The good fortune of being Goodluck: How I came to cherish my name
The writer, pictured here as a baby, grew up in Nigeria, where names like Precious, Beauty, and Grace were common.
Courtesy of Goodluck Ajeh
I鈥檝e grown used to the pause. That moment when someone hears my name 鈥� Goodluck 鈥� and looks at me with confusion, curiosity, or hesitation. 鈥淲ait, is that really your name?鈥� 鈥淭hank you!鈥� 鈥淗ow do you spell it?鈥� It鈥檚 something I didn鈥檛 think would require a lot of explanation.
Back in Nigeria, it didn鈥檛. Names like Precious, Beauty, Grace, or my siblings鈥� Prince and Princess were common 鈥� one of the former presidents of Nigeria was named Goodluck Jonathan. Mine was just another name in the system. I was rarely called by my first name throughout high school. My teachers called me by my last name. Friends did the same. My dad used a native nickname, Nkem (which means 鈥渕ine鈥�), at home. Whenever he uses my first name, it means I鈥檓 in trouble.聽
I didn鈥檛 realize how different my name was until I traveled to the United States to continue my education when I was 19 years old. That was the first time 鈥淕oodluck鈥� stopped blending in. I thought it would be easy for people to hear and remember 鈥� after all, it鈥檚 something people say to each other. But instead of recognition, it was met with repetition and disbelief. I had to spell it out. Repeat it, countless times. Explain that I was not joking.
Why We Wrote This
Names are often laden with meaning about our heritage. For our essayist, his name is a thread that connects him to home, a reminder of the rich traditions he carries with him everywhere he goes.
When it came to my middle name, I had the perfect explanation. 鈥淗ave you seen 鈥楢vatar: The Last Airbender鈥�?鈥� I would ask. 鈥淩emember Zuko鈥檚 sister, Azula? My middle name is Azuka. You just replace the letter 鈥榣鈥� with a 鈥榢.鈥欌�� This took a little bit of time, but it worked.聽
However, when it came to my first name, I thought it was straightforward. I couldn鈥檛 understand why something normal back home needed so much clarification in the U.S.聽
But I also felt a quiet sense of gratitude. I never had to change my name to fit in. I didn鈥檛 need to shorten, tweak, or replace it with something that won鈥檛 be 鈥渂utchered鈥� when pronounced. I鈥檝e met people who did 鈥� who dropped the names their families gave them just to make things easier. To avoid the 15-minute pronunciation lesson. While I understood their reasons, it made me all the more proud that I didn鈥檛 have to compromise my name.
In Nigerian culture, names are more than words 鈥� they鈥檙e messages. Some reflect the circumstances of birth, while others are blessings, affirmations, or even prayers for the child鈥檚 future. Mine remains a mystery. I don鈥檛 know why my parents chose it; I鈥檝e never asked.聽
To some, it means I carry good fortune with me. To others, it means I bring it. But to me, the meaning isn鈥檛 something I need answered immediately. I believe the mystery is part of the journey 鈥� something I鈥檓 meant to grow into and discover for myself.
What started as just a name 鈥� one I barely used and others rarely said 鈥� has become a part of me I now lead with. It鈥檚 the first thing people learn about me, and sometimes the first thing they question. But it鈥檚 also one of the few things I鈥檝e carried unchanged. In a new country, surrounded by new people, cultures, and places, my name has become a thread that connects me to where I鈥檓 from. It鈥檚 a reminder that home isn鈥檛 something I left behind 鈥� it鈥檚 something I carry with me.