<div><main data-testid="main-content" id="main-content"><article><header></header><div data-component="image-block"><figure><p><span><picture><source srcset="https://ichef.bbci.co.uk/news/240/cpsprodpb/9251/production/_131475473_gettyimages-472760800_afp976.jpg.webp 240w, https://ichef.bbci.co.uk/news/320/cpsprodpb/9251/production/_131475473_gettyimages-472760800_afp976.jpg.webp 320w, https://ichef.bbci.co.uk/news/480/cpsprodpb/9251/production/_131475473_gettyimages-472760800_afp976.jpg.webp 480w, https://ichef.bbci.co.uk/news/624/cpsprodpb/9251/production/_131475473_gettyimages-472760800_afp976.jpg.webp 624w, https://ichef.bbci.co.uk/news/800/cpsprodpb/9251/production/_131475473_gettyimages-472760800_afp976.jpg.webp 800w, https://ichef.bbci.co.uk/news/976/cpsprodpb/9251/production/_131475473_gettyimages-472760800_afp976.jpg.webp 976w" type="image/webp"></source><img alt="Graduates in red gowns celebrating at a university in north-eastern Nigeria - 2015" height="549" loading="eager" src="https://ichef.bbci.co.uk/news/976/cpsprodpb/9251/production/_131475473_gettyimages-472760800_afp976.jpg" srcset="https://ichef.bbci.co.uk/news/240/cpsprodpb/9251/production/_131475473_gettyimages-472760800_afp976.jpg 240w, https://ichef.bbci.co.uk/news/320/cpsprodpb/9251/production/_131475473_gettyimages-472760800_afp976.jpg 320w, https://ichef.bbci.co.uk/news/480/cpsprodpb/9251/production/_131475473_gettyimages-472760800_afp976.jpg 480w, https://ichef.bbci.co.uk/news/624/cpsprodpb/9251/production/_131475473_gettyimages-472760800_afp976.jpg 624w, https://ichef.bbci.co.uk/news/800/cpsprodpb/9251/production/_131475473_gettyimages-472760800_afp976.jpg 800w, https://ichef.bbci.co.uk/news/976/cpsprodpb/9251/production/_131475473_gettyimages-472760800_afp976.jpg 976w" width="976"></img></picture></span><span role="text"><span>Image source, </span>AFP</span></p></figure></div><div data-component="byline-block"><div><div><div><p>By Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani</p><p>Letter from Africa series, Abuja</p></div></div></div></div><div data-component="text-block"><p><b>There has been quite a hullaballoo in Nigeria recently over the fact that the three top candidates in February's presidential elections presented academic records showing different names to those by which they are now known.</b></p></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>Allegations of forgery or impersonation have been made and vigorously denied, with various explanations for the discrepancies offered by President Bola Ahmed Tinubu, Atiku Abubakar and Peter Obi - or their spokespersons and supporters.</p></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>The courts of law will probably determine how the most serious of these allegations are eventually resolved, but it has led me to reflect on how a number of Nigerians utilise their many names.</p></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>Most Nigerians have more than one name apart from their surname. Most people I know have as many as five or six.</p></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>In a society where many cultures name a child based on the circumstances of their birth, their position in the family, or the parents' hopes for the child's future, one person can have different names that reflect each of these different considerations.</p></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>For example, a Yoruba child could be named Taiwo Peter Tokunbo Olamide - Taiwo (meaning he is the firstborn of twins), Peter (Christian name), Tokunbo (meaning he was born abroad), and Olamide (my wealth/success has arrived).</p></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>The catalogue of carefully thought-out traditional names with deep meanings usually includes an English one, especially for Christians.</p></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>It can also include names given by grandparents - a privilege that some couples afford their parents after a new child is born.</p></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>I have three names - two Igbo and one Christian.</p></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>I could have added a second Christian name in my teenage years, when I was a member of the Roman Catholic church.</p></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>While taking the sacrament of confirmation (in which you're asked to formally affirm your faith and beliefs), the priest at my boarding school in south-eastern Nigeria asked all confirmands to choose an additional Christian name to mark the occasion.</p></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>However, I still presented "Tricia", which was the same name by which I had received the sacrament of baptism shortly after I was born.</p></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>I just did not feel like having another name.</p></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>Some of my classmates, on the other hand, used the opportunity of their parents' absence at the school to take on funky names that the older generation might never have thought of, such as Madonna.  </p></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>Many Nigerians I know slide between their various names for different reasons or occasions.</p></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>It could be anything from feeling like a fresh start or deciding that they do not like the meaning of what they have previously been called, to finding themselves in a new environment where few people can properly pronounce their more popular name.</p></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>Many are the times I have come across a childhood friend who used to be, say, Ogadimma, but who is now, say, Ego.</p></div><div data-component="image-block"><figure><p><span><span></span></span><span role="text"><span>Image source, </span>AFP</span></p><figcaption><span>Image caption, </span><p>Many Nigerians have different names on different official documents, like identity cards</p></figcaption></figure></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>It becomes even more complicated when you travel to more rural parts of Nigeria.</p></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>In the course of my reporting work in such regions, I have frequently encountered people whose names on their identity card were completely different - surname included - from the name on their bank account. Sometimes they have been different to the name by which they are known in their communities.</p></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>"Madam, this one is my village name while that one is the name that I used to go to school," I was told more than once.</p></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>"The other one is my family name."</p></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>It never seemed to occur to them that having multiple names on different official documents could lead to problems down the line, especially if they suddenly find themselves in a society or system that takes record-keeping more seriously than Nigeria appears to do.</p></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>Many investigative reports have shown how easy it is to walk into a Nigerian government office and receive an official document that states a name, date of birth, or place of origin that may not necessarily be accurate.</p></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>Apathetic civil servants often do not seem to care. And on the occasions when they do, a few naira notes squeezed into a palm can make someone turn a blind eye.  </p></div><div data-component="image-block"><figure><p><span><span></span></span><span role="text"><span>Image source, </span>AFP</span></p><figcaption><span>Image caption, </span><p>The Chibok girls who escaped from Boko Haram were offered scholarships</p></figcaption></figure></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>I encountered this same casual attitude towards names while working with different groups who offered support to the Chibok community after the 2014 kidnapping of 276 girls from their school dormitory in the north-eastern Nigerian town.</p></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>Some charities made lists of the 57 girls who, within hours of their kidnapping, managed to jump out of the trucks being used to ferry them into the Sambisa forest stronghold of the Boko Haram jihadists who had raided the school.</p></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>The groups then offered scholarships in different parts of the world to these escaped girls. </p></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>When some of them chose to not accept the offer, their families simply passed on the opportunity to other siblings or children of close friends who were interested, without bothering to let the charities know about the exchange.</p></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>"There are many girls that have graduated from school in the name of Boko Haram but they were never victims," said Yakubu Nkeki, chairman of the association of missing Chibok girls' parents.</p></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>He explained to me that he did not support the substitutions but was in many cases overridden by his kinsfolk, who often fell out with him when he tried to oppose them.</p></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>"Some of them were not even living in Chibok," he added.</p></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>"Their parents were in Abuja or Port Harcourt or Lagos but they said they were Chibok girls."</p></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>These young women will probably spend the rest of their academic lives under someone else's name - something likely to not be a hardship to those used to adapting to different names in different places.</p></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>Similar exchanges happened when charities offered scholarships to siblings of the missing girls.</p></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>Opponents of President Tinubu are hoping that the ongoing controversy will lead to his election being overturned at the Supreme Court.</p></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>They have gone to great lengths in the traditional and social media to try to prove that the different names on his different certificates show that his academic claims are fraudulent.</p></div><div data-component="text-block"><p>Whatever the eventual political outcome of all this, it might end up also being a lesson for Nigerians all over the world to legally harmonise their multiple and fluid names on all official records. </p></div><div data-component="text-block"><p><i>Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani is a freelance Nigerian journalist and novelist based in Abuja.</i></p></div><p data-component="subheadline-block"><h2 id="More-Letters-from-Africa" tabindex="-1"><span role="text">More Letters from Africa:</span></h2></p><div data-component="text-block"><div><p><i>Follow us on Twitter </i><a href="https://twitter.com/BBCAfrica">@BBCAfrica</a><i>, on Facebook at </i><a href="https://www.facebook.com/BBCnewsAfrica">BBC Africa</a><i> or on Instagram at </i><a href="https://www.instagram.com/bbcafrica/">bbcafrica</a></p></div></div><section data-component="around-the-bbc"><p><h2>Around the BBC</h2></p><ul role="list" spacing="responsive"><li></li></ul></section></article></main></div>