By Johnson Babalola
I have shared my law school experience in Nigeria with many friends. Like many others, I could write countless stories about the different pockets of experiences I had during that one-year academic journey. Today, I will recount one of those moments.
As part of the requirements to be called to the Nigerian Bar, we had to get certain forms signed by a sitting judge. I don’t recall the exact details or rationale behind this requirement, but it was non-negotiable. Once we received the forms, conversations among classmates shifted to identifying which judge to approach. Some of my classmates proudly mentioned judges they could access easily:
“Justice DG will be visiting our home this weekend; my dad will hand him the forms,” one of them said confidently.
For those of us without such connections, the challenge was more daunting. We relied on recommendations to identify approachable judges, as some had the reputation of being dismissive. Back then, judges were highly revered. They were true “lords,” and the aura of their office was palpable.
On one particular day, I joined a group of classmates to visit a judge, Justice KT. One of us claimed he was a family friend and could facilitate the meeting. We arrived at his office, where we waited for hours before being attended to. When Justice KT finally saw us, he prioritized the forms of those whose parents he knew. Then it was my turn.
When I entered his chambers, I was in awe, just like the others. His first question to me was, *“Who is your father?”* I answered that my father was late and mentioned his name. He followed up by asking where I was from. I told him about Ijare, my beautiful hometown.
He responded that he didn’t know my father but called on the classmate who had brought us to verify my character. My classmate vouched for me, and the judge proceeded to sign my documents.
As I left the office, I couldn’t help but reflect on the experience. How many Nigerians, I wondered, have missed opportunities because of the circumstances of their birth? The truth is that most Nigerians don’t come from prominent or well-connected families. Yet, this doesn’t diminish the importance of their parents. For many, regardless of their socioeconomic standing, their parents are their heroes—supportive, loving, and deserving of honor and respect.
Years later, I was reminded of this moment when my son recounted an encounter he had at the Nigerian High Commission in Ottawa. Someone approached him and asked if he was Johnson Babalola’s son. When he confirmed, the man gave him money, saying, *“Your father is a good man.”*
That moment underscored an important lesson: while some of my law school classmates leveraged their prominent family names and rightly so, many of us without such privilege worked hard to make our names prominent. Over time, most of us succeeded (not all, because for one reason or the other, some with prominent names drove the names into obscurity while others without prominent names could not rise above that), with the lines of initial privilege blurring. Many of those born into privilege enhanced their family names, while others created good names for themselves through hard work, focus, and integrity.
Today, I tell my Mentees the same thing: *Do not let the circumstances of your birth define your future.* If your parents’ names bring you pride, honor them with your actions. If they don’t, work diligently to build a name for yourself—a name your children will one day carry with pride. Let your legacy be one that inspires others to say, *“Who is your father or mother? They must have been remarkable.”*
*Johnson Babalola, a Canada based lawyer, leadership consultant and corporate emcee, is a public affairs analyst. Follow him for discussions on real life issues that affect us all:* https://substack.com/@johnsonbabalola https://medium.com/@jblawyer2021 https jbdlaw Website: www.johnsonbabalola://www.facebook.com/jbandthings
IG: @jbdlaw/@jbandthings
