Living In A Name

What if we have the power and gift to choose our children’s fate and destiny, just by their names?

Image by Annelise Lords

Adisa Lewis was asked to speak at a Community Centre in the South Bronx for at-risk youth.

“Why me?” he asks his sister.

“Well,” she said, “Since the accident five years ago, you are still living in hell. You are the perfect person to tell those young men what it’s like. Then maybe they will choose the better path to heaven. Because brother, all our family’s power, status, and money, and you are still unable to get out of that inferno you live in.”

Adisa struggled with his anger for a few seconds, then capped it as a recurring dream flashed before his eyes, blurring his vision. Pushing it away, he agrees, “You are right. It’s time to share this nightmare.”

At the Community Centre, as he sat in his wheelchair on the stage, staring at the faces of the boys in the audience, he saw hopelessness and fear. His heartbeat rose, and he attempted to turn the wheelchair back; for some reason, his hands refused the command from his brain. As he struggles with his own fear, a voice from a microphone says, “Boys, this is Adisa Lewis, and he is here to talk to you about the importance of choices.”

He cleared his throat, praying silently for strength, then said, “My grandfather used to tell me a story about a young man named Camara, whose name means ‘teacher.’ He wanted to live his life his way, not according to his name and tradition. As the firstborn son, lots of expectations are attached to the wealth he was to inherit.
His grandfather warned him, ‘If you fail to adhere to your name and its meaning, then life will step in and change course and put you on the right path, but at a cost to you. Your sister lived up to the meaning of her name, which means ‘healer.’ She obeyed the rules and is a Medical Doctor.”
Many eyes in the audience popped open. He got their attention.

“Why? Why must I live my life according to a name?” Camara protested when he got the basketball scholarship to his dream college. “It’s my life. I have a right to live it my way!”

One of the young men near the stage admits, “That’s what I told my mom.”
Others in the audience agreed.

“His grandfather reminds him. Not in this family, son. Thanks to the Supreme Mungu, our God of Fate and Destiny, we can choose our children’s fate and destiny just by their name. You have seen what happens to the ones in this family who tried to change their destiny by disobedience.”
More than five dozen pairs of eyes held his attention as they absorbed his words.

Then a voice said, “Wouldn’t that be nice if our parents could really do that?”

“I want choices,” another young man objects. “I am the one who will be living my life, not my parents.”

Adisa pauses for a few seconds, then continues, “I am going to live life my way!” Camara defends walking out of his grandparent’s house and into his car parked in the driveway. That was the last time he had the use of his two feet. The accident left him a cripple. Sitting in a wheelchair for five years was a nightmare that was worse than hell. Heaven wasn't within reach, no matter which direction he flipped the coin. Losing the use of his legs was the price he paid for his disobedience. Now as a cripple, his dream to play basketball professionally was dead.

One of the doors that were opened to him was the one that the meaning of his name was demanding. Everyone in his family knew why he was in a wheelchair, and some of them made sure he didn’t forget it.”

A voice in the audience challenges, “You mean my mom could have given me a name that means bank manager, and I would become one?”

Another voice inquires, “My name means worker of miracles. Does that mean I can perform miracles?”

Adisa felt a surge of power rushes through him. He inhaled and exhaled as the voice pulled his recurring dream back in front of him. He fought the fear and said, “Sometimes our character and destiny are tied to the meaning of our names.”

“So that means our names can speak to us,” the same voice questions.

Adisa turns toward that familiar voice, hoping to see his face. However, a bright light that only he can see prevents him from getting a better view. His eyes sweep through the audience, and then a voice inside him urges, ‘Go on.’
His tongue obeys, “Yes, our names can speak to us spiritually. Camara enjoys his family’s wealth, power, prestige, and all the perks that it attracts. But he wanted to live his life his way. That’s not how it was already mapped out for him. Rich or poor, none of us get that privilege without a cost. Sometimes what we want for ourselves isn’t necessarily right for us.”

The same familiar voice pushes, “But how will we know what is right for us if our choices are taken away?

“Wealth and power provide more choices; poverty doesn’t, so the poor use their instincts.”

“What did you use?”

“Determination,” Adisa said in regret. “Thanks to my family’s wealth, I had a lot of choices, but Fate, Destiny, and the meaning of my name took all of them away. Some life decisions are very difficult, even when you are wealthy.”

“What happened to Camara? The same familiar voice quests.

“You are looking at him!” Adisa alerts.

Suddenly, the bright light expanded, covering everywhere, and Adisa woke up behind the wheel of his car, which was shooting more than eighty miles over the speed limit. The same familiar voice calls out, “You can do both.”
Adisa slows down and stops, his left front wheel hanging over the edge of a cliff. He closes his eyes, tears rolling down, then says, “Yes, I can do both!”

Sometimes, we must lose ourselves to find ourselves, and the lessons learned during our pain of loss will increase wisdom, giving us the power to make the right choices.

Thank you for reading this piece. I hope you enjoyed it.