A helpful stranger in an unfamiliar place.

Growing up as a hybrid of two contrasting tribes, Yoruba and Igbo, has not been easy at all. I still remember vividly when we traveled to the village and the various names I would be called. The most common one was “Ofe mmanu,” which means “soup from palm oil,” because the Yoruba tribe cooks with palm oil a lot. At times, it would bother me, and I would retaliate by insulting them in Yoruba. After a while, I found myself questioning whether there was any benefit to being a hybrid, and sometimes I would just laugh at myself, reminding myself that I had watched too many movies.

One of the things I love most about being part Yoruba is the name my mother gave me: Olumide. Whenever my mother wants to ask me for something I might normally refuse, she starts by calling my Yoruba name, and it works like a charm. I believe that’s my “mumu button,” and she knows just how to press it.

One day, I decided to ask her about the meaning of my name beyond its literal translation. She explained that Olumide is short for Oluwamide, which can be translated as “My Lord or My Prince has come.” You can guess why I was given that name - it's because I am her first child. After she explained the meaning, she urged me to always use my Yoruba name alongside my Igbo name, “Ezem Ugochukwu Olumide,” and since it was her request, I agreed.

After secondary school, I applied to a university in Imo State, but things didn’t work out, so I settled on a polytechnic instead. I was admitted and made my first journey into adulthood by traveling alone from Lagos to Imo State. When I arrived at the school, registration was stressful and difficult. I’m sure many Nigerians can relate, as you get passed from office to office for no apparent reason and are sometimes told to come back the next day.

One day, when it was finally my turn, the person attending to me noticed my name combination (Igbo and Yoruba) and asked how that came to be. I explained that my mum is Yoruba and my dad is Igbo. The man then spoke to me in Yoruba to confirm, and I replied. I remember how happy he was because he had been surrounded by Igbo people and had no one to speak Yoruba with. This man helped me with my registration process, and everything went smoothly and quickly.

When the semester began, I tried to find the man to thank him for all his help, but he was nowhere to be found. I guessed he must have been an angel sent by God to ease my registration process. I called my mother to share how having a Yoruba middle name helped me, and she was thrilled that I had followed her advice about using the Yoruba name.

Moral lesson, never be ashamed of who you are and always be your true self as we all don't who wants to help us and when they would help us. Help can come from where and when you least expect it.