Why I won't call him Mo: thoughts on soccer star Mohamed Salah and the most common name in the world
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Last Wednesday, we had the privilege of watching a Liverpool-Arsenal friendly match in Philadelphia. The Reds won 2-1, with the winning goal by Mohamed Salah, The Egyptian King.
The first time I heard of Salah, my husband had called me over to watch a YouTube clip on the monitor in his study. It was 2018, and a Muslim, Egyptian man named Mohamed was taking the Premier League by storm.
I have long marveled at sport’s power to unite, to overcome long-held prejudices and preconceptions. Salah’s rise to Premier League dominance came at a time when right-wing politicians across the western world, and notably in England, were scaremongering the public with the idea that Muslims were trying to take over their lands. Watching football fans chant, “if he scores another few then I’ll be Muslim too,” was enough to make me shake my head in wonderment.
To be clear, this wasn’t because I wanted to convert anyone. As a Muslim living in the West, I’m used to seeing people ‘like me’ vilified in the press, presented as a threat, a cancer. Watching someone so visibly Muslim, from his name to the way he would drop for sujood each time he scored, be celebrated, was refreshing.1
Mohamed, the name of Islam’s final prophet, is said to be the most common boys’ name in the world.
How common is it?
It’s so common that in my father’s family, he is one of five Mohameds. Every one of he and his brothers has a two part name. Mohamed Fathy, Mohamed Mahmoud, Mohamed Mortada, Mohamed Hamdy, Mohamed Rida.
How common is it?
It’s so common that my friend Mona, who went to university in Egypt, told me the story of her cohort, which was organized alphabetically by first name. All the boys in her cohort and two others — every one of them — was named Mohamed.
How common is it?
It’s so common that in 2014, there were estimated to be 150 million Mohameds worldwide.
How common is it?
It’s so common that the top boys’ name in the UK in 2023 was Mohamed. It’s more common than Andrew, than David, than Matthew, than Michael. And yet I have never found it on a keychain. I have never found it on a mug. I have never found it on a novelty license plate.
Mohamed means ‘one who is constantly praised.’ Muslims see this as a promise by God to his prophet. That his name would always be on the tongues of his adherents. The name is included in the call to prayer, as well as the prayer itself, made at least five times a day.
The thing that’s always bothered about Mohamed Salah is the way he’s known as Mo. This isn’t his fault, of course. He’s clearly proud of both his Egyptian and Muslim identity.
Fans, reporters, and commentators have all latched on to the shortcut. It’s rare that you hear a play-by-play man calling, “Mohamed Salah! Goal!” It’s always “MO!”
My father played pro soccer in Egypt before he got his acceptance to study in Canada and moved away. In those days, playing pro wasn’t a full time job in Egypt - you played, you studied, and you were a teaching assistant at the university, all at once.
In Canada, Baba played on every team he could find after work as a telecom engineer. Neighbourhood teams. Office teams. City clubs. My childhood is filled with the memory of baba coming through the side door by the kitchen in our old house, pealing off his soccer socks and chin pads, rubbing the bruises on his legs.
Sometimes we went to watch Baba play, and there it was: Baba running down the wing, the ball daintily dancing on his toes. An open teammate, calling out. “Mo! Mo!”
‘Mo’ makes me think of Larry, Curly and Moe. It makes me think of guys with gold chains dangling around their necks, the top 3 buttons on their shirt undone, the smell of too much cologne assaulting my nostrils. It makes me think of the restaurant 10 minutes away from where I grew up, best known for its pizza and Elvis memorabilia.
When I was a kid, I desperately wished my parents had chosen a name that would blend in for me. A chameleon name, equally Egyptian and English. Layla. Sarah. Suzanne. I would fantasize sometimes about the names I could reshape into something local. Khadija could have been DJ. Maryam could become Maria. And just like that, I would be ‘of the people’. As if my face and my features didn’t give me away.
Some of the Arab boys I knew would introduce themselves as Zak for Zakaria. Sam for Sameer. Disappearing into the background. Refusing their heritage, as though it was a dirty thing to wash their hands of.
Then there were the various Abduls. Abulrahman. Abdulmalik. The names cut at the most awkward place. Servant of. Of what? I always wanted to ask. You can’t just be Abdul. And yet because the syllables fit that way in English, they were sacrificed at the altar of easy pronunciation.2
There are harder names we’ve all learned to say. Tchaikovsky. Saoirse Ronan, Chloë Sevigny, Timothée Chalamet.
Mohamed is really not that hard. Try it. I dare you.
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I’m continuing to share resources about the situation in Gaza and the West Bank. This week, I’m sharing this clip from CNN with a volunteer ER physician who just returned from Gaza, discussing the open letter he and 45 other US doctors and nurses sent to US administration regarding the situation. This is a short clip and I urge you to watch it. Dr. Subeh raises so many important points.
Here’s another quick infographic of facts from Gaza from Doctors Without Borders.
Let’s chat in the comments:
Is there something common / normal to you that other people still find exotic or different?
Does it bother you what gets to be the default and what gets othered?
Do you or any relatives or friends share a name with a famous person?
With the current rising anti-Muslim sentiment in England, fomented by far right agitators, this becomes even more significant.
In the Islamic tradition, God has 99 names representing his 99 characteristics. The names almost all start with “Al”, such as “Al-Rahman” - the most merciful. “Al-Salaam” - the source of peace. “Al-Quddus” - the most holy. There are many Arabic names that start with Abd and then one of the names. Such as “Abdulrahman” which means “the servant of the most merciful”.
As someone who has been asked many times if I’ve got an easier name or nickname, everything you write rings true. We have a Mo (I met him as a Mo) and now I feel emboldened enough to ask him if he’d rather we call him Mohammad.
Ok, now I must ask the Mo in my life what he prefers, too! (He introduced himself as Mo, but you never know). My go to is to never use abbreviations of people's names unless they say it themselves, probably because I am sensitive to having felt no agency over my own name.
My parents always called me by a hyphenated name. Imagine my surprise when I became old enough to see my own birth certificate and realized…they had forgotten to record it hyphenated with the government. Lol.
My three older sisters have never called me by my given name. Like, ever. I'm almost 50 and I am "Aunty X" to their children. People still ask me what my nickname means or what the origins are, and the truth is nicknames made up by children under the age of six usually don't make any sense.
When I was 15 years old, I decided to drop the second part of my hyphenated first name. My mother was so angry. Even though it's not on my passport or birth certificate or any other document.
Names are such a fascinating topic, to me. I never took my husband's name when I got married because I like my father's surname too much. But I joke about changing it because of my allegedly hyphenated first name: my husband's name is a Dutch name, two words, the first being a "de" with a little D. If you were to string my names together with his and my last name combined, it sounds like a children's song from the 1800s. I just don't want five actual words for my name on my legal documents because I've heard from other friends who come from cultures with many different names that it can be cumbersome.