The court restored the name my grandmother gave me

Dear Delyara, When I entered the foster-care system at nine, officials repeatedly misspelled my Nigerian name. Eventually, one placement began calling me Anna because they said Anuli was difficult. Schools, doctors, and later employers followed. By adulthood, every official document carried the shortened name, while my grandmother’s name for me survived only in old birthday cards. Last year, I began the legal process to restore it. I gathered records, requested corrections, and attended a hearing where the judge asked why the change mattered. I told her Anuli means joy, and it was the last gift my grandmother gave me before she died. Today, my new passport arrived. I opened it at the kitchen table and read my full name aloud: Anuli Chiamaka Okafor. My husband repeated it carefully. My children repeated it too. For years, I accepted convenience as the price of belonging. Now every official page must make room for the name that belonged to me before strangers decided I was easier to love in fewer syllables.