The Cosmic Implications of African Names

On August 12, 2005, The News Journal did a story on Delaware’s African community. One of the interesting aspects was the exotic array of African names of those of us who were interviewed. My non-African friends and colleagues who have known me for several years were suddenly eager to satisfy their curiosity about those names. One friend actually pointed at a couple and wondered why anyone would bear such “mouth-twisting” names.

In the sub-Saharan African continent, a name says a lot about the circumstances of birth of a child—his or her ancestral and religious background. It’s a spiritual chain that also indicates the positive vibrations a chosen name is expected to exert on the child.

To Africans, names are too fundamental to be trivialized. They are rooted in social and cultural significance. No African would name a child without careful consideration. This explains a proverb of the Yoruba in southwest Nigeria that “we have to appraise the circumstances at home before naming a child.”

For instance, shortly before my birth, there was an obvious manifestation of abundant blessings in the lives of my parents. It was therefore easy for my father to showcase his gratitude in my first name, Olufemi (God loves me). My mother’s choice of my middle name, Olabode (the arrival of wealth) also derived from this sentiment. In appreciation of the circumstance of my birth, three factors were considered to be crucial for my life’s journey. These were the positive vibrations in the combination of God, love and wealth in my first and middle names. The last name also plays a monumental role. It’s not only considered a precious family possession worth more than gold, but a special privilege conferred on the bearer. In my ancestral homeland, it’s a disservice to bring a surname to disrepute. Indeed, the worst sin anyone can commit against his or her last name is to be convicted of a crime.

The advent of British, French and Portuguese colonialism and foreign religions such as Christianity and Islam in Africa by the 19th century eroded a great portion of the people’s culture. One major casualty is child-naming.

Consequently, many Africans have been turning their original first names into middle names upon conversion to Christianity or Islam. And Africans have adopted foreign names upon migration to the Western world. This was done under the pretext of having easily pronounced names. However, this excuse is silly. Every African name has its short, easily pronounced version. Olugbemileke can be shortened to Olu or Gbemi or Leke. In the same vein, Olufemi is often shortened to Femi or Olu.

Nothing can be more encouraging than to see basketball star Dikembe Mutombo of Congo, actors Chiwetel Ejiofor of Nigeria and Djimon Hounsou of Benin and other celebrities of African origin hold on proudly to their African names. If they are not ashamed of their names, ordinary folks like us have no reason to be. Whether in Delaware, Alaska or some remote corner of the globe, every African should bear his or her indigenous name with pride.  Those names are the cosmic windows through which our souls breathe inspiration, aspiration, intellect and harmony. To do away with them is to shut down ventilation for the soul

First published in The News Journal of Delaware, United States in 2004.