Power in a Name

Yesterday morning as I was walking back to the office from playing basketball with my friend Tantely, I was verbally assaulted by a crazy man. I say verbally assaulted because I don’t know everything that he was saying mostly because it was a mixture of French, Italian, Spanish, and Malagasy. But I understood enough for him to say that he loved me. This happens more frequently than I would like, which is probably one of the reasons why I don’t really enjoy venturing out on my own. However, I can’t live my life in a bubble so I suck it up and deal with it. Yesterday morning, though, I was somewhat at the end of my rope. Granted, this man was legitimately mentally handicapped, however, that is not a completely valid excuse because fully sane men are prone to acting equally as stupid. The only thing that was different this time was his impressive knowledge of foreign languages.

This man followed us about a quarter of a mile too long. As I said, we were returning from basketball and I was the one carrying the ball. It took every fiber in my being not to sock him with it. I have never really been tempted to hit someone before until this moment when no one was doing anything about the situation, even Tantely. In addition, we were walking through the center of town with many people taking in this exchange and it would have been a prime opportunity to make an example of this multi-lingual, off-his-rocker Romeo.

After about two minutes of putting up with this nonsense, I looked to Tantely with what I imagine to be a non-verbal plea for help. It was not so much because I couldn’t handle the situation or was in any kind of danger but I needed Tantely to step in in order to save this man from my tempting solution.

What amazes me is the fact that I have lived in this town for over five months now and I still get the same reactions. These people know who I am, who I work for, and what I do. I take any opportunity I get with those I have formed relationships with to educate them on the western perception of their behavior, specifically pointing out the fact that it is rude the way foreigners are initially treated.

Finally Tantely stepped in, shooed the man away, and put himself between the two of us. A moment later I gave Tantely the ball releasing my weapon and putting my trust in him as my protector. No matter how long I was to live in this country, I imagine that such behavior would always grate my nerves and push my buttons.

There have many instances as the one described above where it would have been so easy to just let loose. The one thing that has held me back is my name. In Malagasy, Kristy means Christ. So immediately after someone hears my name they stop, say a shocked “ah!” and it is then explained to them that Kristie doesn’t mean the same thing in English. Therefore, whenever my name is spoken people automatically relate me to Christ. Being directly associated with Christ puts a bit of pressure on me and how I act and behave. I have always been a Christian but unfortunately that label has never transformed me or my actions like my name does here in Madagascar. I have become keenly aware of the power in a person’s name and in my case that power has impacted me equally as much as those around me.