My full name is Amina Jamal Anshasi. My first name, Amina, was given to me by my mom who named me after her mom (my grandma). It is also an Islamic name meaning “trustworthy” or “honest.” My middle name is my dad’s first name. In Arab culture, children’s middle names are always their dad’s first name. So, technically, my middle name could go on and on if I listed all dad, his dad, his dad’s dad, etc. My last name comes from my dad, of course. I’m not sure what it means but it’s Palestinian. When I was younger, my dad used to joke that it meant “pear” because in Arabic, pear is anjaz (similar to Anshasi). While I still don’t know the history of my last name, I do definitively know that it’s so rare that anyone with my last name is related to me. Just a couple months ago, I met my second cousin through TikTok because we both had the same last name in our usernames. We started chatting to figure out how we were related since our last name is so uncommon.
Growing up, I was always embarrassed by my middle name because it is a man’s name. Whenever asked to share my middle name, I would always add the fact that it was customary for my middle name to be my dad’s name so that it would make sense to people. Now, however, I appreciate my name because of how heavily rooted it is to my heritage. It’s very common for people to be named after a grandparent in my culture (hence my first name), have their dad’s first name as their middle name, and have their father’s family name as their last name. While I can appreciate the history behind my name, it is frustrating how often my name is also spelled incorrectly or mispronounced. I have many certificates and letters/emails with my name spelled wrong.
I grew up speaking Arabic at home. If you know anything about Arabic, you know that every country has it’s own dialect. This means that an Egyptian Arab might have difficulty understanding an Iraqi Arab. I grew up primarily speaking the Moroccan dialect with my mom. My dad is Palestinian, but because of his life as a refugee, he lived in many different Arabic-speaking countries (Kuwait, Egypt, Libya, Jordan). Therefore, his Arabic isn’t purely the Palestinian dialect, but a conglomerate of all the dialects he grew up speaking. Because of this, I am often mocked for not being fluent in Palestinian Arabic but I am also mocked by Moroccans for not being fully Moroccan. In an English-speaking setting, I often forget words in English but remember them in Arabic for a quick moment. I’ve never been mocked for this but I do find it interesting from a cultural-linguistic perspective how growing up speaking two languages at home can affect one’s psychological processes.