They have given me a new name. A name that slips easily from their native tongues. A name full of hope and promise for the next two years, and I fear I will constantly be racing to try and hold up my end of the unsaid promise my presence has brought. The chief decided upon it. Passed it on to me like it was another egg in the basket he had gifted me when I first arrived in this place.

Tanteeya.

I don’t know if she is replacing my current self, or if somehow my two names can learn to ebb and flow, working together, letting whichever needs to be present take the reins.

In short, it means “prosper”. But the long story, the truer story in my eyes, is about the branching vines of the squash plant. Green vines that spread out over the Earth, taking root wherever they touch, holding together the soil and blossoming to create something bountiful. I am not this squash plant. I am not the one coming to hold this town together, or to branch out and make it thrive. The plant was already here. Its vines are the trails through the brush leading to fields of corn. Its leaves are the houses with colorful laundry hanging on the bushes, trying to dry between the rains. The squashes themselves are the people who call this place home, who shout good morning through windows and from the backs of bicycles, who carry buckets of firewood on their heads and spend their days laying under the shady trees.

This village is the plant. I am just one blossom on a new branching vine, trying desperately to plant my roots.

***

And now, just as this community has given me a name, I have been tasked with giving two back. In the late afternoon, just before the sun began it’s quick descent behind the flat horizon, a man brought me to one of the tiny houses that are peppered across the landscape I can view out my window. There, lying one a mound of blankets, wearing outfits meant for someone twice their size, were a set of twins, born no more than three days before.

One after the other they were passes into my arms, protesting ever so slightly before falling back into whatever kind of peaceful slumber only those who know nothing about the world can have.

As the smallest wind blew through the open doorway, trying to cut the heat which only intensified the not-all-that-unpleasant smell of life and living which permeated every inch of the room, one of the women prepared two small sets of gold earrings. The twins were girls you see, and so even though they could not yet hold their heads high, or utter anything more than a cry, it was time for their ear lobes to shine. Just as every other woman in this town, just as those girls who came before them and those who will come after.

As we went to leave, hunched over to avoid hitting our heads on the low door frame, while trying to pick out two matching shoes from among the many scattered pairs outside, I was given a task. Just as the chief named me when I came to this place, now I was to name these two new souls who have just stepped foot on the dusty ground of this town.

I have not yet done it.

I’ll let you know when I do.