What’s In a Name?

My Name Is

Saima is the most popular girl’s name in Pakistan. Probably.

In the UK, however, it has failed to appear in the Top 100 girls’ name for the last, well, ever, and I’m guessing if there was a Top 250 popular girls’ name list, it wouldn’t be in that either.

As much as it is wonderful to have such a unique name, I imagine there is something quite comforting in being an Amelia or a Sophie. A comfort that comes with everyone knowing exactly how to pronounce and spell your name and finding your name on a sparkly pen in the museum gift shop.

I’ve gone through all the stages of having a unusual name. Fear, anger, disappointment, phonetic name tags and begrudging acceptance. It’s quite understandable that my name causes most to pause and stumble but why does it still bother me so much when a work colleague still pronounces my name incorrectly after I’ve worked with them for three years?

Nominative Determinism

“Nominative determinism is the theory that a person’s name can have a significant role in determining key aspects of job, profession or even character.”

There are many cultures, past and present, that believe a name has a huge influence on a person’s character and future. In parts of Africa, the Ashanti people name a child based on the day of the week he was born. They believe this determines their personality; a child born on Monday is peaceful whereas one born on Wednesday is violent. Sure enough, when G. Johoda of University College of the Gold Coast conducted research into the records of the local juvenile court, he found that boys born on Wednesdays were responsible for a higher percentage of the violent crimes “than would be expected by mere chance”. This study showed that children often live up to what is expected of them, a self fulfilling prophecy. A child’s name affects their self concept; it affects the messages other people send the child and in turn what the child thinks of themselves.

There have also been many studies into names and how they affect a child’s academic achievement. They have shown numerous times that a teacher’s perception of a name (one considered undesirable or uncommon) can influence how a child performs in school — average academic scores are almost twice as high for students with more desirable or popular names.

This is a type of stereotyping — something I’m all too aware of and have battled all my life. Being a Muslim girl comes with certain connotations (especially post 9/11); am I repressed, shy, conservative? Perhaps if my family were different (more traditional) and also expected this of me I would have fallen in to line but thankfully they are not. My mother, especially, is bold, frank and courageous and we (my three younger sisters and I) have followed in her footsteps. I have fought stereotypes associated with my name from a young age but I do wonder what came first, my outspoken personality or the need to fight people’s assumptions?

Complaining about the struggles of a second generation immigrant feels like a luxury. My parent’s generation paved the way for us, struggled with racism beyond anything we have experienced. We have it easy but that’s not to say that there isn’t an undercurrent of prejudice that pushes against us even today.

IDENTITY

“A good name is a thread tyed about the finger, to make us mindful of the errand we came into the world to do for our Master” — William Jenkins, Puritan minister.

It wasn’t until we named my first son that we realised how much of a big deal naming your child is in a Pakistani Muslim culture. None of the grandparents were particularly fond of his newly given name, it wasn’t traditional enough, and the furore that followed was shocking to say the least. One of them refused to call him by the name we chose for him for the best part of three years (yes, really) and the others complained a great deal before making their peace with it. The tradition in Pakistani culture is to have an elder of the family name your child, an act of respect. We had asked for our parents’ opinions but given the lack of response, we went ahead and named him ourselves.

I was named by my father’s older brother, who also named my sisters. When I think of the origins of my name, I often remember him, my paternal grandfather and the childhood that I spent in the family home in Lahore. I remember the narrow alleyways my cousins and I played in and even the smell of the guava trees in the back garden. I am the sum of these experiences; they are all part of my identity and my name is like the glue that holds it all together. For many years I tried to downplay that very important part of me (including a cringeworthy two weeks when I called myself Sam), to blend in, but I soon found that I couldn’t and shouldn’t escape it. Self acceptance is a much happier place to be.

When someone does keep pronouncing my name incorrectly, it’s more than just an oversight. It feels like a dismissal of all the very important parts that form my identity, my culture and heritage. So if I do get a little upset, I hope they now understand. And to the vast majority of people who do make the effort to say it correctly (and even ask me how it is pronounced when we first meet), thank you.

p.s. It’s pronounced Sigh-ma.