Your name is Swahili, but what does it mean?

Self Editor’s Note: In this tale from the back of the bus, Our Man in America begs Afrocentric parents to consult a Swahili-English dictionary before giving their children “Swahili” names.

MANY YEARS ago a friend invited me to her college graduation ceremony. There, she introduced me to a fine, young African-American woman.

“This is Maisha,” my friend said.

As soon as my friend left to attend to “bid day” business, I began to plot.

“Maisha,” I turned to the woman in the sexiest voice possible. “Do you know what your name means in Swahili?”

“No.”

“It means ‘life,’” I said, tactically smiling to show my exceptionally white teeth.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

She looked at me in disbelief. She jumped off her seat.

Oh, yeah! It worked! She’s in love. She is going to jump on me and kiss me, and caress all over. “Thank you! Thank you. Thank you! Thank you! I wanna spend all my maisha with you.”

No. She ran across the hall to my friend and started jumping up and down.

“My name means something in Swahili!” (x3)

I never saw Maisha again after that evening. I suspect my friend told her that I drove a gray, salvaged 1987 Ford Tempo, with the scar from fire damage still evident. (Still that did not stop me from sending a photo home in front of the vehicle — like all newly arrived Kenyans do — to show Ma that we had escaped poverty! Sorry, Ma, I wasn’t lying.  I honestly believed what I said).

But many years later I did meet another girl — a 10-year-old this time — with a Swahili name. It was at a baby shower. What was a man doing at a baby shower?

Don’t judge me; I have done worse things for love.

After her parents introduced us, I did not bother to tell her what her name meant in Swahili. I excused myself and headed straight to the keg. I never saw the little girl again.

But tonight, while on a train home from San Francisco, I met a woman who goes by the same name as that little girl.

It was rush hour. I had been unintentionally hugging two seats until I noticed an African-American woman, way finer — in my opinion — than Maisha, asked if she could sit next to me. <== I purposely wrote that sentence to sound like that gorgeous woman was dying to get next to me.

“Thank you,” she said.

Maybe she wanted to get close to me. Why else would a girl thank me for something she’s entitled to? Let’s find out.

“Long day?” I asked.

TIP: If you wanna get an American woman’s attention at 5:37 p.m ask her about her day at work. At 8a.m talk about the weather and speculate about how hotter or colder you think the day is gonna get. If she is a granola girl from Berkeley throw in Global Warming and how Copenhagen is to blame for colonizing Greenland and melting all the ice caps. END TIP.

Babygirl began to tell me about how cruel the swing-shift supervisor at he job at the mall is. I ignored most of it — we do that a lot, ladies — but one  ridiculous thing caught my attention. She normally works until 3p.m but today the person who was supposed to relieve her was running late. As she was signing out, a guy delivered boxes of pizza.

“May I have a slice?” our girl asked the supervisor.

“No,” the supervisor answered. “This is for a swing shift party.”

“Awwww! What a jerk!” I offered my sympathy.

Screw that moron. Not literary, though. If you gonna screw someone for something make sure it’s worth more than a slice of fatty junk. Unless of course you are a junkie. Let me take you out for sushi.

“My name is Our Man in America, what’s yours?” I asked in an attempt to change the subject.

TIP: From my interpersonal communication training I have learned that if you offer your name first ladies are less likely to ask, “Why the fuck you wanna know my name? You the police or something?” END TIP.

“My name is Malaya,” she said, and reached to shake my hand.

Sorry, honey. You are beautiful, but I can’t take you home to Ma. Why the fuck would any parent name a child “Prostitute, Whore, Bitch, Call Girl, Working Girl, Escort, Gold Digger, or Bearer of the Oldest Profession on Earth?”

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