“Give your daughters difficult names. Give your daughters names that command the full use of the tongue. my name makes you want to tell me the truth. my name doesn’t allow me to trust anyone that cannot pronounce it right.” From teaching my mother how to give birth by Warshan Shire
After I take her customary first day of school picture, I run down the list of the first day of school reminders including raise your hand and eat your lunch. But this year’s reminder has additional items because this will be her first time attending a non-Muslim school. She was in a Muslim school from Pre-K until the 4th grade.
In the carpool lane, I look her in the eye and give the final reminder, “Remember your name is Hafsa. Can they call you something else or give you a nickname?” I ask her, the “they” being the administration, teachers and other students.
With zero hesitation she replies, “Sure, I don’t care.”
I take a deep breath because I want her to understand, I need her to understand but I want to ensure that my tone is relaxed and not harsh. But I’m running out of time because we are almost at the front of the line. I make sure my voice is calm and relax, “No, they cannot give you a nickname. We named you Hafsa. You are named after the Prophet’s (Peace Be Upon Him) wife.”
And because she is my child, she is ready with a reply, “But, I don’t care”.
And because I am who I am, I have my reply ready, “Do not allow them to be lazy and refuse to pronounce your name. If they can pronounce other students’ names then they will learn how to pronounce yours. Your name serves as a reminder to them and you, that you are Muslim.”
Begrudgingly, she nods in agreement. But I do not know if she truly understands.
My child has an easy going nature and most things including the mispronunciation of her name does not both her. But I want her to care and request that they pronounce her name correctly, all two syllables of it. I want her to demand that they do not rush over each syllable and mangle out whatever they feel like in that moment. I want her to care because we cared when we named her. It was not an easy process because I felt the responsibility from Islam to my ancestors on my shoulders.
Both my husband and I are descendants of slaves, our ancestors were kidnapped from their homeland and were brought to America unwillingly. Not only did they suffer horrific treatment but they were stripped of their language and sometimes the power of naming their children, which subsequently removed them from their lineage and history. In return, the children born in slavery were forcefully given names the last name of their white slaves masters and in some situations, the slave masters’ arrogantly gave the children their or family’s first name. After Emancipation, some former slaves exercised their new freedom by changing their last name.
As her kicks grew stronger and stronger so did the idea that not only could I reclaim a little of my history and express the freedoms that my ancestors fought for by giving her a powerful African sounding name. Being both Black and Muslim in America adds another layer to the complications of naming your child. As Muslims, we are recommended to bless our children with well-meaning and beautiful names. I wondered if I should try to find a name that allowed for both of her identities to be seen. Or should we give her a name that reflects her Black heritage only or just her Islamic one? How we can honor both parts of whom she is and will be #BlackMuslimWoman.
But we live in America, so not only do I have to worry about her name being mispronounced, I also have to worry about her not being able to find a job due to name discrimination. It has been proven over and over again that Black and ethnic-sounding names are discriminated against in the interview process and even in trying to find housing. Even though we were not naming our daughter to assimilate or appease the prejudice and racist folks, I was still concerned about her future.
As my stomach grew so did my questions. What name will befit this child in this society? Will people always mispronounce her name? What do we want the name to represent? Would the name be a hindrance in her professional life? Should we give her a “difficult name” or should we play it safe? After much discussion, we had narrowed our list down to three: Zahra, Amira, and Hafsa. Of the three, my husband was leaning towards Hafsa because that is the name he picked for his future daughter as a child. I decided to read about Hafsa bint Umar, wife of the Prophet (Peace and Blessing Be Upon Him). Hafsa narrated about 60 hadiths, not only did she memorize the Quran but she would think about the meaning and interpretation of each ayah. She was studious, could read and write while most during that time, especially women, were illiterate. She was a strong woman who had navigated hardships, including the death of two husbands, with piety. She was trustworthy, inquisitive, and a sincere Muslim who spent her time praying and fasting. Reading about her life, hardships and achievements solidified my love for her and the name.
My Hafsa was named after Hafsa bint Umar (May Allah Be Please With Her) and I pray she can follow her legacy.
I want my Hafsa to not only like her name but to understand why she was named Hafsa, to understand the privilege and blessings of being able to be named by her parents. This name was picked with purpose, love, and responsibility. She was named after a strong woman who hopefully will serve as a reminder that no matter what happens in life to remain persistent and keep her faith in Allah constant. I want her to stand strong and fight for her name and identity, being proud of both.
Her name may be difficult to pronounce, she may have to fight teachers, employers, and colleagues but hopefully, she will have the resilience of her ancestors and the legacy of Hafsa bint Umar as a guide.
