By Name

For many I am just a foreigner. I’m the tall white woman. And not only that, I’m a white woman in a predominantly Moslem country. A country where most married woman go by their husband’s name (“Mrs. Chris”) or by their eldest child’s name (“Mama Tehya”). I do love the identity that this gives. My heart skips a beat to be called “Ibu Chris” or “Mama Tehya” for I love being Chris’ wife & Tehya’s mom. But, there’s something lost in it too … for in a name … there is just so much meaning. I have always loved my name. My Mom liked the name “Julie” and her name has “Anne” in it. Put the two together and you get: Julene. It means “youthful one” or “precious jewel”. Chris calls me “Jules”, and I couldn’t think of a better nickname. And perhaps most women in this country have a name just as precious. The name their Daddy’s said with such warmth when they were children. The name their best friends called out in the playground. The name their Mama’s sang as they rocked them. Well, the other day, someone used my name. And it sounded wonderful. I was in a little cornerstore (large “warung”) and the owner called out to one of her workers, “Could you find such-n-such for Ibu Julene?” And my heart skipped a beat. She knew my name. And for one of the first times in 2 ½ years of living here, I felt like I was known. And it felt … precious.