My roommate, Tanmia, refused Nathan’s proposal. It was absurd because we all knew she was in love with him. It was always “Nathan said this” and “Nathan did that.” I think that at some point we all got fed up hearing his name.
It had nothing to do with his tribe or him not treating her right. He knew how to love her right. On the days she was sick and we were too reluctant to take her to the school clinic or go down to buy her food, he would climb up the 8-floor stairs to the dormitory room, having in his hand exactly what she needed, ordering a taxi to take her to a check-up even when she did not ask.
The first time she mentioned his surname to us, we all laughed. We felt ashamed later, but we were relieved that Tanmia was laughing too. His surname, which she would have to take on if they ever got married, in our tribal language meant or sounded like “a drunkard.” It was the first thing that came to mind. It was impossible not to laugh or chuckle every time you heard it. She joked about it, but she sounded serious and worried when she confessed she could not take that name; she could not afford to have her kids mocked for the rest of their lives carrying their father’s name. She did not want to contract that burden for herself and her offspring. We thought she was joking. In a few weeks we would discover that she was not.
Nathan had always been a beautiful, gentle, calm young man. I was not close enough to see how he handled it, but it must have broken him, because he never stepped foot into the dorm again. I never heard Tanmia mention his name; we did not ask. The silence was loud enough for us to know that she felt guilty but would not back down. Almost as if she had managed to guard and shield her heart on the account of simply not wanting to bear his name.
It is already 10 years; Gyamfi and I are planning to get married. A decade ago, Tanmia had to make a lifelong decision I found petty and childish. Today it is my turn. The concerns I have raised have become a big issue in Gyamfi’s home. His parents do not want to hear my reasons, even though I have fully given my concern to have all our children have their family name. I have heard some insensitive things from their side.
His father retorts that it is not their fault that my father left my mother; they are not responsible for my mother reverting to her maiden name and for changing mine accordingly.
The concerns I have raised about my difficulties in documentation even as of now fall on deaf ears. They do not want to comprehend how changing my name for the second time would make my life way more complicated. Everybody will call me Mrs. Gyamfi, whether or not it is on paper. I have always liked that name; I had already listened and yearned to hear it.
But when you are in love as a woman, I don’t think you will ever worry until you find yourself in a situation like mine or Tanmia’s.
I have seen a different angry side of Gyamfi that had not been unveiled until the time he needed to prove that he was the man and needed proof of his ownership of me with his name. In his submission, I only see masculinity, a proof and desire to feel as a man. I do not even hear a man who is in love and wants to have a life with me. I do not see a man who wants a companion when he argues his point.
What does a name have to do with love?
What does a name have to do with raising a family?
What does a name have to do with being there for each other?
My “flimsy and careless” questions, as he puts it, upset him the more.
My father, may his soul rest in peace, was a soldier. He was a well-respected man, and even though his pages with my mother were blemished, I chose to see him as a man and honor him as the present father that he was despite the circumstances. I remain the only daughter and child of my father, as his new wife never had a child.
Shouldn’t I have a choice and the freedom to name at least one of my children after my father, in honor of his remembrance? But I am a woman. I must take on whatever the world gives me. I must not complain; I just need to swallow hard the pills I do not like and live through the years until they slowly kill me, spiritually and physically.
I take a ring, take on a name. Bear children for a man who would never know how it feels to push a baby out of his belly. I am not even asking for much; it is just a name.
I look at Tanmia then; I think about myself now, and I laugh at the tiny reasons that shape our lives as women. I marvel at the incredulousness of the reason we have had to turn good men down. Simply unbelievable!
