August 3, 1995
I have been learning more English every day. Mrs. Wembly (that is my English teacher's name) complimented me on my fast progress, and gave me a thick book called a dictionary, from which I can learn new words. I do not have a doubt that it will be useful.
Today she asked to see me after class, and she told me, "Jiwe, I think it's about time you got a name for yourself."
"But I do have a name. I am Jiwe, which means Stone in Swahili."
And she replied, "That is your native name. Would you like an English name to go with your native name?"
It was an interesting thought. My name had always sufficed for the twenty two rainy seasons that I had lived. In the tribe I lived, though, people could gain new names as their accomplishments became great. Perhaps in England they did the same. So I told her I would take a look.
She opened a chest and took out a book. It wasn't as thick as the dictionary, but it looked a lot older.
"Look into this book. It has many stories and many names to choose. For hundreds of years in England, people have chosen names for their children from this book."
How strange indeed! But I told her, like I always did after the reading or the writing she assigned us, that I would not fail her. Perhaps later this night I will choose a name.
A very interesting book indeed, like the stories I was told when I was little. There was one story, though that I think I remembered, of a man who was so strong and so big that when he yawned he could shatter clay and make houses fall apart. At least it was like it, but with bigger walls and many little people. Still, I think I like the story better. It reminded me of when Kamaria and I were little, and we tripped and fell through a thatched house onto the man sleeping inside. We were punished severely, but we still remember it with a laugh.
It's getting late and Kamaria is telling me to go sleep. I think I will.
Joshua Jiwe