“Ọlá” Isn’t (Always) “Wealth”
One common stereotype about Yorùbá names is that they, on the surface, always seem obsessed with wealth. It is incompatible with the truth, of course, but examples are usually provided easily to show how almost any verb combined with the word for “wealth” will almost generate a Yorùbá name.
My name is “Kọ́lá” (full name Kọ́láwọlé), a very good example of this instance.
There are others: Bọ́lá, Ṣọlá, Tọ́lá, Nọ́lá, Fọlá, Dọlá, Gbọlá, etc. In actual fact, I realised a while ago that a simple computer program can generate unlimited numbers of valid Yorùbá names if we would just combine almost any consonant in the language with a few key root morphemes (like ọlá, adé, oyè, etc).
The problem, however, is that the “ọlá” in Yorùbá names do not all mean the same thing. They are not, to use a cliché, created equal. In the case of “Kọ́láwọlé”, I can provide a curt interpretation as “(He who) bring(s) wealth into the house” but that doesn’t say all that the name embodies. In any case, the “ọlá” in the name is more than nominal wealth. It is prominence, it is dignity, it is nobility, it is success, it is honour, it is acclaim.
A man referred to as “Ọlọ́lá” is not just rich, he is a notable public figure with admirable nobility. If money were to be the distinguishing factor, he would be called “Olówó” instead. There is another appellation given to properly highlight material wealth. That is Ọlọ́là. This ọlà (note the difference in the tonal marking) highlights material success above individual character or nobility.
Therefore a name like Adégbọlá would be better interpreted either as “We have arrived to receive wealth” or “The crown/royalty has received nobility/prominence/honour/success.” The context, or the family story, will decide which one is appropriate in each instance. A name like Ọláńrewájú, however, brings a different problem. Same with Ọláwálé. Here, the root “ọlá” is being given a subject role in which it is forced to be more than wealth or nobility. It becomes a person! A Dictionary of Yorùbá Personal Names by Adébóyè Babalọlá and Olúgbóyèga Àlàbá defines both, respectively, as “The head of this noble family is progressing” and “The new member of our noble family has come home.” In both cases, Ọlá is a living being, represented by this newly-born child.
Please leave other relevant examples that you’re familiar with in the comment below.
In other instances, Ọlá means “blessing” or “grace”. And isn’t that interesting? The sentence “Ọlá Ọlọ́run ni mo jẹ” means “I’ve benefited from the grace of God.” In this case, it is not “wealth” or “nobility” at all. What the name is saying is that if not for the presence/grace/help of God, the child wouldn’t have been born. Now, this doesn’t mean that it couldn’t also mean “the wealth of God”, but that would be a simplistic reading indeed. This interpretation would explain names like Ọláìyá (“the benefit/grace of mother”), Ọláòkun (“the benefit of the ocean – or foreign travel”) or Ọláolúwa (born by “the grace/benefit of God”). See also: Ọláifá, Ọláọ̀pá, Ọláoyè.
In late 2015, an expectant inter-ethnic couple (the wife is Yorùbá while the husband is Igbo) wrote to us asking for help in picking out a name for their firstborn child (you can read the whole blog post here). They were open to anything, especially names that could be easily pronounced by both parents. But they had a caveat: the name shouldn’t have “ọlá” in it. Why? Because it connoted “wealth” and they wanted names that focused instead on celebrating the child than something that would seem so superficial and focused on material gains. They eventually settled for “Tiwanìfẹ́” (Ours is love/loving) which is a beautiful name. But had they settled for “Tiwalọlá” (ours is grace/nobility/wealth), it would also have been equally as delightful. In any case, the “wealth” or “nobility” in Tiwalọlá refers to the child and nothing else: “this wealth, this child, is ours”.
Perhaps it is what is lost in translation. When we say “wealth” in Yorùbá, we are not always referring to money or material wealth (that would be ọlà). That “wealth” referred in “ọlá” is something more: human potential, largeness of heart, generosity of spirit (and of materials, yes), nobility, dignity, honour, and grace, depending on context. In names like “Ìwàlọlá” or “Ọmolọlá”, the definition of “ọlá” is actually given, as “character” and “child” respectively. And in “Babalọlá”, “Father/hood is honour/wealth/nobility.”
That is why what a child like “Kọ́lá” brings into the house in “Kọ́láwọlé” is more than just a temporary (or even measurable) treasure.
Ola could also mean influence. My name is Mokolade which means “I have brought influence/prominence/affluence”. One of my parents was promoted the week I was born. My other name is Olamijulo which interpretes as “I am blessed above all” or “I am the most prominent”. In both instances of my names “Ola” means things other than wealth.
It was in Nairobi, circa 2011, that I learnt not to be flippant about translating the morpheme ‘ola’ in Yoruba names, or indeed Yoruba names generally. During breakfast, one of my conference mates with whom I also shared a hotel, an African-American – one of those who reach for their Africanness like tap root for water, so much so that, as I would later find out, she was an Orisha practitioner – gave me her email address which has a Yoruba username with ‘ola’ in it. Finding out I am Yoruba, she asked what that might mean. I offhandedly blurted: “love of wealth”. She nearly choked on her food. As I would find out, she was also one of those who combine their Africanity with a leftist ideology, who in fact use one to validate the other. So, while taking care to not reinforce any simplistic notion that pre-colonial Africa was a bastion of primitive communism in which wealth and profit motive were completely absent, I had to launch into a fairly long treatise on the broadness and variations of ‘ola’ similar to what Kola did in this post above. I don’t know if I was completely convincing to my friend since most other variations of ola still carry a tinge of class and status which should be suspicious to a socialist.
That is why I find very interesting the meaning of ‘ola’ conveyed in the last but two paragraph of Kola’s post. It appears to be the one use which is capable of being completely dissociated from wealth or even status. For if a young person who was going to be set straight in a harsh manner was suddenly let off on the basis that “ola baba e lo je o” (“you were merely benefitted by your father/father’s reputation”), well, unless it was at a Nigerian police station and your father had just ‘seen’ the DPO, it has nothing to do with your father’s wealth or even class, just a general good reputation and high regard in the community.
I am one of the African-Americans referred to in Ogbeni Deji Toye’s comments above. I got initiated into Ifá in Ibadan and the names I received were Ifasola and Akinyemi. The names were translated to me as: “Ifá makes success and honor” and “Valor befits me”. From my own meager studies on traditional Yorùbá culture, it appears to me that the Yorùbá ancestors measured wealth in abundance of what the community valued: children, family and friends. An abundance of these things allowed one to achieve the valued status of respect in the traditional community. I can attest to the fact that in my own life, every difficulty I brought to Babalawo to ask Ifa to solve for me, I overcame. When I recount how my people: family, friends & colleagues treat me regardless of my own insecurities and the incredible life that I’m humbled to have, I have to agree with the author that “Ọlá” cannot be equated to just material wealth.
I am happy that we still have many people who still look for other meanings to names apart from the obvious ones. When I gave birth to my daughter 18 years back, choosing a name was not an easy task…..as a Muslim, I wanted a name that would edify the place of GOD in my life……her father came up with “Temidayo”……. I was not happy vwith that and asked him to pray and think about it more, he came the next 2 days with “Olorunsola” …….It was actually his paternal Grandma’s name, initially, like many other people, I thought of wealth but the Islamic upbringing in me took me beyond that and I gave my translation of the name as GOD creates or gives Grace, today, she is an epitome of GOD’s Grace, basking in it to HIS glory. May HIS grace continue to be sufficient for her and us all as HE multiplies our days to live to see her and her siblings all succeed to HIS glory, Aamin. Thanks for keeping our culture alive in your own way.