“Olú” isn’t (Always) “God/Lord” Either
After the last blog post examining the common misunderstanding of the Yorùbá root word “Ọlá”, I realised that there are more of these root morphemes whose meanings are not often clear among native speakers, and subsequently among non-native speakers.
One of these is “Olú” commonly translated as “Lord” or “God”, but which is not always deserving of such a simple reading.
Like “Ọlá”, there are instances where “Olú” could be a short form of “olúwa” which, in many cases, refer to lord/master. e.g. “Olúwa mi. Olówó orí mi…” said by a woman to her man is believed to be a term of endearment: my lord and owner/master. (Sorry, feminists).
But in translating the Bible into Yorùbá in the early/late nineteenth century, the word olúwa was used generously to refer to “the Lord” Jesus Christ, and it took a different meaning. “Olúwa” (especially written with capital letters) became identified only with the son of God, and “Olúwa Ọlọ́run” (Genesis 2:7) as God him/herself.
Written in small letters, it continued to be used as “lord”, a term of endearment, but also a generic word for “individual”. e.g. Ta ni olúwa rẹ̀ to ń pariwo níbẹ̀ yẹn? (Who is the individual making noises there?). In most cases where it is used in the latter case, it is often in anger: Ta l’olúwa rẹ̀!?
In all the cases listed above, Olúwa/olúwa is written and used in full, with no abbreviations.
But before the generous use of olúwa in the bible, children have been named with “Olú” as a root morpheme for many generations. And in these instances, it meant something far away from the Christian “lord” and “saviour”. It simply meant “prominence” or “prominent one” or “head”; anything signifying of stardom or elevation of status in society. An “olú ọmọ” was the star child, the prominent child with promise. The “olú igbó” was the head of the forest, and the “olú ọdẹ” was the head hunter. Same for Olúawo (or Olúwo), Olúòkun, etc. Even the traditional head of Ìbàdàn is called Olúbàdàn (“the prominent head of Ìbàdàn”). Even our distant cousins in Warri have their king called Olú as a primary title.
So children named Olúmìdé, Olúwọlé or Olúbáyọ̀dé were initially named for their intended/projected prominence: “My star child has come”, “The prominent one has entered the home”, and “Prominence came with joy”, respectively. Those meanings still hold till today.
But the ambiguity introduced by the expansion of the meaning of “Olú” to also mean “Olúwa” when Yorùbá citizens began to embrace Christianity with uncommon fervour began to muddy the waters as time went on. A name like “Olúṣẹ́gun” which would otherwise mean “the star child has conquered” could now also mean “the Lord conquered” as thanks to God for the successful birth of the child, or a future projection into his future successes in battle. The latter meaning was enthusiastically embraced by Nigeria’s past president Olúṣẹ́gun Ọbásanjọ́ whose life story of battles, defeats, and resurgence seems to have perfectly matched his given name.
Names like Olúdárà or Ọláolú began to be expanded to be written also as Olúwadárà or Ọláolúwa even if it wasn’t the originally intended meaning while names like Olúwaṣeun began to mean only one thing (“The Lord be praised”). In actual fact, one can guess that names beginning with “Olúwa” began to surface and increase in usage only after the successful Christian missionary incursion in to Yorùbáland. Before then, it would be rare to envision a name like Olúwalógbọ́n (“only the Lord/God is wise”) or Bólúwatifẹ́ (“As the Lord/God wants”) being given in a community with mostly animistic and polytheistic outlook.
In any case, not all names can be expanded into “Olúwa”, and those have mostly retained their original meaning. A name like “Máláólú”, for instance, means “give the white cloth (of the Ọbàtálá religion) to the prominent one” perhaps in worship or as sacrifice. There is no way in which “give the white Ọbàtálá cloth to the Lord Jesus” would make any contemporary sense. It is the same with Olúdọ̀tun (“prominence/stardom is renewed”) or Kúmólú (“Death took our prominent head”) which can not be changed to “Olúwadọ̀tun” or “Kúmólúwa” without raising eyebrows. Thankfully.
Something else also began to happen, however, especially with more Pentecostal growth. Names originally with traditional root morphemes like Ògún, Ṣàngó, Èṣù, Omi, Oṣó etc began to be replaced with Olú instead, a seeming harmless and possible Christian replacement for their “heathen” heritage. Thus Ṣóyínká (“I’m surrounded by sorcerers”) became Olúyínká (“I’m surrounded by prominence/Lord Jesus”), Èṣùbíyìí (“Èṣù gave birth to this”) became either Jésùbíyìí or Olúbíyìí. Ògúnsànyà became Olú́sànyà. Popular musician Dúpẹ́ Ṣólànà became Dúpẹ́ Olúlànà.
One of the challenges of our work in defining names in the Yorùbá Dictionary of Names is in knowing when the name refers to a Christian root or the original, more traditional one. The process of discovery is half of the fun.
What does your name mean?
This is a brilliant article.
My 4 year old son’s middle name is Dideolu (the arrival of a star/prominent one). When he was born, his mother who is not Yoruba speaking saw the hair on his head form a shape in the middle of his head that looked like a star. She made it mean that her son, my son would be a star and wanted a Yoruba name that signified that. Therefore…Dideolu.
Our daughter’s middle name is Bólúwatifẹ́ (As the Lord wills), mainly because we wanted a boy, but got a girl. We come from a Christian background, but my wife has also used Olórí as a title for me in the past, which I presume breaks down into olú orí. The first Yoruba lady from a Christian church to translate my name into Yoruba called me Olúwaṣẹ́gun (Victor is my name), which I thought was interesting to include the entire Olúwa in a person’s name. I noticed that others have shortened my Yoruba name to Olúṣẹ́gun, perhaps thinking along similar lines, and that does make more sense since I don’t consider myself a god or anything.
Lovely article, the Yorùbá Dictionary of Personal Names, actually also translates it as Father; head of family (olórí ebí).
Seriously, this gave me a relief sort off, it was just as if i just won a battle. For years now, i have been involved in series of argument with folks around on OLU. My name is OLUWASEGUN, and i do lay emphasis on it, infact, anyone that mistakenly call me OLUSEGUN, i waste no time to correct them immediately but they will still tell you that… ‘ it means the same thing now’.
Good work bro.
Oluwa a ma fun yin se ni ona gbogbo ti e ba ntan.