When I was growing up, “bint” was a British slang word for a girl.
It is a loan-word from Arabic, where it is a patronym for “daughter” in the same way that “bin” is for “son”. “Azadeh bint Suleiman” would be “Azadeh, daughter of Suleiman”.
In the 1975 movie Monty Python and the Holy Grail there is a scene where King Arthur is explaining to a group of peasants that he is King of Britain because the Lady of the Lake gave him Excalibur.
Which leads to an unruly peasant making the classic statement: “Oh, but if I went ’round saying I was Emperor just because some moistened bint lobbed a scimitar at me, they’d put me away!”
Fast-forward to last week. I am looking for a certain box of widgets that aren’t where they’re supposed to be, and during the search I am asked by an officer as to which candidate I intend to cast my vote for in the up-coming Presidential election.
I answer something along the lines of: “Personally, I’m all for finding out who the moistened bint lobbed the scimitar at and give him the keys to the Oval Office.”
I have found my campaign this year.