" (pronounced Nzo- a very phonetic language. The letter a is like the a in about , e is pronounced ay, i is like beef, o is like open, u is like pool, but in nzou it is silent. Zimbabwe, Harare, Tinashe, mopani - all letters pronounced the same)
 Almost twenty men nearby said "Yes, Nzou. Because you are big, and strong, and fat. An elephant!"
 It was done.  I didn't know how to take it at first, but not one of those men ever meant it in any sort of a mean way at all. Jon told me it was a good thing, but I wasn't so sure. Over the next few days, I learned that first of all, to have a little weight means you are sucessful, powerful. You don't go through periods of starvation. You likely have some sort of school training beyond the average, or you must have a good job. You are wealthy. you don't suffer in the lean times.
 I also learned about totems. Families run under totems, and a totem of one kind may never marry another from the same totem. Obviously, this helps to prevent inbreeding, since there is no concept of uncles, aunts, cousins, etc. Your uncle is your father, your aunt is your mother, your cousin is your brother or sister. It's actually possible for a man to ask time off to mourn for six fathers, for example. It's a very family-oriented, relationship based culture. So now I was a Nzou.
 I've learned of a number of other Nzou that I work with, and they are more than happy to share the status. Actually, they are honoured. There are twisa's((tweesa)-giraffes),leopards, waterbuffalo. Jon Christiansen is a babboon.(Teehee) There are hyenas....
 Ah, hyenas... The guard at the gate. He's a short, scrawny little guy. When he turns sideways, I lose him. When he learned my name, he laughed hard. "It's because you're so big and fat", he guffawed. It really did seem mean , at least at first. Every time I walk past him, he needs to say something to me, then say Nzou, and laugh hysterically. Annoyingly. Until one day, I couldn't stand it any longer, and called him a hyena (Nbere) Now every time I walk past him, he bares his teeth like a fierce little nbere, and laughs hysterically."I  am hyena". He's a wee bit odd. Whatever.
 Everywhere I go at Karanda, people are calling out, "Nzou!", sometimes from a good distance away. It even happens now in Karanda-town. We'll be walking down the street, "Nzou! How are you?"
 "Zvakanaka Shamwari!(Good, my friend )"
 "Maswera seyi?" (How did you spend your day?)
 "Daswera maswerow!" (I spent it well if you spent it well)
 "Daswera" (I spent it well)
 "Zvakanaka"
 So here we are in Vic Falls. We're at the Boma, and the face-painter comes to our table.
 "What would you like me to paint?" he asks.
 Ah, why fight it. Michelle and I explained to him that we're working up at Karanda,(which even here many people know of), and I was given the nickname Nzou. So that's what he painted.
 I am Nzou!
(Tried to upload the picture, but it won't work today)
 By the way, the driver -Elvis. As in Presley. Not sure how he got that name, since he has clue who Elvis Presley is... anyway, he tries to wrestle me to the ground, because it would be status for him, since I am Nzou. We, and John Siamukwari (pronounced Sha-moo-kwah-ree) are good shamwaris.