Here is the latest of our graduate blogs. 

Ryan Bounagui has left University but is still a student of life. News junkie, occasional football follower and porridge enthusiast. Some dancer as well.

‘Is that Italian?’ ‘How do I spell that?’ ‘Oh where’s that from?’ ‘How do you pronounce that?’ ‘I was looking to speak to a Mr Ryan B-B-….’ 

The challenges of being called Bounagui have been with me ever since my life involved me speaking to other people. From the early school days all the way through to my current office days, carrying the Bounagui title around is a given guarantee of confusion, mispronunciation and light humour (for other people as well sometimes.)  

‘Ryan unpronounceable’ was what my P7 teacher, the saintly Mr Herbert, would use. Him, me and my little classroom muckers thought it was hilarious. Although, Mr Herbert and his register calling experience weren’t always around and sometimes the challenge of Bounagui would fall to an unsuspecting substitute teacher. I’d sit there, my young watchful eyes trained on the new teacher’s face, waiting on what was always the same series of events.  

The eyes reach my name on the list. The mouth muscles then go into a frenzy, straining side to side as the brain tries hopelessly to lay a runway for pronunciation take-off. The eyes scan and re-scan, trying to find a suitable way in.  

Then comes the audio to go with the pictures. Is this is it? Did I hear a syllable? With the clock ticking, the fill-in teacher realises it’s now or never. The eyes and brain are both stumped and the young audience is waiting. I’d always listen out for the pre-‘sack it’ short, sharp breath before hearing: ‘B-Bo-Boonagooey’. Cue a measured amount of wild laughter before said teacher decided that was enough.  

Throughout school many teachers tried and failed. If I liked the teacher or had an idea they were the sound type then I’d just shout ‘here!’ after Ryan and save them the struggle. If, however, they weren’t quite up to my standards of sound then I’d just sit back and enjoy the show.  

All these years on and the challenge remains the same for people. Whenever a business call comes in, the poor guy on the other end – despite probably staring at his database and having a few attempts before calling – loses his conviction and ends up looking for ‘Mr Ryan’. 

Whenever I phone up for a taxi, the name’s always McBride (the old dear’s maiden name). Bounagui would only prompt a ‘what? How do I spell that?’ That wee pearl of wisdom passed on by the mother makes half ten on a Saturday night so much smoother.

Most recently, I had to wait over a month to get my work email changed from Bouganui (that’s boog-a-noo-eh) to my actual name.

I’ve let you read this far (if you’re still here) without giving you the actual, proper pronunciation. It’s ‘boon-a-gee’.

But you probably already knew that.