When Mama Ida Odinga stood before mourners during Raila Odinga’s burial to talk about how they named their children, her words carried both grief and pride.
The moment reminded a nation that names are not just words. They are stories, whispered hopes, living prayers.
For the Odingas, naming each of their four children – Fidel, Rosemary, Raila Junior, and Winnie – was a spiritual act. Each name, she said, was chosen with care and meaning, capturing the family’s journey through love, struggle, faith, and history.
In that one reflection, Ida rekindled a timeless question for parents everywhere: What is really in a name?
In many homes, the naming of a child is a moment of deep emotion. Some call it the baby’s first inheritance. Others call it a welcome to belonging.
“For generations, our people have named children after grandparents, seasons, and circumstances of birth, weaving the past into the future,” says Francis Njoroge, a linguist and culture expert.
A baby born on the road, he says, might be called Njoki, Baraka, or Safari, while a child who arrived after long waiting may be Tumaini, Neema or Achieng, the one born when the sun finally came out.
“In our culture,” says 72-year-old grandmother Beatrice Naliaka from Bungoma, “you don’t just pick a name. You consult. You remember. You choose with reverence.”
Beatrice named her first grandson Wekesa, after her late father, to “keep his memory walking among us.” That is what names once did. They held people’s souls in living bodies, she says.
However, says Njoroge, today’s naming can also be a source of friction, especially where faith traditions meet cultural roots.
“A few months ago, I witnessed a scene in a local church that left many unsettled. A young couple, eager to baptise their first child, had chosen a traditional name to honour their late grandfather, but their pastor refused to proceed.
“That name,” he said firmly, “is tied to ancestral spirits. You cannot place a curse on a child through a name.”
The mother wept quietly. The father argued, insisting that a name cannot carry evil if spoken in love. The service paused. The congregation shifted uncomfortably. It was a moment that exposed a tension many modern families know too well – the pull between heritage and holiness.
Francis explains that countless parents face this dilemma. Some are urged to add “Christian names” at baptism – Paul, Mary, Peter, while others are reclaiming indigenous names once deemed “unfit” by missionaries.
“I wanted my children’s names to reflect both worlds,” says Ruth Oduor, a mother of three. “So, I gave them double names – one that honours our Luo roots, and one that reflects our faith. That’s how we have Elly Odhiambo, Joy Achieng’, and Grace Atieno.”
For Ruth, this was her way of giving her children both belonging and blessing.
The modern twist: Naming in the age of trends
Walk through a playground in Nairobi today, and you will hear a delightful mix of names: Zari, Jayden, Baraka, Zendaya, Amani, Khaleesi. Parents now draw from films, global icons, Biblical verses, and baby-name apps, proof that Kenya’s naming culture is evolving as fast as our lifestyles.
“My husband wanted to name our daughter after Beyoncé,” laughs Faith Muthoni, a young mother. “We compromised and gave the name Bea, short for Beatrice. My mother still insists it’s not the same thing!”
Lisa Wanjiro, a counsellor and family coach, says the shift reflects more than just creativity. Today’s parent, she says, are thinking about how a name will sound in classrooms, workplaces, and even passports abroad.
“Many want names that travel well, that don’t carry too much cultural baggage in global spaces,” she says.
But others worry this modern wave is erasing something sacred. “When I hear a child called Mason or Summer in my village, I feel lost,” says elder Patrick Mbiuki from Chuka. “Our names used to tell where you came from. Now they tell what you watched on Netflix.”
Do names shape who we become?
Psychologists believe they do. “A name is a child’s first mirror,” explains family therapist Caroline Wairimu. “It reflects how their parents see them, and that reflection shapes confidence and belonging.”
She adds that when a name carries conflict, say, one parent wanted a traditional name while the other pushed for a modern one, children often internalise that tension subconsciously.
“They grow up knowing they were a compromise, and this affects identity.”
Caroline encourages parents to name with unity, peace, and purpose, “because children feel it, even before they understand it.”
She says perhaps Ida Odinga’s words struck such a chord because they echoed a truth every parent knows but rarely says aloud.
Names, she explains, live longer than we do.
“In her reflection, Ida reminded us that Fidel (Latin for faith) continues to speak even in silence. That Rosemary, after a plant symbolising remembrance and healing, still blossoms. That Winnie carries the fire of resilience, and Raila Junior keeps a father’s legacy walking forward,” say the therapist.
She explains that through her story, we see how names hold history, but also hope, as they are both anchor and sail, tying us to where we came from, yet pushing us toward who we might become.
Somewhere between old traditions, new identities, and faith debates, every parent still faces that same sacred question: When the moment comes and a nurse, elder, or pastor asks, “What shall we call this child?” What story will your answer tell?