The moment we step into the Technical Drawing lab, which is on the third floor of the building opposite ours, some of our classmates unchain their rabid tongues.

"Late-comers," one lousy boy yells at us as we step into the class. "Always together."

"Siamese twins," says another, evoking grins and muffled laughter on the faces of many.

Provocative jibes fly around in scores, but these loud-mouths won't force me into needless verbal exchanges. Clearly, they lack the necessary skills to gauge someone's emotions. I rebuff their taunts, casual and otherwise.

Ladun taking the lead, we glide through the long workbenches which always reminds me of an overstretched dining table. The TD lab itself is like a large dining hall, only that the drawing boards serve as the plates and bowls while the cutleries are our compass sets, rulers and set-squares.

Our mates are seated on wooden stools opposite one another, some already neck-deep into their old drawings, even before Mrs. Joseph, the TD teacher, walks in.

Ladun and I take our seats at the tail end of the third workbench after which my right hand lodges under my chin, an act which draws a gasp from her. She brings out her drawing tools, place them on the table and does the same for me.

"We're here to study," Ladun pokes her right index finger into the drawing book as if she's my aunt, whereas there's only eleven months' gap between us, she being older. "Cheer up, girl." She touches my cheeks, flashing an encouraging smile.

Maybe it's time to let her know why I'm unhappy. Yes, we can discuss it before the teacher walks in. "Are you surprised that I'm so quiet?" I ask without looking at her.

"Yes. It's unusual of you on a school day." Ladun's hands flail.

"Well, It's this same issue with my name," I puff out my problem, glancing around the lab.

Ladun's shoulders deflate as she turns a bewildered face at me. "You're still on this name matter?" she whispers. "But for how long will you worry yourself? Why don't you just accept things for what they are and move on with your life?" she says, gnashing her teeth.

"You don't understand." I wave my right hand across my face.

Ladun shakes her head and then leans over the drawing paper, unwilling to dig into a persuasion drive that'll lead nowhere. Her stance is clear: I shouldn't start with that issue this morning. I turn down the urge to bore her with my endless whining, but inwardly, the desire burns to know why I feel so different.

Casting studied glances on the faces of my mates, I ponder over their names – the basis of my daily gripe which has since become a huge burden. Just look at them all with meaningful and lovely names – appellations which carry some significance and history. These guys walk around with names friendly to the ears.

For a start, Ladun to my left is the shortened form of Omoladun – a child is a joy. Who won't be happy to be called joy? The other girl over there bears Aduke – the one we should strive to protect. Oh Lord, what a name that is!

On my right, the beefy boy answers AbdulRahman – servant of The Gracious, as he once told me. Even opposite me the tall guy is called Ndubuisi – life is the head of everything.

Just look around me. You'll find Antoinette – highly praiseworthy; Lerato – love; Zama – striving; Akande – the one whose turn it is to arrive. How sweet these names sound to the bearers?

The teacher we're expecting is Mrs. Joseph, a name we know from the scripture. Our principal goes by the name Mrs. Durojaiyeola – wait and enjoy a life of wealth.

Where on this planet did my parents find the inspiration to call me Alayonmbere – a wall gecko? I alone share a name with a reptile – a clingy, bulgy-eyed lizard not known for anything good. A lazy animal which spends the whole day crawling through hidden places in the house.

I wonder the kind of future my parents desire for me for giving me such a name. That I'm their only child makes the matter more annoying. Mama's showers me with love every day, but I won't succumb to being a never-do-well. That name belongs to taxi rank touts.

Mama could have expressed her labour pains when I was being named. Had my late dad named me after his mother or grandmother, I'll still feel special because old people are sources of wisdom. Names are splashed all over the scriptures from which they could choose one for me. They might have named me after beautiful places or people of history.

Even if my parents were hard pressed to name me after an animal, couldn't they have chosen a peacock, the pretty bird? Doing so, I'll show off my smooth skin and beautiful face, flap my maroon uniform like dotted feathers whilst exhibiting my writing skills to peers and foes. Even play to the gallery if I wish.

My parents might have called me a lioness for its bravery and hunting skills. My boldness in the class and overall fearlessness wouldn't make such a name inappropriate.

Mama overlooked calling me a kiwi for its long beak, whereas such a name might just be apt for me because I talk a lot. Words flow from my mouth as though I have them stored in my chubby cheeks like a tank of kerosene.

I should have been proud to be called a butterfly for its elegance and flying abilities. Or even an eagle for its keen sight. What about the Agama lizard which nods its head in self-praise? All of those wouldn't be bad choices, but late dad dropped a gecko on my head as if I'm of no worth, irrelevant to the society and utterly useless. Worst still, it's the only name on my birth certificate. I'm stuck with it forever.

For twelve years I've carried this name burden with me every day. When neighbours call me Alayonmbere, they hardly realise how much loathing I brew towards the name and the person calling. Of course, they can't imagine the raging bile that surges in my guts whenever they open their mouths to utter such a despicable appellation.

Whichever way one looks at it, there's nothing good about Alayonmbere. Is it about the six syllables which makes it a challenge to pronounce? In an attempt to pacify me, friends shorten it but end up ascribing me to inanimate objects. Imagine them calling me 'Alayon' – the owner of cockroaches. Others play with the letters, calling me 'Mbere,' expecting me to rejoice over being called a needle.

The funky ones add a twang, calling my name with an echo. When they do that, I rid my mind of grudges because they seem to mean well. Despite their fair intentions, I don't feel good being compared to a reptile which licks its eyes with its tongue; one which makes scary sounds at night as if announcing its ugliness; a lizard which draws patterns on the body for which one might need to visit a hospital. Imagine a pretty girl like me being called a gecko!

Ashamed to be so called, I often ignore my classmates when they call out, an act for which they termed me a snub. But I don't care, Ladun is here for me. I'm okay with her as a real friend.

"Clean the board for us, Alayonmbere, the lizard!" Durotimi cuts into my thoughts, his guttural yell from the first workbench transmits vile intentions. "You're the only one not ready for TD this morning."

"Don't call me in that manner. I told you before." I hear myself say, darting a condescending glance that warns him that I'm not in for some meaningless jibes.

I might have helped with the chalkboard if he were sincere, but of the twenty-two of us in class, spotting me out as the odd one smirks of hypocrisy. "If not for my parents' choice of name, will a cross-eyed loony pig like you dare to ask me to clean the board when you're closer to it?"

My words bring down a hush on the class as others hurl sideways glances at me.

"Change your name in the school register if you don't like it." He bursts out laughing infecting his misguided ilk with it. "Go to the UK, people bear names like Onions and Goats and Sticks and Hardmeat."

"And they're proud of such," Ngozi adds.

"They even answer Woodpecker," says Balarabe, heightening the taunts.

I ignore them all to avoid another tempered argument, but the sting of their jeers does bite hard. Each time I try to overlook people's jokes about my name, I end up being morose. But for how long will I hold grudges with my classmates? It can only get worse as we move to the higher grades.

The bitterest of the troubles I face is that cool boys I like to hang out with stay away the moment I announce my name. "How am I supposed to introduce you to friends?" they ask as if I carry a terminal disease.

No more will I continue to carry this pain on my head. No more will I be the brunt of endless jokes. Today is the day I'll put a stop to this nonsense. When I get home, I'll ask mom to come clean on how she got me in this story state. She must let me know why I deserve a name which brings me shame. Mama must reveal my other names to me. Other people brandish three or four at least, I can't be stuck with Alayonmbere forever – a measly tail-wagging animal.

As if to better my plunging moods, Mrs Joseph steps in and begins the lesson. Need I say that all she discusses floats through my ears even if I manage to stay alert until she wraps up. Although I remain in school after the TD class, for the rest of the day I remain docile as subject teachers enter and leave, each observing my minimal participation but take it for one of those days when a student stays quiet.

Ladun does well to cheer me up, but the rage inme just won't balk. I have a redemption mission at home. It's one I can nolonger defer.