What Name Should I Answer To?

Recently in Ireland there seems to be an urgency for people of African descent to not only need  but to want really badly to have an umbrella name for themselves.  Go into most public places in small or

Who?

even large numbers and the question asked is "So what do we call you?"  Its a very loaded question and I don't know whether it's intrigue, curiosity, ignorance or pure laziness that's propelling this question to be thrown around.  You see I grew up in a country which is inside a continent and I never used to define who I was beyond my name most times.  Sometimes my surname would come in and other times where my father's ancestors were from with people asking for the exact place since from my words and accent there would be no mistake that I am Karanga.  Kkkkk! That's taking you quite deep I know unless you are Zimbabwean and you get what that means.  Since moving to Ireland I just say I am Zimbabwean and that's it.  Few times people with a broader understanding of the country would ask are you Shona or Ndebele and though I respond the response if you are Zimbabwean is as verge as saying I am African.  It means a lot and it also means nothing.

"If" by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;


If you can dream–and not make dreams your master;
If you can think–and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ‘em up with worn-out tools;


If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”


If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings–nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And–which is more–you’ll be a Man, my son!