Lost in Translation.

It is impossible for a group of 13 of the whitest Americans you’ll ever meet not to stand out among the people of Turkana.  We are slowly becoming used to being stared at 24 hours a day, used to the children touching our skin, brushing our hair and trying to rub off our freckles.  A constant chorus “How are you, I’m fine” (strung all together like that) follows us from the kids.

But in a feeble effort to blend in, or at least to show we are trying, we each received names in the Turkana language.  We wrote out the meaning of our English name for Missionary John to translate.

Kelly has a couple of meanings, but most commonly I find Warrior Woman on the cards and keychains in souvenir shops.  I thought that was a pretty decent name for a Warrior of the Lord.

I proudly introduced myself over and over to the Turkana people as Najie (Nah Jee) and assumed their giggles were out of surprise to hear me speaking their language.

Until one of them kindly explained to me that Najie means “the small one”, pertaining to height, size or age.  As the oldest member of our team and as the ferocious team leader that I am, that wasn’t exactly what I was going for.