Story Of A Name

By Claude Belloni

THIS happened recently in Ajamaru, a cosy little village— it isn’t more than that —on Netherlands New Guinea’s north coast, known as “Vogelkop.”

The wife of the Dutch civil ad ministrator at Ajamaru had given birth to a daughter, a small, fair haired child with clear, blue eyes.

She had little help. There are not many doctors in Netherlands New Guinea.

The civil administrator was very much liked by the Papuan inhabit ants. The day following the baby’s arrival, his house was crowded with natives —most of them in the sleep ing-room where his wife still was abed. “Oohs” and “aahs” greeted the sight of the new-born girl.

Then, when the chief came for ward, all noise ceased —nothing was heard except the crying of the in fant. He contemplated the small, white bundle in the cradle for some minutes, and there suddenly appeared a glistening tear out of the corner of his eye, running down his nose; and another, and another.

The chief stood motionless, and cried in silence.

Then he turned, and with a few long steps stood in front of the administrator.

“It is the first time,” he said in his simple language, “that in my country a white child has been born, and I am very proud about it. I cry with joy because such a thing has happened in Ajamaru. As the native head of those whom you see crowded here, I ask you to name the child after this place, Ajamaru.

As is the custom, you further more are to give a great festival to celebrate this name-giving.”

It took a few minutes for the administrator to realise the con sequences of giving a native name

to his daughter. But he granted the request.

The festival took place some days later. A huge fire, surrounded by happily-laughing and steadily-eat ing brown people; a white man and a white woman looking on; and, before them, the little girl in her cradle, sleeping soundly and not in the least disturbed by the drums and flute-orchestra.

Then the chief hushed them and, stretching his hands above the cradle, said: “I, chief of Ajamaru and surrounding kampongs, give this little Dutch girl the name of” ... here he paused, “of Iris Ajamaru.” (In Dutch, “Iris” is pro nounced “Eris”).

The administrator and his wife were amazed. Wherever did the chief get this Christian name? I may explain that the name “Iris” often is given to Dutch girls because it means “apple of the eye.” It was astonishing that the chief, who did not speak Dutch at all, should thus have chosen a well known Euro pean name.

The administrator asked the chief about it. The native seemed sur prised, but would give no informa tion.

Months later, when the admin istrator was speaking through his radio-transmitter with the district officer at Sorong, he suddenly dis covered how the chief got the name.

The room in which he operated his transmitter was usually crowded with natives, who must often have heard him call Sorong: “Hallo Sorong, hallo Sorong, here is Ajamaru, here is Ajamaru.” As none of them understood the Dutch words “Hier is Ajamaru” (which are pronounced exactly the same as the English “here is”), they evidently thought it was an indication of the title of rank of the speaker, some thing like “head of Ajamaru.”

That is how a little white girl was appointed “head of Ajamaru” (Iris Ajamaru).