Surviving outside the system for centuries, despite slavery and genocide, shaped every aspect of Romani life — including the Romani nicknames people call one another. In many communities, these nicknames can be more important than the official name. In the yard, on the street, in the house, the name you answer to isn’t written on paper. It comes from what you do, how you move, what people see in you. That name follows you.

Romani nicknames are often very traditional, sometimes less so, and sometimes completely made up. A small boy may become Baro (“Big”), Tikno (“Small”), Zoralo (“Strong, Brave”), or, like me, Levo (“Lion” in Romani). Someone who never sits still turns into Beng (“Devil”). A girl may be Štari (“Star”). Some names have no meaning at all. Some bend and mix, borrowed from different Romani dialects — playful, ironic, serious. Some carry health, protection, or luck to keep a child safe. They stick. Years. Sometimes a lifetime.

Nicknames exist in many indigenous cultures, but among Romani people, they appear everywhere. History made them necessary. Moving from town to town, hiding, surviving outside the system, talking about someone with nicknames that outsiders cannot trace back to the person, marking who belongs and who does not — the nickname becomes part of life. Plain, practical, alive. Not for outsiders.

Some families pick strong, flashy, unforgettable first names, not only nicknames — names with fire, names that carry pride and presence. I once met Elvis Stojka and Rambo Horvath along the Slovak–Hungarian border — names that cracked me in half in a good way, and I will remember them forever.

Some Romani nicknames carry history and fame. Django Reinhardt, the Romani jazz musician, had a name that means “I awake” in Romani. Johann “Rukeli” Trollmann, the boxer murdered during Porajmos, received his nickname from ruk, meaning “tree,” for his tall, slim, straight frame. Names carry memory, body, and story. They travel across generations.

Romani nicknames move with the many different Romani dialects and the languages of the regions where the Roma live. Romani communities mix their language with Serbian, Hungarian, Romanian, Slovak, Italian, Greek, even English — whatever is near, whatever is around, whatever suits the Romani nickname. A name might come from a song, a film, a football player, a family story. It does not matter where it comes from. What matters is that it fits. That it belongs. Like a tattoo, a mark for life you carry and love. Sometimes a nickname stays for life. Sometimes it changes.

For centuries, the Roma lived under pressure — discrimination, forced registration, police surveillance, harassment, and restrictive laws. The public name appears on paper, used by the outside world, but the family name stays at home. It preserves memory. It keeps the family visible to itself.

This tradition dissolves quickly when families follow habits of assimilation. As communities spread and young people leave home, nicknames vanish. The names, the stories — like many other aspects of Romani culture — can disappear in a few generations.

Nicknames, strong first names, historical names — they move with people. They carry pride, humor, strength, and memory. They tie families across generations. To know a Romani community, you listen to the names spoken, remembered, lived. Not the ones on paper.