The Grammar of titles and naming (II)
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- Category: Notes from Atlanta
- Written by Farooq Kperogi
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Our “big” men and women have adopted the habit of taking on Western titles whose histories and sociological content they seem to have not a scintilla of awareness of.
The most abused Western titles in Nigeria are “Sir” and “Dame.” In British culture, a “Sir” is a man who is honored by the Queen or King of England for chivalry or other personal merit. A “Dame” is the female equivalent of a “Sir.” But there is a certain famous “Dame” we all know in Nigeria who is only just now learning to shed her Okrika rusticity, who murders the English language with a ferocious glee, and who couldn’t possibly have been knighted by the Queen of England. But she swanks her “Dameness” nonetheless.Other popular British titles are “Lord,” “Lady,” and “the Hon.” (short for Honorable). Lord and Lady are used with the first name for the sons and daughters of dukes and marquesses: e.g. Lord John; Lady Elizabeth. But they are used with the last name elsewhere. Similarly, “the Hon.” is used with the first name for the children of viscounts, barons, and life peers and peeresses, and for the younger sons of earls. E.g. The Hon. William Adams. In Nigeria, however, “the Hon.” title has been hijacked by vain politicians and is now prefixed to the names of members of the Federal House of Representatives, ministers, commissioners, chairmen of local governments, and councilors of wards. Not to be outdone, members of the Nigerian Senate have invented a hitherto non-existent title that they call “Distinguished Senator.” These days, people just call them “Distinguished,” as if the word “distinguished” were a noun!
I find it curious that our attitude to Western titles is as influenced by our own local traditions as our local traditions are influenced by our understanding of Western titles. In the north, for instance, “Alhaji” and “Malam” are always prefixed to people’s first names alone—or with their first and last names combined but never with their last names alone, unlike in the West where titles are prefixed to the last names of adults. Same with “Chief” and such other titles in the South.
However, our journalists now habitually mix and confuse the Western naming convention with the Nigerian naming practice, so that it is usual to see a “Musa Labo” addressed as “Alhaji Labo” on second reference in news reports. But it is “Musa” who went to Mecca and earned the title of “Alhaji” for himself, not his dad or granddad, “Labo,” who is probably an “Alhaji” himself. Same applies to the title Chief and its many local variants in southern Nigeria.
Politics and conventions of address
In the West, how people are addressed—i.e., whether or not titles are prefixed to their names—is often indicative of levels of familiarity and social distance or intimacy. Calling people by their first names without titles usually indicates that you are on very familiar, friendly terms with them. And calling them by their titles and full names or titles and last names indicates social distance, the kind of social distance that exists, say, between teachers and students or between total strangers on opposite ends of the social scale.
On other occasions, addressing people with their title and last name (such as Mr. Smith) when you are their social equal or their social superior can indicate cold detachment, even hostility. And calling people by their first name when they are older than you, are your social superiors, are not sufficiently known to you, or have not explicitly permitted you to do so is considered rude.
But this is not the case in Nigeria. Very close friends write letters to each other and sign off as “Mr. Somebody” or “Dr. Somebody Someone,” or “Professor Big man.” In the West, signing off a letter with your title and last name to a friend would indicate hostility, arrogance, or social awkwardness. That’s the basis of the Western expression “we are on first-name terms.”
There are exceptions to this convention in America, though. In the American south, for instance, it is customary for children to prefix “Mr.,” “Mrs.,” “Miss” or “Ms.” to people’s first names to indicate both familiarity and respect: the mention of the first name indicates familiarity and warmth, while the affixation of the title indicates courtesy and respect. This is now becoming a national tradition that even adults use jocularly. This practice has been around in Nigeria, for a different reason, for as long as I’ve been alive.
Finally, in the West, it is considered bad form to introduce yourself to people with your titles. For instance, it is socially awkward or pompous to introduce yourself to a new person by saying, “I’m Professor John Danfulani.” But this is common practice in Nigeria.
A related phenomenon is “false titles,” that is, creating titles out of professional callings. Nigerian lawyers prefix the title “Barrister” to their names. Architects prefix “Arch.” to their names. Pharmacists prefix “Pharm.” to theirs. Which profession have I left out? Many, I know. Nigerian journalists seem to be the only people left out in this false title craze. But “Journ” would be a nice title for journalists!
But, seriously, in the West, only medical doctors, Ph.Ds, and (serving) ambassadors prefix professional titles to their names. Every other person contends with Mr., Mrs., Miss, or Ms. In Britain, the range of titles is, of course, wider because the Queen knights people for personal merit. In Europe, except Britain, it is usual for university teacher who have a Ph.D. and attainted the rank of Professor to refer to themselves as “Professor Dr.” This sounds utterly clumsy and superfluous to Britons and Americans—and Nigerians.
It is noteworthy that what grammarians call “false titles” didn’t start with Nigerians. It was actually started by Time magazine and is now the stuff of journalese (i.e., English distinctive to journalistic writing). In native English societies, false titles are defined as prefixing the name of a professional activity to the name of a person, e.g. “footballer Nwankwo Kanu has retired from the national team.”
False titles are useful for journalists because they save space. But all journalistic writing conventions in Britain and America say false titles should not be capitalized (e.g. Footballer Nkwankwo Kanu) since they’re not “real” titles. They should also not be separated by a comma (e.g., it’s wrong to write, “famous footballer, Nwanko Kanu”) from the name they precede. But this is precisely what Nigerians have perfected: false titles are not only capitalized, they have been mainstreamed as “real” titles.
All this wouldn’t matter if we only related to each other in Nigeria. But the reality of globalization has forced us to relate with people in other parts of the world more frequently than we did in the past. I know that many Westerners are often confused by our naming conventions, especially because they are often a poor imitation of their ways. So it helps to know that there is grammatical logic to naming and titles.
Articles
The Grammar of titles and naming (II)
Category: Notes from Atlanta Written by Farooq Kperogi Hits: 2357
Our “big” men and women have adopted the habit of taking on Western titles whose histories and sociological content they seem to have not a scintilla of awareness of.
The most abused Western titles in Nigeria are “Sir” and “Dame.” In British culture, a “Sir” is a man who is honored by the Queen or King of England for chivalry or other personal merit. A “Dame” is the female equivalent of a “Sir.” But there is a certain famous “Dame” we all know in Nigeria who is only just now learning to shed her Okrika rusticity, who murders the English language with a ferocious glee, and who couldn’t possibly have been knighted by the Queen of England. But she swanks her “Dameness” nonetheless.Other popular British titles are “Lord,” “Lady,” and “the Hon.” (short for Honorable). Lord and Lady are used with the first name for the sons and daughters of dukes and marquesses: e.g. Lord John; Lady Elizabeth. But they are used with the last name elsewhere. Similarly, “the Hon.” is used with the first name for the children of viscounts, barons, and life peers and peeresses, and for the younger sons of earls. E.g. The Hon. William Adams. In Nigeria, however, “the Hon.” title has been hijacked by vain politicians and is now prefixed to the names of members of the Federal House of Representatives, ministers, commissioners, chairmen of local governments, and councilors of wards. Not to be outdone, members of the Nigerian Senate have invented a hitherto non-existent title that they call “Distinguished Senator.” These days, people just call them “Distinguished,” as if the word “distinguished” were a noun!
I find it curious that our attitude to Western titles is as influenced by our own local traditions as our local traditions are influenced by our understanding of Western titles. In the north, for instance, “Alhaji” and “Malam” are always prefixed to people’s first names alone—or with their first and last names combined but never with their last names alone, unlike in the West where titles are prefixed to the last names of adults. Same with “Chief” and such other titles in the South.
However, our journalists now habitually mix and confuse the Western naming convention with the Nigerian naming practice, so that it is usual to see a “Musa Labo” addressed as “Alhaji Labo” on second reference in news reports. But it is “Musa” who went to Mecca and earned the title of “Alhaji” for himself, not his dad or granddad, “Labo,” who is probably an “Alhaji” himself. Same applies to the title Chief and its many local variants in southern Nigeria.
Politics and conventions of address
In the West, how people are addressed—i.e., whether or not titles are prefixed to their names—is often indicative of levels of familiarity and social distance or intimacy. Calling people by their first names without titles usually indicates that you are on very familiar, friendly terms with them. And calling them by their titles and full names or titles and last names indicates social distance, the kind of social distance that exists, say, between teachers and students or between total strangers on opposite ends of the social scale.
On other occasions, addressing people with their title and last name (such as Mr. Smith) when you are their social equal or their social superior can indicate cold detachment, even hostility. And calling people by their first name when they are older than you, are your social superiors, are not sufficiently known to you, or have not explicitly permitted you to do so is considered rude.
But this is not the case in Nigeria. Very close friends write letters to each other and sign off as “Mr. Somebody” or “Dr. Somebody Someone,” or “Professor Big man.” In the West, signing off a letter with your title and last name to a friend would indicate hostility, arrogance, or social awkwardness. That’s the basis of the Western expression “we are on first-name terms.”
There are exceptions to this convention in America, though. In the American south, for instance, it is customary for children to prefix “Mr.,” “Mrs.,” “Miss” or “Ms.” to people’s first names to indicate both familiarity and respect: the mention of the first name indicates familiarity and warmth, while the affixation of the title indicates courtesy and respect. This is now becoming a national tradition that even adults use jocularly. This practice has been around in Nigeria, for a different reason, for as long as I’ve been alive.
Finally, in the West, it is considered bad form to introduce yourself to people with your titles. For instance, it is socially awkward or pompous to introduce yourself to a new person by saying, “I’m Professor John Danfulani.” But this is common practice in Nigeria.
A related phenomenon is “false titles,” that is, creating titles out of professional callings. Nigerian lawyers prefix the title “Barrister” to their names. Architects prefix “Arch.” to their names. Pharmacists prefix “Pharm.” to theirs. Which profession have I left out? Many, I know. Nigerian journalists seem to be the only people left out in this false title craze. But “Journ” would be a nice title for journalists!
But, seriously, in the West, only medical doctors, Ph.Ds, and (serving) ambassadors prefix professional titles to their names. Every other person contends with Mr., Mrs., Miss, or Ms. In Britain, the range of titles is, of course, wider because the Queen knights people for personal merit. In Europe, except Britain, it is usual for university teacher who have a Ph.D. and attainted the rank of Professor to refer to themselves as “Professor Dr.” This sounds utterly clumsy and superfluous to Britons and Americans—and Nigerians.
It is noteworthy that what grammarians call “false titles” didn’t start with Nigerians. It was actually started by Time magazine and is now the stuff of journalese (i.e., English distinctive to journalistic writing). In native English societies, false titles are defined as prefixing the name of a professional activity to the name of a person, e.g. “footballer Nwankwo Kanu has retired from the national team.”
False titles are useful for journalists because they save space. But all journalistic writing conventions in Britain and America say false titles should not be capitalized (e.g. Footballer Nkwankwo Kanu) since they’re not “real” titles. They should also not be separated by a comma (e.g., it’s wrong to write, “famous footballer, Nwanko Kanu”) from the name they precede. But this is precisely what Nigerians have perfected: false titles are not only capitalized, they have been mainstreamed as “real” titles.
All this wouldn’t matter if we only related to each other in Nigeria. But the reality of globalization has forced us to relate with people in other parts of the world more frequently than we did in the past. I know that many Westerners are often confused by our naming conventions, especially because they are often a poor imitation of their ways. So it helps to know that there is grammatical logic to naming and titles.