Name's the same but where is the creativity quotient?

Aida Greenbury, Contributor, Jakarta

Indonesians are so innovative and creative with names, whether it's their own or ones for their business. They are so innovative that sometimes I think they are being a bit too blunt.

There is one brand for a male aphrodisiac in this country that basically sounds like "erect", and nothing could be blunter than that. Viagra? It's no contest.

We also love our acronyms, creating compact words for everything from governmental organizations to social problems, such as narkoba (drugs) and sitkon (meaning to take a look at the situation and condition).

It can be befuddling in deciphering how we arrive at the names, especially personal ones. I remember a friend of mine told me once how he was confused by Sundanese nicknames.

"Look, her complete name is Sri Wahyuni -- how on earth did she get the name Cici? Where did Cici come from?"

But we've got to give some credit to her parents, because at least they didn't call their child Dewi or Bambang, like the other half of our population.

Adding to our magical mystery tour of language is our borrowing from other languages, especially for promotional purposes, which is creating its own unintended humor.

I love to drive on Sundays. The streets are always quiet (or should I say slightly less crowded), and this is the only time when I can really see the city, compared to the usual buses and smoke-covered slums during weekdays.

Apparently my father's trait of mouthing every word he sees as he drives along has been passed on to me. When I drive, I read signs out loud: Street signs, building signs, you name it.

Driving along Sudirman, I turned my car to the left into one narrow street between Jl. Sudirman and Rasuna Said. I think the real name is Jl. Kendal, but I know it as "moustache" street.

One side of the street is packed with food stalls, all curiously bearing the name Pak Kumis (Mr. Mustache). The names of these particular food-stalls are (all two dozen of them): Goat Kebab by Mr. Moustache, Curried Vegetables by Mr. Moustache, Curried Lamb prepared by Mr. Moustache, Vegetable Salad by Mr. Moustache and The Original Goat Sweetmeat Kebab by Mr. Moustache.

It seems the recipe for success on this street is to share the same name.

I drove my car back toward South Jakarta. Entering Kemang, the international residential and commercial area located in South Jakarta, my own beloved neighborhood for the last six years, my smile widened.

Kemang has become a domestic tourist attraction these last couple of years. Not only because of its souvenir shops, but apparently also because of its residents.

In fact, one day after the Idul Fitri holiday, I saw a group of what looked like villagers, wearing bright neon-colored outfits on the street.

"Look, look over there! It's another bule," one of them shouted. "He's even got a mini version with him!"

Now there is another name to ponder: Bule is a derogative term for white-skinned Westerners, yet nationally accepted and approved for use in Indonesia, even championed by some of the white-skinned expatriates themselves. Bule literally means albino or lack of skin pigmentation, by the way, which is why we use it to refer to albino animals, like buffaloes. It's common knowledge that some people need to feel superior by undermining others.

Adding to the name game today is the use of English in advertising and signs, very different from the "Indonesia-only" campaign during the early 1990s.

The problem is that a lot of businesspeople, with limited knowledge of English, are competing to create clever names for their business and failing miserably.

On one side of the road there was a sign for restaurant, with the picture of a cuddly little girl with squinting eyes and the tag line: Little Barbarians -- char grilled!

Holy cow! The squinted eyes of the cute little barbarian was due to the intolerable heat of the grill, I suppose. I thought barbarians were supposed to eat other people? I don't think I could eat a whole one.

There is a Chinese restaurant a few buildings after the torture place, selling "piping" ducks. Perhaps you have to be an Australian to understand the joke. Just imagine: "See you later mom, I'm going to Mr. Wangke to get the piping duck!" says the little pig.