Aja—whispered simply as “AY-jah,” yet shimmering with many-hued echoes—traces her roots from the red dust of Yoruba myth, where the forest spirit Aja heals with fragrant leaves, to the sun-washed Sanskrit word for “unborn,” a promise of beginnings, and onward to modern music history, where Steely Dan’s velvety jazz-rock ode sent the name skimming across American airwaves like a gull over the Ligurian Sea. In her compact trio of letters one hears the click of a camera in a bustling piazza: brief, bright, unforgettable. She is at once ancient herbalist and cosmopolitan muse, a name that arrived in U.S. nurseries with a 1970s flourish and, like a well-loved vine winding up a terracotta wall, has quietly held its place ever since. Parents who choose Aja often speak of her gentle strength—equal parts olive-grove serenity and city-light sparkle—knowing that their daughter will carry a name as lyrical as a summer evening in Siena, as timeless as the stories sung by nonna beside a crackling hearth.
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Aja Naomi King - |
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