Red Dust

Ian, the director of our missionary group, was the first to mention Ugandan names.  As a fellow "mzungu", he suspected I might be interested in that particular tradition. Being christened by locals was a way of being initiated as an honorary Ugandan. Ian had received his "pet name" within a few months of moving to the country.

Since that conversation with my white friend, I had quietly and secretly hoped that I could be granted such a blessing. I wanted a the country I so loved to claim me as its own.

I was in Masindi, taking a day of rest with my field director, an intelligent, witty man named Prosper, and one of my co-volunteers, a local teen named Shadic. In the preceding months, both of these men had become as dear brothers to me; and I was enjoying the chance to simply spend time with them apart from our work.

I cannot remember how the topic came up; I just remember the excitement I felt when Propser turned to me and asked, "Isaac, do you have a Ugandan name?"

I told Prosper, with a non-chalance as feigned as could be, that I did not.

From there, he and Shadic set to the task of conjuring a name for me. Prosper suggested Ugandan words for "faith" and other spiritually inspired names. Shadic disagreed, suggesting instead some local names; but Prosper shot those down. Finally, Shadic said, "What is an animal you have seen in Uganda that you admired?"

Now, I knew that, by "admired", Shadic meant "found beautiful" or "really liked". Folks who know me well can attest to the fact that, when someone mis-speaks it is my sense of humor to answer what was said, rather than what was meant. I thought about an animal that I actually admired - one that I had seen as holding qualities I seek to emulate. I was surprised to find that such an animal came to mind.

I shared this story with Shadic and Prosper:

I was riding with a missionary couple called Dixon along a dusty road in Uganda's Kamuli district. Coming around a corner, the pickup truck we rode in came grill-to-face with a large Ankole bull. (Read: African cow with twisted horns.) The bull was standing at profile across the road, as though daring us to cross him.

As I viewed the scene, I drew mental parallels between the animal's stance and stereotypical masculine arrogance - pointlessly challenging a foe twice his size.

Mr. Dixon carefully maneuvered the pickup through a ribbon of road at the Ankole's hind end. As the rear window passed around him, the bull's back legs jumped. The pickup sped around him. Mrs. Dixon laughed and said, "Oh, we must have scared him, jumping like that."

"No," her husband replied nervously, "he was getting ready to kick us."

I turned around in my seat to see what foolish kind of beast would wage war with a pickup truck. What met my eyes astonished me.

I saw the bull - an impressive form still standing defiantly. Standing alongside the bull, having cowered behind his strength at the approach of our vehicle, was a calf. What I had seen, at first, as reckless, proud, foolish, fight-mongering was, in fact, true bravery. The statement of his challenge was not "This road is mine." it was "The only way to the kid is over my dead body." As I turned forward in my seat, I found myself thinking something I never would have expected myself to think about a premature steak: "I wanna be like him."

Prosper and Shadic found my thoughts amusing and somewhat strange. Perhaps they are right to. All the same, they finally agreed on something. Taking two names from the Ugandan "Ankole Clan", they christened me.

I cannot tell you how blessed I was to find myself in that fabled position, "One of Us", especially when "Us" is such a wonderful crew.

And that is my story.

-Ssazi Kangave Isaac