Nick-Names

When I first came to the Village, in May, I remember being completely overwhelmed by all the names I was going to have to learn. I have never been particularly good at remembering names, they seem to just goo in one ear and out the other. In the village this was complicated by most everyone having long Spanish names that were completely unfamiliar to me. Also, everyone in the village has a nick-name: putz, moot, pech, juney, na kax, miss, dego, kush, lor, push push, berto, R, lu, judge, rasta, ninja, ton, bird and so on. These nick-names were easier for me to remember. I am still at a loss when people are addressed by their real names, but this happens very rarely.
In the beginning I wondered if I would ever get a nick-name. That, I thought, would be a great sign of integration and friendship. Yes, for the rest of my life I could site the name given to me by my villagers as the title I prefer. A mysteriously intriguing sounding new name that would convey the essence of strength, bravery, cunning, and utmost respect. What less does any man dream of when trying to come up with his own alter-ego? But alas, just as no ones nick-name, outside of cheesy 80's hacker movies, is Viper, my nick-name would leave a lot to be desired.
It seemed like it would never happen. My choosing to go by my full given name of Matthew (which I learned in Ghana is easier for people to remember, from the bible, than Matt, which turns into Pat, Nate, etc.) and not the more locally common Spanish version of Matio seemed to be a nick-name im and of its self. Because there is no “th” sound in the Maya Mopan language, it comes out as “Matchu.” It seemed strange enough to them to last the entirety of my two years here, and formally it always will. However, as I started to go to the farm, and hang out with the younger, ruder, guys more another name began to catch on. It was cemented at Global Hand-washing Day, when a shop owner called out to me on the other side of the field, in front of a lot of the community with a loud and commanding “yeah Chuku Wah!” Laughter roared through the crowed because he had just addressed me as “hot tortillas.” Thats right, my mysterious new Mayan name is the equivalent of “hot cakes.”
At first I was crushed. I felt embarrassed about my language ability, and insulted as a new member of a group. However, as I reflected on the situation more, I realized that this was the sign of friendship I had hoped for. No group of guys ever give one of their own a cool nick-name, and none of the nick-names in the village were cool: cat (in its G rated version), Hen, Fats, Catfish. None of these are “cool” names. This is evident by no one telling me their own nick-name. I always learned what to call them by hearing it in conversation, or someone laughing and saying “we call him ___.” My name does not mean “that guy who cant speak Maya” but “that guy who loves to eat the Maya food.”
I am still “Matchu” most of the time, but amongst the group of guys I play futball and farm with, “Chuku Wah” is used most often. I have grown accustom to it, and hope it catches on to the point where people actually bring me hot tortillas. Is has made me feel more apart of life here. The people here laugh at each other, just like people do everywhere, and I am glad now to have crossed that line of being an outsider that you most always be polite to. I'm not that guy. At nearly six months in the village now, my life has hit a stride, and I can honestly say there is not one other place I would rather be.