Since I was young, my name has been worthless. In Word, it always had a squiggly red line underneath. In Webster, it did not exist. And in my father’s mouth, it had a sour taste. My dad, a traditional Nigerian, wanted a boy with a traditional Nigerian name. Instead, he got a girl my mother decided to name Dayzia. It’s a combination of both of my parents’ names and as cute as that might seem, it didn’t...