Know Their Name; Know Their Story
- Dr. Tom Wagner
- Sep 7
- 7 min read
Updated: Sep 15
Across continents and cultures, the same truth remains: to know someone is to change how you see the world. Read on for a reflection on listening, courage, and the art of being known.
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An Invitation From Dr. Tom
Just so you know, the article for this week will pick up after this little invite. On Sunday afternoon, September 21, we’ll be holding another Sunday Morning Café gathering. The theme this time? “Courageous Conversations.” The article that appears below, in its own way, surfaces that theme. Time and again, on our trip in Africa, I discovered a kind of courage in people’s non-pretentious, open-hearted sharing of themselves. At our gathering in two weeks, we’ll hold a space for those kinds of conversations.
We’ll gather for brunch at Parker's Table’s “Oakland Room,” in Saint Louis, at around 12:15. Virtual ticket holders can join in for a seminar at 12:30, when singer/songwriter, Lynn O’Brien, will get us started. My 29-year-old daughter and I hope to model Sunday Morning Café’s mission to engage in deep and refreshing multi-generational communication. Our job will be to kick-start the topic. I hope you can join us from 12:30-2:30 pm, Sunday, September 21. If you’re thinking of coming, don’t wait to buy your tickets. It looks like we’ll sell out again. If your plans suddenly change, you can always gift your tickets to someone who would love to join.
Know Their Name; Know Their Story
As you may have heard, Lisa and I have just returned home from Africa. Over a two-week span, we visited South Africa, Botswana, and Zimbabwe. Thanks to some excellent advice, I approached this trip as if it were a pilgrimage rather than just a vacation. Like all pilgrimages, this multi-layered experience is going to take a while to unpack. Last week, I took my first pass at it in the pages of this article. This week, I find myself going back again to savor Africa’s most precious resource: her people.
What’s In a Name?
As I met my first Africans, I was reminded of a skill that my wife honed in her last job. For about ten years, Lisa served as an Associate Dean, caring for all the medical school students at Wash. U (St. Louis). She began each school year the same way. Her mission: to “know their names; know their stories.” Each August and September, I’d hear her late at night, carefully pronouncing and memorizing each name as she scrolled through their pictures. Siri would occasionally come to her rescue, untying her tongue when she got it twisted around an unfamiliar dialect. When a school year starts with that kind of commitment, you can only imagine the artistry of the work that will follow during the rest of the year. She loved her students and saw them through four challenging years of med school.
A couple of weeks ago, I thought of those nights of memorization each and every time I met an African. I learned that, despite their tribe, or clan, each of their names contains a story—often an intimate story. To use a baseball metaphor, when every introduction involves a name that tells a story, then every relationship begins on third base. Here are some examples.
Linda
In his native tongue (that’s right, this is a man’s name), “Linda,” is a word that means “patience.” With a little nudge, the bearer of that name told me, “My mother and father lost both of my sisters at childbirth.” Stunned at the weight of such a suffering, I tried to offer my sympathy. He swatted that away as if my words were nothing more than a temporary swarm of gnats. “Patience was required to continue trying for a child.” “That’s why I am, ‘Linda.’ I came from patience.” When a relationship starts with this kind of vulnerability and openness, a tone is set for cutting through the usual BS of posing and prevaricating. I spent an afternoon bicycling with our tour guide, Linda, through South Africa’s Napa Valley (“Franschhoek”). I learned that he and his parents are raising his little girl, Niccileta. Like so many Americans, Niccileta’s mom suffers from debilitating addictions, subverting her ability to raise a girl or espouse a husband. Over and over again, I met people like him…young people with a dream. Africa, the birthplace of our species, is currently the youngest continent on the planet. Just like the main character from Hamilton, Linda is “young, scrappy and hungry,” and he’s not about to “throw away [his] shot.” His dream is to open up his own bicycle touring company. If he were a stock, I’d be buying more of him.
Kemofilwe (pronounced: “chemo-fee’-way)
Kemofilwe served as our guide and tracker on safari in the river delta of Botswana. In his native tongue, Khoi San, his name means, “Just because I am quiet, doesn’t mean that I agree with you.” If his name were a suit of clothes, that suit would fit him like a hand in a glove. He carries himself with a quiet, knowing dignity. His intelligent eyes study faces and behavior just like they study the bush for signs of camouflaged wild animals. All of that quiet concentration conceals a playfulness and wit that flash out of him like a whole flock of colorful, Malachite Kingfishers. I caught a glimpse of his serious side during our orientation to the bush. He spoke very slowly in that African way of rolling each “r,” as if the word contained a piece of candy he was savoring on the tip of his tongue. Some people emphasize important points by raising their voices. He gets real quiet when he’s serious, in a way that makes you lean in. After each concise point, he’d stop and study our faces with an intensity and silence that was, frankly, unsettling. My efforts to break the quiet with playful banter fell to the floor of the jeep like the thud of a sad baseball. Later I learned why. My survival depended on following his directions. So did his. While out in an open-air jeep, he would drive us within feet of lion prides, or elephant herds, or a hyena’s dens. Failure to follow directions could result in sudden catastrophe for everybody!
I learned that our guide, like so many I met on this trip, relies on an extended family, as well as his wife, to raise their daughter, Laylee, in his absence. In that remote place where we stayed, employees live far from their relatives for three-month shifts, followed by a month off to rejoin them. He misses his family, but he’s glad for the work…and he’s good at it. I told him that I’d take his little girl to my daily visits to the 350-year-old prayer tree down by the creek in my neighborhood. He was glad for that. Kemofilwe and I have touched base on “WhatsApp" several times since I’ve been home. Like I said, when a relationship starts on third base, you want to stay with it.
What I Took Home From Africa
I’ve always felt a little disappointed when somebody comes home from an international trip saying, “What I learned was how blessed we are to live here in America.” It’s not that I disagree with that statement. It’s just that you want to hear a little more than just that…like maybe they took away something from another culture that could enrich their lives here at home.
Hanging around people whose names tell a story made me remember something my grandpa told me years ago. He noticed the shift in our culture somewhere around the late 1950s. I’ll call it “the great drift apart.” He described what it was like before that time. On a hot summer’s evening, he and Grandma would sit on the porch cooling off, just like all the neighbors were doing. Next thing you know, someone would meander over and join them. It wasn’t unusual for an impromptu little party to develop over a cold glass of something and a piece of leftover dessert from dinner. Sadly, Grandpa exclaimed, “Air conditioning and television ruined all that.” My grandpa’s generation observed a gradual and then sudden quickening of the pace of life that brought hard-to-believe innovations and conveniences. It also brought a shift away from the casual intimacy that was so much a part of things back then. Story-telling and story-listening were just as common a thing as breathing. It was just how you passed the time. Come to find out, it was also a soul-enriching art form that is harder and harder to come by these days.
In May of 2023, the Surgeon General, Vivek Murthy, MD, warned that loneliness is now a public health crisis. One of the great paradoxes of our time is how our hyper-connectivity has disconnected us. One of the souvenirs I brought home from Africa was the confirmation of a conviction that slowing down to connect is one of the most counter-cultural and fundamental antidotes to the chasms that have formed between us and within us. A “Courageous Conversation” in its most dramatic form involves addressing hard topics with someone. But there is also a kind of quiet courage involved in simply taking the time to know a name and to know a story. Likewise, there is a kind of courage involved in allowing yourself to be known by telling your story in an open, generous way, like Kemofilwe, like Linda. If The Sunday Morning Café Project is known for anything, I hope it is known as a place where people are called to connect more deeply with themselves and others.
Dialogue and Discussion Questions: Longtime SMC readers know that “the Dialogue” section of this article is set aside for a good conversation over a cup of coffee—with a friend, with a group, or just with yourself! As always, feel free to share your reaction or reflection in the “Comments” section below.
My friend, Don, would fit right into the ways of African. Years ago, I learned by observing him as he interacted with wait staff and servers. He’d learn their names and draw out their stories. Do you attempt this form of courage in some way, shape, or form? When you do it, what is your technique? If you don’t do it, would you be willing to experiment with such behavior?
Who do you know who is particularly good at listening to a story and asking good questions that draw out the storyteller? How do they do that?
Who do you know that tells a good story? What makes them a good storyteller?
Have you ever resolved to hang in there with someone who is a miserable storyteller as a way of honoring them despite their skills? What helped you do that?
When was the last time you connected with someone who has a radically different political orientation from yours? Were you able to get deep enough to make contact with your common humanity?
Please share with the SMC community your thoughts and/or reflections in the comments below.
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