In brief
In Kenya, especially among the Kikuyu, a growing number of men are choosing their mothers’ first names as surnames, a shift that ignites lively debate. Historically, Kenyan children took their fathers’ first names as surnames, but changing family structures and a push for gender equality have opened the door to honoring maternal lineage. While some praise the move as a symbol of women’s rising influence, others criticize it as undermining masculinity or destabilising inheritance practices. Politicians, musicians and academics now negotiate this new naming landscape, each offering different perspectives on identity, legacy and societal change. The trend reflects broader transitions in authority, gender roles and cultural continuity in Kenya’s evolving social fabric.
In Kenya’s predominantly patriarchal society, the surname a child carries has traditionally been the father’s first name, cementing a male line of identity. Yet a noticeable shift is underway: more male Kenyans, especially within the Kikuyu community, are choosing their mothers’ first names as formal surnames.
The practice, once reserved for informal use during childhood or in polygamous households where many children shared a common paternal name, is now legally recognised as an official surname. For some, such as MP John Njũna Wanjikũ, it is an honourous nod to the maternal figure who raised them and ensures their legacy reflects the family they belong to. Others, like the celebrated musician Peter Kĩgia, proudly adopt their mothers’ name as a stage identity, writing his record company as Wa Esther Productions and stating that the name “means you love and respect your mother.”
The trend has a tangible cultural footprint. A recent surge in music posters in Nairobi features performers with their mothers’ surnames—Waithaka wa Jane, 90K Ka Msoh—highlighting a youth generation rewiring its identity symbols. Yet not all steps forward have been welcomed. A blog comments “womenising the Kikuyu man” and describes the practice as a “yoke around men’s necks.” Critics argue that adopting a female surname may weaken masculine authority and risk disputes over inheritance, a point echoed by a Kikuyu cultural expert who notes that traditionally, male relatives might deny children a maternal surname to avoid property claims.
Kimberly, a leading historian, points to the mythological roots: the Kikuyu people trace their lineage to the ten daughters of the founding couple Gikũyũ and Mũmbi. She argues that honouring female names aligns with that heritage and celebrates women’s strengths, especially amid modern realities where fathers sometimes disengage. Academic George Gathigi observes that as women increasingly take on roles once reserved for men, a shift in naming reflects broader societal changes—he declares it a “bad thing that it is being normalised.”
Beyond cultural arguments, the issue is personal: journalists and broadcasters report the emotional turmoil surrounding a female surname. One TV host recounted the humiliation of being addressed with a woman’s name in school circles, a crisis that drove him to abandon the maternal surname altogether. He reflects that the identity struggle can translate into depression and a feeling of being “undisciplined.”
Responses are not wholly negative. Some men proudly adopt their mother’s names, seeing it as a way to defy expectations and prove resilience. They argue that successful public achievements with a maternal surname could inspire others and redefine how society perceives masculine identities in Kenya.
