In English my name means messenger of God, but to my siblings it’s hell…minus an L. It means glory and triumph. My name is a bringer of good news, of good tidings. It’s like the number 7, completeness and perfection. She’s the heroine of God, sitting at the right hand of the Father. My name is the light piercing through the stain-glass windows, reflecting various orbs of rainbow onto the floor.

My name is like gold. As yellow as heaven’s golden gates, or a fountain of riches. It’s the sun illuminating over the horizon, painting a broad gold over a canvas of white and pale blue. It’s the colour of my roots, symbolizing the wealth of my tribe and country. My name is the dances and festivals of the Ashanti tribe, which last from the rise of the sun to the golden hues of sunset.

It’s supposed to be the sound of the church choir at 9 o’clock mass. It’s supposed to be the sound of the church bells, or the music being played from the old organ. But rather, it’s the clink of painting brushes being dropped in an old masonry glass jar. My name is the way the rain hits my window in the middle of the night, or the loud beating of your heart when the rest of the world is asleep. But these sounds don’t live up to the expectations of church music and golden trumpets. It feels mediocre, subpar even.

But at the end of the day, I wouldn’t change my name for the world. It’s a light for my family, my friends, and others around me. In English my name means messenger of God, but it’s simply a bright light to me. To my siblings it’s hell, but it’s a hell of a good name to me. Although I can’t live up to being a holy and angelic child, I’ll still shine like gold.