There’s a Name for It: Identity : Fred Becomes Musa, and Donna’s Kokumo in Kwanzaa Ceremony

In the flicker of candlelight and the warmth of community and friends, Ethiopian native Sedal Legesse impulsively made her way past a Kwanzaa holiday table full of fruit and nut harvest offerings, past an altar burning spicy incense and past a stage draped in red, black and green African colors.

Teary-eyed, she stepped up from the audience to a podium and faced the 30 African-Americans on stage, some of them in colorful, flowing African Kinte smocks and cloth fila hats. They had just been bestowed African names in a formal naming ceremony at the Jackie Robinson Center in Pasadena. They dropped “Fred” for “Musa;” “Donna” for “Kokumo;” “Rhonda” for “Nia.”

“Most Africans usually change their names to make it more acceptable to Europeans here,” Legesse said, her voice cracking as she addressed about 100 witnesses. “It’s really gratifying to know that people are changing back.”

Wednesday’s ceremony marked the fifth day of Kwanzaa, a holiday between Dec. 26 and Jan. 1 that brings together people of African descent and celebrates their heritage. Kwanzaa is based on traditional African harvest celebrations. The word is taken from a Swahili phrase that means “first fruits.”

The Pasadena-Altadena Kwanzaa Coordinating Committee put together a week’s worth of celebrations throughout the San Gabriel Valley, including the naming ceremony, which was sponsored for the first time by the Pasadena City College Black Student Union. Pasadena Arts Commissioner Cheryl Hubbard was in the audience Wednesday.

“It was amazing,” said Hubbard, an African-American, “that 10 years ago, everything about Africa was savage, and now . . . “

The naming ceremony was Pasadena’s largest ever in about 20 years of organized Kwanzaa events, said Ubaid Wells, an organizer. In early years, he said, maybe four or five people would show up to get an African name.

Now, even African natives are reclaiming their African names. One 25-year-old man stepped up to the microphone and said he was shedding his European name.

“I’m from Uganda and my name is Fred. Do I look like Fred?” he said, to applause and laughter.

His real name, he said, is Musa Moshi, and that is the name he will be using.

“Thank you for today,” he told the audience. “Fred is dead.”

Others had picked their African names ahead of time or asked elders at the naming ceremony for help. Names are chosen based on a person’s characteristics, on a particular season or in honor of an important person.

“Having been enslaved and taken into this country, our names literally were taken away from us,” said Abrafi Sanyika, a Kwanzaa Coordinating Committee volunteer. “We were given names that have no meaning.”

One by one, participants stood in front of the audience while two ceremonial elders bestowed the names, explaining their origin and meaning.

Damon Mitchell, 24, took the name Konata Khalfani, which means “destined to rule,” on the advice of three elders--his uncle, his aunt and a professor. Mitchell, who plans to change his name legally in a formal court procedure, wore an olive-green African smock with hand-stitched lace borders.

“It ties me to my roots, like a tree,” said Mitchell, a clinical psychology major at Pasadena City College. “I can grow because I know where I came from.” The name Damon, he said, “didn’t mean anything.”

Donna Buie said her new name, Kokumo Ulufumilayo, reminds her of the gift of life. Her mother’s first child died shortly after birth. Buie’s African name means, “This will not die; God give me joy.”

“It feels wonderful,” said Buie, 29, after the elders presented her name. “I feel a new connection to my culture, my heritage.”

Buie, a Pasadena actress, said she will combine her American and African names in some way.

It is not easy to renounce a given name, said 29-year-old Rhonda McIver, who took the name Nia Yejide, meaning “the image of her mother.”

“I’m still trying to figure out how I’m going to work it into my life,” said McIver, an Altadena musician. “I think my parents would be hurt if I just abandoned the name they gave me.”

But her African name is now a part of her as well.

“I want to acknowledge that part of me,” she said. “I want to get in touch with that part of myself.”