By Johnson Babalola
The music of Wale Glorious, the late Akure-born juju musician of the late 60s and early 70s, remains one of my all-time favorites. His velvet voice and powerful storytelling place him—alongside the likes of Suberu Oni, Kayode Fashola, Dele Ojo, Orlando Owoh and others—in my personal top 10. Nigeria is blessed with brilliant storytellers, and this gift has propelled our music and film industries to global acclaim.
A few days ago, I found myself on a long drive, indulging in a playlist of classic Yoruba musicians, and eventually Wale Glorious. But something struck me deeply this time. As I listened more intently, I noticed a recurring theme in their songs: the glorification of childbearing and, more troubling, the subtle or overt denigration of those without children.
Some of the tracks by these respected classic musicians, including one of Wale’s, especially made me pause. They sang, without hesitation, that anyone without a child has lived a worthless life. Though I had heard these songs many times before, this time they made me shudder. I wondered—what would it feel like for someone who is childless, by choice or by circumstance, to sit at a party and listen to such lyrics blaring from loudspeakers while others dance and cheer? What emotions would rise up in their hearts? Do we ever stop to think about the people around us when we sing, speak, or preach?
As if the music wasn’t jarring enough, my day took a heavier turn. Not long after I arrived at the office, a Nigerian client came in for a consultation. I asked how she was settling into her new neighborhood with her children. She smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. A tear escaped and rolled down her cheek.
“Sir,” she began, “I came to this country with two young children after losing my husband in a ghastly car accident. Because of levirate marriage, which I refused, I had to leave everything behind.” I nodded in empathy.
She went on: “I joined a Nigerian church near my home, thinking it would be a place of comfort and belonging. But I left last week.” I handed her a tissue as she shared what happened.
“My first painful experience came during Mother’s Day. The pastor called for all married mothers to step forward for a special prayer. I froze in my seat, unsure of where I belonged. Others asked if I was okay. I lied and said yes—but I wasn’t.”
“Did you speak to the pastor afterward?” I asked.
“No, sir. I was raised not to question pastors,” she said softly. “So I stayed, carrying the weight of that shame.”
But that wasn’t the end.
“During Father’s Day, the pastor preached about the importance of having a father and a husband. Then, in the middle of his sermon, he said: ‘A badly behaved husband is better than a dead one.’”
I was stunned. “He really said that?” I asked, trying to process the cruelty of such a statement.
“Yes, he did. My heart sank. My husband was a good man. His death wasn’t his fault. Or mine. But to hear a man of God say that… it crushed me. That was my last day in that church.”
We spoke for a while. I encouraged her to seek professional counseling to help heal the wounds caused not just by loss, but by the callousness of those who should have offered care and understanding.
A Final Word
This experience reminded me how deeply our culture and religion shape our words, actions, and values—but it also reminded me how critical sensitivity is in all things. Especially for those in leadership—pastors, imams, teachers, employers, politicians, parents, artists, public speakers, influencers—words carry weight. They can uplift, or they can crush. They can build, or they can break.
Let us all—regardless of our status or beliefs—practice empathy. Let us recognize that not everyone has the same life story or blessings. Some long for what others take for granted. Some are grieving, silently. Others are barely holding it together.
Let us sing, speak, and lead with compassion, humility, and the constant awareness that in any crowd, someone is hurting.
Words matter. Choose them with care.
Johnson Babalola, a Canada based lawyer, leadership consultant and corporate emcee, is a public affairs analyst. He is the Founder of JB Law & Life Compass (JBLLC), a mentorship platform for young lawyers, law students and young professionals (@jblifecompass). 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
You can obtain a copy of his book, REJECTED on Amazon, FriesenPress, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Google Play, Apple Books, Nook Store etc.
