What's in My Name?

No, I am not going to add another post to the God/Lord/YHWH discussion. This is about my name. After almost 30 years, it's at the point where I take notice when a person spells my name correctly. Not surprisingly, my name is often mispronounced, as well. I can count on two (maybe three) hands, the number of friends and acquaintances who say it the way I do.

One friend, whom I do love, informed me that she WAS pronouncing my name right (she was not), and that I just wasn't hearing properly - and if she did so happen to be saying it wrong, it was "just too bad." That hurt my feelings for a very long time, and made me feel a little wary of those who repeatedly mispronounced my name. Deep down, was that their attitude, too? Did it just not matter to them?

Yes, I have an unusual name. Both my first and last names are very uncommon, even among their respective cultures. When I chose the middle name of Sofía it was partly to mediate the foreign-ness of the first and last names. I don't expect folks to get them on the first try. Heck, I don't even really expect folks to try anymore, but it sure does make me feel special when they do.

There are some folks who regularly read my blog yet misspell my name a lot. I keep wondering why that is. Is it just a typo? It's easy to mistype; I often have to attempt it twice before getting it right. What would help people remember to type it/spell it correctly? Is it just too foreign? Would having some context be beneficial?

If so, here is some background. Hafidha is the feminine form of the name Hafidh, also known as Hafiz. In Arabic, there is a letter called "dha" or "za" that is like a very tough sounding version of the hard "th" (e.g. moTHer). This is a hard sound to make and has no equivalent in English. Often Persians and people from the Indian subcontinent like to pronounce "dh" as "z" because it is easier for them. Sometimes it will be a "z" with a dot underneath it to be distinguished from an Arabic letter that actually is pronounced like "z." It's quite common to see Hafidh transliterated as Hafiz and the most famous human being with a form of this name is the poet Hafiz.

But my name is Hafidha and it is spelled with a dh.

The root (verb) of my name means to guard and to preserve. My name is Islamic in addition to being Arabic. This means that my name has some relevance within the Islamic religion. A Hafidh is a title - it is someone who has memorized the entire Qur'an, and by doing so, preserves the word of God. A hafidh is also a record, or an account, and in the Qur'an, for example, (chapter 6, verse 61), it is written that Allah sets hafadha (pl.) over us; these are interpreted as guardian angels, or perhaps those angels that take account of all that we do. Other forms of my name's root have to do with remembrance and mindfulness.

As I've tried to demonstrate here, Hafidha is a name with a great deal of meaning. I should also mention that Al-Hafidh (Al-Hafiz) is one of the 99 attributes or "Names" of Allah. One might meet a man named Abdul-Hafidh or Abdul-Hafiz; if a man wants the name of one of Allah's attributes he should always precede it with Abdul (servant of).

Okay, Arabic lesson over. When I was a kid and struggling with the fact that so few people seemed to be able to say or spell my name properly, I wanted to hate it. I wanted a name that was shorter, or "prettier" sounding, or more exotic. I resented my parents for not naming me something more familiar to white American ears - like Layla or Yasmeen. My name just sounded awkward, clerical, nerdy.

Coincedentally, that is pretty much how I turned out!

Eventually I came around to loving the name. I was sitting in College Prep English one morning with my classmates when a substitute teacher entered the room. As she read through the roster, she first got stuck on my name, then that of a soccer player named Sonead. When she stumbled over the name of a girl of Asian descent, the teacher threw up her hands and let out a big Prrrhhuhh! "Geez," she said. "Whatever happened to the good old days when people named their kids Mary, Susan and Joe?" She chuckled at her own joke, but we, the students, exchanged looks of total disbelief. Of course, the three people with "funny" names were also the three not-white people in the room. This was a really uncomfortable moment for everyone on so many levels, but in that moment I felt solidarity with all the other kids, and I took some pride in my name. Like in the way you feel protective of your bratty younger brother after someone else makes fun of him.

I decided to view my name as a challenge - as something to live up to. It's arbitrary, I know. I could have been named Layla, and then I'd have to figure out how to be like the "dark night." Instead, I strive to think of how I can be a guardian and what can I preserve, how I can be mindful and watch over others. I've certainly not mastered this yet, but it's a lifelong endeavor, I suppose.

In any case, I hope all of this rambling helps even just one person remember that it's h-a-f-i-d-h-a. If not, I'll love you anyway. Or you could call me Sofía, another name I am striving towards.