Revved Up With Itu Motuba
I have owned two cars in my life, and they both had names. My Ford Focus was Dorcus. To be clear, I didn't name her. A friend did because he liked that Dorcus rhymed with Focus and, for some reason, the name stuck. When I bought my Mazda, I took charge of the naming and called her Cleopatra because she was definitely the queen of the road. Things only became awkward when we shortened her name to Cleo and started getting funny looks for calling a Mazda "Cleo"
I guess the world is made up of two kinds of people: those who name their cars and those who don't. I'm firmly in the first group. In my circle alone, we've had Toffee, Layla, Blue Butterfly, Bantagini and even George. Giving our favourite babies on wheels names and personalities has become completely normal.
It starts innocently enough. You buy a car and promise yourself you're going to be practical about it. It's just a machine, after all: a collection of metal, rubber and plastic designed to get you from point A to point B. Then, somewhere between the first roadtrip, the first service and the thousandth commute, something changes. Without even realising it, you stop saying, "I need to wash the car" and start saying, "She needs a wash." Congratulations. Your car has officially become a person.
I don't know when we started naming our cars, but we're remarkably committed to it. Scroll through social media and you'll find everything from Betty and Brenda to BlackBeauty and The Beast. Some people go for sophisticated names such as Charlotte or Winston. Others lean into comedy with names such as Bucket, Rusty, Drama Queen or Sgonondo.
The funny thing is, few of us sit down and plan the name. It usually arrives on its own. Sometimes it's the colour, sometimes the car's personality and sometimes it's the engine's habit of making strange noises every Tuesday morning. Before long, the name sticks, and everyone in the family knows exactly who you're talking about: "My baby refuses to start in the cold." "Brenda is thirsty again." "The Beast handled that gravel road like a champion." We say these things without batting an eyelid.
Perhaps it is because we spend so much of our lives behind the wheel. Our cars carry us to first jobs, university graduations, weddings, family holidays and airport drop-offs. They've heard us sing at the top of our lungs to a favourite playlist and seen us cry quietly after a difficult day. They've waited outside hospitals, shopping centres and schools. Over time, they become silent witnesses to our lives, so it is no wonder they stop feeling like objects.
I think naming a car also changes how we treat it. It's much harder to ignore a strange rattle when "Lucy doesn't sound well" than when "the vehicle is making a noise". Suddenly, you're apologising after hitting a pothole, thanking the dashboard after a difficult drive or gently patting the steering wheel as you say, "Come on, girl. Just get us home." Logically, we know the car can't hear us. Emotionally, that's a different story.
Of course, not every named car is a reliable companion. Some earn names precisely because they're stubborn. Every family knows someone whose car behaves like a moody teenager: perfectly fine one day, refusing to start the next, then springing back to life the moment the mechanic arrives. Those cars usually end up with names that can't be printed in a family magazine. And yet, we keep them.
There's even a word for all of this. Psychologists call it anthropomorphism, giving human characteristics to non-human things. We do it with pets, computers, robots and even our favourite coffee mugs. A car is also one of the biggest investments many of us make, and so much of everyday life happens inside it. It's hardly surprising that we become attached to it. After all, our cars don't just carry our belongings. They carry our memories.
That's also why saying goodbye to an old car can feel so emotional. We know it's metal and machinery, but it represents years of early-morning commutes, spontaneous roadtrips, family adventures and ordinary moments that somehow became unforgettable. So the next time someone laughs because you've named your car, don't be embarrassed. They're probably only one road trip away from naming theirs.
And if your car already has a name, I'd love to hear it. More importantly, I'd love to hear the story behind it, because every named car seems to have a personality, and every personality comes with a tale worth telling. So tell us: what is your car called, and how did it earn its name? And if the answer is Tsekeleke, we definitely need that story.
