In any classroom in Zimbabwe, you are likely to find children with a mix of names—indigenous names in Shona, Ndebele, Tsonga, Venda or any one of the numerous other ethnic groups. You will most certainly come across European names, such as Primrose, possibly one or two Janets, a Ruth, a number of Peters, Gilberts, and Johns.
But there is a third category of names that English speakers outside of Zimbabwe might find puzzling. Names like Havealook, Psychology, Bigboy, Average, Behaviour and Godknows.
To many outside of Zimbabwe, these names are a real headscratcher. Despite being born and raised in Zimbabwe, producer Kim Chakanetsa never gave much thought to these names that seem so unusual to those from outside the country. In her family, she has a cousin named Admire, an uncle called Beer, and a brother-in-law named Innocent. “In the past, I have worked alongside colleagues called Hardwork, Reward and Lovemore,” Kim says.
But lately, she has been seeing more online posts about this particular strain of Zimbabwean names. Tik tok videos with titles like “Zimbabweans have the funniest names Part 1” and Facebook posts soliciting people to tell about “the craziest Zimbabwean names” they have ever come across. The comment section is always ripe with outlandish, colourful contributions.
“I have friends from all over Africa who look at these names with a mix of amusement and curiosity. But also – sometimes – ridicule,” Kim says. “A guy I once met from Botswana described Zimbabweans as being too ‘white-washed’, pointing to our names as a prime example.”
Why are these bizarre English names so much more popular than names in Shona, Ndebele, Tonga, or any other indigenous language? Zimbabwe had such a uniquely dark experience under British colonialism, and it’s not easy to square that with the popularity of these bold, head-turning English names.
The Shona aren’t the only ones who make single names out of religious expressions, or big, sentence-long ideas. People do this all over the world. Linguists even have technical terms for them, like “sentential names” and “theophoric names”.
“But I cannot think of anywhere else that goes as big and as creative as we do in Zimbabwe,” Kim says.
The reason these names became so quintessentially Zimbabwean goes way back, before there was even a country called Zimbabwe.
“In our Shona culture, names were meant to communicate,” explains Zimbabwean writer, poet and academic Tanaka Chidora. “Names were carriers of our aspirations, our achievements, our grievances, our tribulations. They were meant to communicate to us and to our neighbours that this is who we are, this is what we have achieved. These are the problems that I’m going through right now.”
For the Shona, this way of choosing and giving names – in fact their entire way of life – was turned upside down starting in the late 19th century.
In 1895, after a brutal war, British settlers created a new colonial state named Rhodesia, after the diamond magnate Cecil Rhodes. The colonizers established their own government, steamrolling over the Africans who lived there.
“It was a total attempt at transforming a whole people,” says Enocent Msindo, a Zimbabwean historian. “It’s an attempt to change people’s identities. An attempt to force people to either hybridize or mimic particular ways of doing things… Particular ways of doing justice, particular ways of dressing, [and] language.”
Under this new racial hierarchy, English became the language of power. Africans had to adapt. Being able to speak it as an African granted you a little more access, perhaps a slightly higher position on the farm or on the factory floor.
Ancient traditions began to take a backseat to the more immediate realities of colonialism. Shona naming practices where parents gave names that told stories and were meant to shape their children’s destinies – those were becoming less common.
Shona names did not disappear, but they were mostly just used at home. In public – at school or at work – English names dominated.
But starting in the 1960s, the country would experience enormous political upheaval. It emerged as a different nation with a very different set of names. Africans would begin turning back to Shona and other indigenous languages, and choosing names that were charged with political resistance.
This pushback started when white settlers broke from Great Britain, declaring Rhodesia an independent nation. The settler population soon swelled to about 273,000.
But that was a tiny minority compared to the roughly six million black Africans in Rhodesia – many of whom had been forced off their land by the settlers.
Those Africans had hoped to participate in Rhodesia’s government. But when the colony declared itself independent, it became clear that this new nation would be run exclusively by the white settlers. For the Africans, this was the last straw.
“They began to suddenly have their eyes opened,” says Zimbabwean academic Ignatius Mabasa. “‘Oh, so we are oppressed. Oh, we also have a culture, we have a language. Oh, this is actually our land.’”
Inspired and emboldened by the massive wave of independence movements sweeping across the continent in the mid-1960s, Africans in Rhodesia turned from assimilation to full-scale, open rebellion. Everything from attacks against the state launched by insurgent and nationalist groups, to the symbolic shedding of European names and returning to African ones. “They start giving names that address or speak to this situation of being oppressed,” Mabassa explains.
Africans began choosing assertive, statement-making names – in Shona. Nationalist leaders took on names like Teurai Rhopa, which means to spill blood; and Chibwechitedza, which is hard to translate but basically suggests someone who cannot be moved.
Mabassa says one of his uncles was given a name that reflected this growing sense of defiance. “His full name was Tichatonga Mabhunu. “We will eventually rule over the whites.” What a name!”
After 15 years of war with the white Rhodesian government, Africans finally won their independence in 1980. They renamed their country Zimbabwe.
The new Prime Minister was Robert Gabriel Mugabe. He encouraged gradualism. There was land redistribution, but it was small scale. New schools were built, but many of them continued to mirror the British system. African judges insisted on wearing powdered horsehair wigs. And English held firm as the official language in education, government, and just about every other part of civic life in Zimbabwe.
But as the country was figuring out its new identity, one of the main places where Zimbabweans could really experiment and push boundaries was names.
“We’re talking of a free Zimbabwe. So we are also free to do whatever we want with the language, as long as it satisfies what we want to do with the names,” says Givemore Shonhayi, a Zimbabwean academic. “We can break the rules. We are now free.”
It was in this new, free Zimbabwe that the culture of wild experimentation and play with names really took off. As power shifted into the hands of Zimbabweans, so did their sense that they were able to do whatever they wanted with English.
This meant that a name like Hazvinei – which conveys a message of acceptance and resilience in Shona – got translated to “Nomatter”. For the first time, Zimbabweans were also taking names inspired by the Bible like Grace and Faith and Mercy and translating them into Shona.
It’s been forty-five years since independence and these names are everywhere. There’s a famous ex-footballer named Havealook Dube, and politicians named Welshman Ncube, and Moreprecision Muzadzi.
“My name is something that I really love and adore, and I cherish and I treasure it,” Muzadzi says. “Everywhere I go, people actually are curious to say, ‘what’s your name again?’ My name has got meaning. It’s not a meaningless name. It means being accurate, to the point, in whatever I do. so it kind of inspires me to do the right thing.”
In the last two decades, Zimbabwe’s economy has been in collapse. Record-breaking inflation forced millions to leave and fan out across the globe. This means that the rest of the world has had a lot more exposure to Zimbabwe’s unique naming conventions.
Zimbabwean standup comedian Learnmore Jonassi is based in LA. When first started performing around the world, he used the stage name Long John The Comedian. But privately, when he’d share his real name, people were eager to hear about its origins. “So that’s when I went back to my actual name, instead of a stage name. And then I started calling myself Learnmore. And it’s a conversation starter. As soon as I introduce myself, everybody wants to know why. And that’s my way to start educating people.”
Learnmore says we shouldn’t be shying away from names like his which are hard won and tightly stitched into the fabric of who we are as a country.
“Our names are very unique and they come from a real place. So, honestly, if you have a name like that, if you come from Zimbabwe, just be proud of it! Because it’s a story. We’re a very unique little country. We should be proud of it, and I am!
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