In Ghanaian culture, names are more than mere identifiers—they are historical markers, deeply embedded in lineage, identity, and spiritual significance. Long before European missionaries and colonial administrators set foot on the West African coast, Ghanaian societies had developed intricate naming traditions.
Names recorded the day of birth, ancestral heritage, and even the circumstances surrounding a child’s arrival into the world. These customs thrived among the Akan, Ga, Ewe, Dagomba, and other ethnic groups, serving as a vital link to history and community.
However, colonialism did not just impose foreign political systems—it also sought to erase indigenous identity. For over four centuries, through slavery and colonial rule, Ghanaians were made to unlearn their history, with their names deemed obstacles to “progress.” As Carter G. Woodson famously argued, the miseducation of Africans was not merely about denying formal schooling but about systematically erasing self-worth.
Unable—or unwilling—to pronounce indigenous names, European merchants and colonial administrators arbitrarily assigned new ones, severing Ghanaians from their heritage. Historians have condemned this act as a crime against cultural identity. Names that once carried deep meaning were replaced with European alternatives that fit colonial phonetics. Kweku Dadzie, a name rich in lineage and strength, became Frank Steel; Ekow Hammah, tied to ancestral craftsmanship, became Ekow Hammond; and Kofi Kuntu, carrying the warmth of tradition, was renamed Frank Blankson.
What started as a matter of European convenience soon became a mark of colonial assimilation. A European name became a passport to elite schools, social mobility, and acceptance into the colonial administration. The modern-day practice of requesting an individual’s “Brofo dzin” (English name) before school enrollment is a lingering consequence of this historical erasure.
As Ghana inched toward independence, a wave of self-reclamation swept the nation. The educated elite, once eager to adopt European names, began retracing their roots. Many discarded their colonial names in favor of their original African identities, as seen with the famous secretary of the UGCC. However, others found themselves caught between two worlds—neither fully indigenous nor entirely Western. Hybrid names emerged, blending European first names with traditional Ghanaian surnames, as seen in figures like William Kofi Awoonor and Joseph Kwame Danquah.
But hybridity poses its own dilemmas. Does a partially reclaimed name restore identity, or does it perpetuate cultural suppression? Is adopting a hybrid name an act of resilience or a slow surrender to historical erasure? The fight over names is more than a linguistic issue—it is a battle for self-definition in a history that has often sought to silence Ghanaian identity.
As Ghana marks its 68th Independence Day, the question remains: how do we reconcile the past with the present? Reclaiming our names is more than a symbolic act—it is a reclamation of our stories, our heritage, and our right to define ourselves without compromise.
Happy 68th Independence Day, Ghana!
Source: Omankyeame Nana Yaw Ofori
