Burnhan. Buhan. Burum. Burma. And, most amusingly, if a little annoyingly, Burnt Hand. I’m destined to have people spell my name wrong. “That’s unusual,” they exclaim. “How do you pronounce it?” Exactly as written, I reply, and then listen with horror as tongues twist and extra vowels begin carpet-bombing the pronunciation of my name. “Boor-han”; “Bur-mah”; “Bur-oom”.

I have my parents to blame, of course. You’d think they’d be more careful, more loving and considerate about the naming of their first-born.

At school in Glasgow, there was rarely a desk that didn’t boast the spidery scrawl “Burhan Woz Here, but isn’t any more”. More recently, I found myself frowning when I heard my name shortened affectionately by a girl who settled on calling me “Baz Waz”.

For someone who was forever giving out nicknames to others at school, I have had more than my lion’s share of them in recent years.

My parents tell me I’m being too sensitive. I then have to remind them Burhan is one of 99 Arabic names for God, and that Wazir is a Persian job title translated as “prime minister” or “government adviser”. I’ll never live up to either, I complain. Well, you’ll just have to try harder, they tell me.

More recently, though, I have grown to like my name. When I went to Afghanistan before the fall of the Taliban, and later to Iraq, to cover the war in 2003, many Afghans and Iraqis commented on my name. More recently, it has been said that the remnants of the Taliban and Al-Qaeda are hiding out in Waziristan near the Afghan border.

I’ve never been to Waziristan, but from all I’ve read the region sounds as lawless and chaotic as Glasgow on a Friday night. That seems strangely fitting.

Times recommends

• Live chat: Thrifty ways to update your winter wardrobe
• Is anybody out there really listening?
• Nutrition Q&A: Will eating late make me fat?