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

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.