By Elizabeth Duve Dziva
In the persistent quest of modernity, African naming traditions face an unsettling clash with
changing cultural identities. Once deeply rooted in spirituality, family history and communal
experiences, naming is increasingly becoming a matter of personal preference, fashion and
convenience. Yet, beneath the simplicity of a name lies a world of meanings that modern society
is slowly forgetting. In traditional African societies, a name was never merely a label assigned to
a newborn. It was a declaration, a message, a prayer and, sometimes, a protest. At this juncture,
we cannot help but ask, when we abandon the meaning of our names, are we not also abandoning
fragments of our history?
In many African communities, particularly among the Shona, naming was an essential part of
birth rituals and cultural expression. A child’s name could reflect the circumstances surrounding
birth, the family’s experiences or the hopes held for the newborn. Names were voices of the
voiceless, particularly for oppressed people whose grievances could not easily be expressed
openly. In the traditional African patriarchal systems, when women were still cultured and
submitted to their husbands and before the commonly prevailing alien norm of equal rights and
freedom of expression, women sometimes used children’s names to communicate dissatisfaction,
disappointment or their experiences within marriage. Such names included names like Wanzirai,
Muchaneta, Musakanganwa, Tendekai, Takwana, Muchandida and many more. In polygamous
set ups, which was a common and normal practice in the African society, a name could carry an
unspoken message about rivalry, neglect or the struggle for recognition. The name spoke when
an individual could not. Such included Mandinyeya, Muchadura, Mandionei, Tambudzai,
Kundishora, Semai, Mandinyanyira, Muchasvoda, Nyarai and Rangarirai. Such names like
Nevanji also validated an individual’s position in the family to avoid heirship rivalries.
On the other hand, names served as historical archives, preserving events that families might
otherwise forget. A child born during famine, a locust invasion or a period of hardship like
famine, death and pandemics could receive a name that recalled those difficult circumstances.
Such names included Gorerenhamo, Hondo, Dutumupengo, Nzara, Tobaiwa, Tafirenyika,
Haruketi, Haruzivi, Ngozi and many more. Equally, joyful occasions, family victories and
significant encounters could find permanent expression through naming. Such names would
include Taguta, Rusununguko, Takunda, Takura, Tatenda, Matipa, Tafara, Zvanaka and many
more. Other names were also given marking unusual incidences, normally magical or beyond
human understanding. like Chishamiso, Chiratidzo and Mashura. Africans also used nicknames
called zitadunhurirwa to depict some individuals’s good or bad behavioral traits. For bad
behavior, names would serve to remind a person to repent. Such included Muzavazi for a
talkative person, Guranyika, for a person who never stayed in one place, Chigunduru for an
intidy person and Muvhomori for a thief and many more.
Children were also named after other family members whose traits and skills were worth
preserving in the family. These could be grandparents, aunts, uncles and other respected
relatives, particularly those whose admirable qualities were worth emulating. A great hunter,
hardworking farmer or respected community figure could live on through a child’s name. In this
way, naming became an inheritance, connecting generations that might never meet.
Surnames, too, carried profound significance. In many patrilineal communities, a child taking the
father’s surname was not simply adopting a family label, it was an acknowledgement of lineage,
ancestry and paternal responsibility which today is done through Global DNA services. Even a
sahwira, a close friend bound to a family through a special traditional relationship, could
participate in naming a child, strengthening bonds that extended beyond blood relations.
Names could also be prayers, warnings, advice, expressions of gratitude and declarations of
hope. Depending on a family’s circumstances, a name might appeal for protection, celebrate
survival or express gratitude for a blessing. However, present day religions like Christianity
perpetrate the belief that some names foreshadow the experiences of their bearers. They believe
that names such as Nhamoinesu, Shupikai and Pondwai carry messages and associations that
invite bad luck. Whether interpreted as predictions or expressions of family experiences and
aspirations, they demonstrate the remarkable power invested in words. The truth behind this is
still a question open for debate.
Sadly, the winds of cultural change are steadily reshaping the African traditions. Missionaries
introduced Christian and baptismal names as part of religious conversion. Depending on
individual beliefs, there is nothing inherently wrong with adopting a Christian name, particularly
when its meaning reflects one’s faith and convictions. Even biblically, a lot of names were
symbolic. In Ruth 1 verse 20, Naomi renames herself “Mara” which means bitter. She adopted
this name after experiencing profound loss. Yet today there are innumerable Maras who have no
idea what their names mean. Biblical names on their own cannot be regarded as uncultural as
they also carry a connotation though in a different language and culture. A cause for concern is
that, today people just take these names because they sound sweet or they are “cute” as this
generation puts it across.
Colonialism further complicated the issue of names. With Africans sometimes adopting English
names to make themselves more acceptable or easier to identify within workplaces and
institutions, native names became less common. Some of the names have no known meanings
like Loveness, Cryface, and many more. One story in an old Grade Three Shona textbook talks
about a black man seeking employment as a secretary, who explained, “Zita rangu ndinonzi
Muzavazi asi riri pachitupa ndi Jona Tshuma.” This brings us to wonder, how many identities
were altered, concealed or totally lost to accommodate a society unwilling to pronounce African
names yet they used our ability to pronounce their own names as a yard stick of intelligence?
Today, globalization, migration, urbanization and modernization have further transformed
naming practices. Some parents name children after celebrities and admired personalities,
occasionally adopting even their surnames. There are many children named after the musicians
like Sean Paul, or Chris Brown, eventually we have individuals called Dolly Parton Margery, or
Michael Jackson Chakanyuka. Others select names in different languages simply because they
are “saladic”, without necessarily understanding their meanings. Meanwhile, meaningful African
names are sometimes mocked, and some individuals even end up legally changing their names
without appreciating the histories and declarations they may carry. It’s a pity that even the
Zimbabwean constitution, Section 18 of the Births and Deaths Registration Act [Chapter 5:02],
legalizes the undressing of this important aspect of our culture. This is not an argument against
personal choice, but a plea for cultural consciousness. We cannot celebrate our heritage in
museums and monuments while treating its everyday expressions as inconveniences. Elizabeth
Kamara a Sierra Leonean poet moans the near extinction of the most delicate aspects of our
African culture “Africa is slowly becoming a stranger to herself”. And of course, one might then
pose a question if we are only protecting and preserving those aspects of our heritage that bring
in income?
This is not a call to reject modernity, Christianity or the freedom of choice. It is a plea to
remember. To remember that a name may carry tears, struggles, prayers and the history of an
entire community. Before we mock an African name because it sounds funny, perhaps we should
ask what story it tells. After all, a name may introduce us to a world we don’t know about. What,
then, is in a name, if not the heritage of a people?
Elizabeth Duve Dziva is an archaeologist, cultural heritage practitioner, and History and
English educator. The views and opinions expressed in this article are solely those of the
author and do not necessarily represent those of any organisation. For further information,
please contact: duveelizabeth@gmail.com.
