Say My Name

    My name is Ronke.
    I wonder if my Nigerian name would be so hard to pronounce if it was European.
    If my five-lettered Nigerian name were a name like Konoplyanka or Vrsaljko or Przemysław, I wonder if that would make it easier for my fellow Americans to pronounce it correctly. 
    Maybe they would take on the necessary accent to pronounce my name correctly. Even if that means pronouncing 'j' as a 'y' or something. Maybe they would do anything. Anything to make sure that my name sounded the same way it does in the language it comes from. 
    Maybe they wouldn't pause every time they had to read my name as if it was a complex mathematics equation that defied solution. 
    Maybe they would roll the 'r' and accentuate the 'e,' so that it actually sounds like the name I was given at my christening.
    Maybe I wouldn't have to listen for every variation of my name to make sure I don't miss my turn to go up for a class presentation, or heaven forbid, my diploma at graduation.
    Maybe my family in the audience at my graduation would not have to listen more intently than others so they don't miss when the announcer inadvertently mumbles and fumbles through my name. 
    Maybe they wouldn't give me a silly nickname that makes every one, but me, laugh. 
    Maybe they would actually try. 
    Maybe I wouldn't have to produce an English name so it is easier on them. 
    Maybe I wouldn't have to learn to respond to an English name outside and a Nigerian name inside. 
    Maybe I wouldn't have to smile and say "it's okay" when they can't pronounce a five-letter-word.
    Maybe I wouldn't have to smile politely to ease their discomfort. 
    Maybe they would actually try. 

Say my name. Say my freakin' name.