What's in a Burkinabe Name?

Yalle sifting dirt while Maurice stands by.



The Sawadogo clan by a giant baobab tree. Bob is standing second from the right.



In the Mossi tribe, twins are always named the same way. For male/ female pairings, the boy is named Raogo, which translates, literally, to “male,” although it can also mean stick, or branch. The reason for the double meaning is open to your own interpretation. The girl is named Poko, meaning female, or feminine. Why they are named such may seem obvious, but there is a legend behind it too. The story struck me as a bit bizarre, possibly due to cultural differences, or else there was something lost in translation. Most likely, both. Nonetheless I’ll try to summarize it the best I can:

One day a woman was drawing water from the well when she was approached by a chameleon. Under the threat of black magic, the lizard convinced the woman to take it home with her, feed it supper, and then take it to bed. The result was twins, given the names Raogo and Poko. Raogo was evil and went a grisly murder spree, while his kinder, less blood-thirsty sister tried unsuccessfully to talk him out of it. Eventually, Raogo’s deeds caught up with him and a spirit of some kind attacked the twins and chased them up a tree. Unable to descend, they eventually turned into clouds- Poko the gentle life-giving rain cloud and Raogo the loud, destructive thunderhead. From that day forth, all twins were named after the original two. Except, of course, for same sex pairs- it would be foolish to name a girl Raogo. So if there are two girls the second one born is named Pokobila- literally, little girl. In the case of two boys, the second is called Raobila, or sometimes Raonoogo—little boy, and good boy. I’m not sure how the parents choose.

The legend also explains the name Sawadogo, which is the second most common family name among the Mossi. I have no statistics but I would estimate at least 10 percent of the population has the last name Sawadogo. It means cloud, and all the Sawadogos are said to descend from those first two apparently incestuous twins.

Far surpassing Sawadogo for the title of most common Mossi name is Ouedraogo, which means stallion. It harkens to the glory days of the Mossi kingdom when their cavalry warriors overran the central plateau of what is now Burkina Faso. To this day the Mossi make up about half of Burkina’s 13 million population, and the national soccer team is called “Les Etalons,” French for stallions, in honor of their equestrian traditions. Those days are gone in all but memory, however. It is extremely rare to see a horse in Burkina, and when you do it’s generally a skinny, ill kept looking thing. Nowadays the closest thing to horseback warriors are the kids riding donkeys out to the fields. The name Oeudraogo is so common it makes our Smith or Jones seem rare by comparison. Well over half my village is named Ouedraogo- actually I’d reckon it surpasses two thirds- and anywhere you go in Mossi lands you are going to find surpluses of them.

First names are a lot more varied, and come in three categories : Christian, Muslim, and traditional. The Christian names are drawn from the French calendar of saints, and most are familiar to Americans: Roger, Dennis, Jean, Bernard, etc, for men; Mariam, Helene, Nathalie and so on for the women. The Muslim names take some more time to get used to, but spend enough time here and Ousseini, Moumouni, and Boureima start to sound as commonplace as Bill or John. Although, I still sometimes get confused by all the variations on Mamadou, Mahmadi, Amade, Halido, Hamido, and Mahamadi. They’re everywhere. Female names as well take on a pleasant familiarity: Azeta, Fatimata, or Awa, which should I name my daughter?

The traditional names are the most interesting. They all mean something- overtly, not like you need to look it up in a baby book. I mean, Aaron means light, but you wouldn’t know it to hear it. Mossi names, however, are literal. Raogo and Poko are two examples. Another common pattern is to name a child after the day it is born. Sibiri, for example, means Saturday born. When I first arrived, I was given the name Wend-Kouni. I didn’t learn until later that it means, I am embarrassed to say, God has given. It seemed insufferably arrogant to me until I learned it is actually fairly common, and since then I’ve met at least three other Wend-Kounis. In the case of duplicated first names, you address each other with the familiar “Mam Yuure,” meaning, simply, my name.

It gets more interesting. One of my friends is named Yalle, which, I was surprised to find out, means cockroach. Why is he called that, I asked. No one ones for sure, but they suggest that it was probably just the first thing the father saw after the child was born. Another friend is named Pataragombe, meaning he has no speech. He’s a talkative fellow so I inquired as to the discrepancy. The explanation was that the Dad was probably angry about something when he was born and took it out on the child. There is also someone named Gumasida- tell the truth- which was the father’s way of saying to his wife that he didn’t believe he was the father after all.

Most people have more than one name, in some combination of the categories. Yalle is also called Salam; Pataragombe, Karim. Both are Ouedraogo, no relation. Another friend, from the Sawadogo clan, was given the Muslim name Hamade, later took on the Christian Abel, and, for reasons I’ve never quite understood, everybody calls him Bob. Nicknames are common as well. Bob is frequently addressed as “The Governor” due to his imposing stature. Another man goes exclusively by “Le Gros,” meaning the fat one, for obvious reasons. There is also someone called George Bush, or sometimes just “W.” He is an outgoing, likable guy, so I was surprised that people call him a fou- crazy person. Why do you say he’s a fou, I asked. He seems normal to me. They explained he’s on tranquilizers, and if he misses a dose, sometimes he has bad days and chases people around with a machete. He used to be normal but one day something just snapped and he started exposing himself to women in the marketplace. Not sure if he took his nickname before or after this happened.

Finally, in a nod to the truly absurd, we have a town dwarf who goes by DJ Pata Pata. She is about three feet tall, cooks rice, and does the laundry, and, I’m not overly proud to say, is the butt of a lot of jokes among village men about who is going to take her home with him. Someone, however, wasn’t joking, because DJ Pata Pata is pregnant. We haven’t discovered the culprit yet but I’m still investigating, to throw suspicion off me if for no other reason. But one thing’s for sure; I can’t wait to hear what she decides to name the baby.