16/04/2026
When we think of Sicily, we often picture the mountains, the sea, the sun, and the rich scent of lemon groves and sizzling arancini.
But even the surnames we hear every day carry echoes of a deeper past.
Many Sicilian last names carry the quiet fingerprints of the Arabic language, a legacy from the two and a half centuries of Islamic rule in Sicily (827 to 1091).
In this period, the island was a glittering node of Mediterranean culture, trade, and scholarship.
Palermo rivaled Cairo and Córdoba.
Arabic was the language of court, commerce, and poetry.
And like any living language, it left marks, especially on what people were called.
Take the surname Rahal…
It comes from the Arabic 𝘳𝘢𝘩̣𝘭 (meaning a village, waystation, or camp). You can still find it embedded in Sicilian place names.
𝘙𝘢𝘩𝘢𝘭 𝘔𝘢𝘶𝘵 became Racalmuto, 𝘙𝘢𝘩𝘢𝘭 𝘘𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘳 became Racalmare, and so on.
These were descriptors of terrain, roles, and communities.
Then there’s Zappalà…
Possibly from the Arabic verb 𝘻𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘢 (meaning to clean or collect refuse).
It’s tied to practical work, perhaps indicating a street sweeper, groundskeeper, or someone tasked with clearing roads or fields. In a time when professions often dictated surnames, the term stuck, then gradually transformed.
The surname Alamia may derive from ʿ𝘈𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘺𝘺𝘢, related to "banner" or "distinction," while Bahloul comes from 𝘣𝘢𝘩̣𝘭𝘶̄𝘭, a name used in the Islamic world meaning “cheerful” or “innocent,” sometimes attributed to wise fools or jesters in classical Arabic folklore.
Cassarà may come from 𝘲𝘢𝘴̣𝘳, meaning "palace" or "fortress," perhaps indicating someone who worked within, or near, a fortress or estate.
The name Ferlisi is possibly linked to 𝘧𝘢𝘳𝘪̄𝘴, meaning “horseman” or “knight,” a title of distinction in Arab-Andalusian and Fatimid society.
While the name is often attributed to Latin or Lombard roots, some have hypothesized a connection to the Arabic 𝘢𝘭-𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢̄𝘯, meaning the “artist” or “craftsman.”
If so, it preserves not only a linguistic link but an appreciation for the cultured professions valued under Arab patronage.
Over time, many of these names were adapted…Latinized, Sicilianized, Italianized. They slipped into the local dialects, their original forms softened by centuries of Christian rule, Norman scribes, and Spanish governance.
But the roots remained.
So when you hear a surname in Sicily, especially in the western or central regions, you might be hearing a whisper from the medieval suqs of Palermo, the irrigation channels of the Conca d’Oro, or the Arabic tax rolls of Agrigento.
To uncover an Arabic surname in Sicily is to lift a veil on a thousand-year-old legacy, a story of migration and power, but also of memory and survival.
A reminder that identity is not fixed, but forged, layered like the cultures and languages of the island itself.
