Isn’t it strange how words become taboo? We make them up. They can’t really do much harm. But, of course, words have power. They have certainly shaped my life; they shape us all, don’t they?

Which is perhaps why certain expressions, which strongly evoke what they suggest, become weapons in themselves. Some are felt to be intrinsically unkind, and hence disturbing. Others feel violent, shocking or arousing.

One thing all taboo terms have in common: They are more evocative and memorable than the words of everyday use. That may be the only thing they have in common. Because the idea of what is taboo envelopes some truly bizarre choices around the world.

Isn’t it strange how words become taboo? We make them up. They can’t really do much harm. But, of course, words have power. They have certainly shaped my life; they shape us all, don’t they?

Which is perhaps why certain expressions, which strongly evoke what they suggest, become weapons in themselves. Some are felt to be intrinsically unkind, and hence disturbing. Others feel violent, shocking or arousing.

One thing all taboo terms have in common: They are more evocative and memorable than the words of everyday use. That may be the only thing they have in common. Because the idea of what is taboo envelopes some truly bizarre choices around the world.

Speakers of Albanian, for instance, never use the word for “wolf”, because of a superstition that naming a thing out loud will summon it. So instead they say “mbyllizogojen”, which is a contraction of the sentence “May God close his mouth”.

It would appear they also hesitate to disturb the fairies, because in place of this word, they use “shtozovalle”, which means “May God increase their round-dances” (or keep the magical creatures happy in the woods, singing and dancing).

Similarly, in the Sami language of Scandinavia and the Yakut language of Russia, the word for bear is replaced by the term “Our lord” or “Good father”. But the bear, while feared, is also symbolic of great strength. And so Medvedev, literally “honey-eater”, is a fairly common name.

Fear clearly sparks many taboos. But in some cultures, so does grief.

In the Masai language of Kenya and northern Tanzania, the name of a dead child, dead woman or dead warrior is not spoken again. Even if the name is also an everyday word, it is no longer used by the bereaved family. Their pain is so great, and considered so perennial, that alternatives must be found.

In some cultures, speaking one’s name is taboo. The Sakalava of Madagascar believe that knowledge of a name is a gateway to misfortune (including curses, hexes and spells), and so they will not speak their name, or that of their village, to strangers.

Now for a bit of wordplay. Some cultures hinge so heavily on etiquette and courtesy that the act of cursing is taboo, and because of this, it becomes something of an art form.

In Mandarin, for instance, one does not simply call someone stupid, weak or inept. One says they are “wang bah dahn”, or the egg of a soft-shell turtle. Which sounds almost cute, until one learns that in local lore, the male soft-shell turtle was believed to be impotent; most females were said to mate with snakes instead.

Today, it is said of many Chinese politicians that they are “wang bah dahn”.

Interestingly, in English, some of our more benign oaths contain relics of a more-religious past. “Crikey”, for instance, is believed to be an abbreviation of “By Christ’s key” and “Bloody” is said to derive from “By our Lady”!

Meanwhile, in something that is not so much an oath as an anomaly, the words for testes and testament comes from more or less the same place. In Ancient Rome, it was customary for a man, while swearing that he spoke the truth, to grasp his testicles with his right hand. From here, we get our two words.

(Adam Jacot de Boinod is the author of The Meaning of Tingo, and writes the monthly column Capital Letters for HT Wknd)