My daughter, Eupha Jeanne, was born in a Boston snowstorm February 3, 1990. At the time I was finishing up my M.Div. degree at Harvard Divinity School. For various reasons I had delayed completing my language work. I found myself growing linguistic knowledge of both Hebrew and Greek, and growing a human being at the very same time. I found Greek difficult; at times I despaired. My Greek Professor was also the head librarian at the Episcopal Divinity School in Cambridge;  his kindness and support will never be forgotten. I remember calling him to tell him of her birth, upon hearing her name, he bellowed: “that’s Greek!” Eupha Jeanne was named for her two grandmothers, neither being  at all of Greek extraction. Her name is a derivative of the river “Euphrates” –considering the family name of Jordan, together with the Irish “Kenneally” family contributing Jean, and then added to the mix the married  name “Niles” — if anything, I took my daughter’s name to be the mark of ancient sacred waters. Her name a melding and merging of races, cultures, and lands.

Dr. Dunkley kept insisting her name had Greek meaning. What do you he meant?  “Well,”he said: “I think it means….” What do you suppose he said? All will be revealed, my fellow linguists, in due course.

Three months ago, my daughter and her wonderful husband, AndrewAyodeji, blessed us with our first grandchild, a daughter. Born on the verge of lockdowns, all four grandparents were  nevertheless able to gather for the traditional Yoruban naming ceremony held on the eighth day of her life. In the ceremony her names were revealed, for the first time, to about twenty dear church friends gathered to celebrate and feast on ancestry and hope with sides of Jollof rice, puff puff , chicken, beef, plantain, and salads.  And, of course, cake. Her name:  Selah Orinoluwa. Which, her parents shared, means “pause and reflect on the song of the Lord.” There were about ten other names given her by her elders that day in honor of qualities of character, or of the ancestors. It was a rich and emotional celebration honoring language and naming as having power in all our lives. But back to Eupha Jeanne:

I  might have turned to my child, as she named her babe, and said: “Just what I might expect from the girl whose name means “Well Spoken” in Greek.”  (At least, according to dear Dr. Dunkley.)

 P.S. Dr. Dunkley surprised me again: the  final exam was open book and untimed, held in his beloved library. And so, my fellow linguists, I passed the test. And, I am quite sure, so shall you. 

 —-A Rose by any other name.