By Babalola Johnson
*@jbdlaw/@jbandthings*
He was my first appointment on the first day of the week. AJ, as I fondly call him, was a former client from several years ago. Though we hadn’t seen each other in about a decade, unlike many, he never lost touch. Every now and then, I’d get a quick message or a call: “Bros, just checking on you.”
In the last month, we’d been speaking more frequently—this time about his best friend, FH, who wanted to visit Canada on an exploratory trip to see if applying for permanent residence as an investor was the right move for him. Apparently, FH is very comfortable in Nigeria and this visit was to “just see.”
AJ and FH arrived right on time for their appointment. After completing the intake process with my assistant, they were ushered into my office. AJ looked almost exactly the same, save for a sprinkle of grey around the edges—it suited him, actually.
“Egbon, you are growing younger!” he said with a grin.
“Aburo, we are still waiting on God to open a reverse-aging prayer line,” I replied with a laugh. AJ is simply one of those people whose positive energy you remember long after.
He introduced FH, who was just as warm and charming. It’s true what they say—birds of a feather really do flock together.
AJ explained that he had intended to formally introduce FH for an eligibility assessment, following our many phone discussions, but that things had suddenly shifted—and he wanted me to talk FH out of changing his mind.
I thanked AJ for the referral but reminded him, gently, that my job wasn’t to convince anyone. FH is a grown man, a successful businessman—I was here to offer professional advice, not persuasion.
Turning to FH, I asked what had changed. As I reviewed his questionnaire, he responded quietly:
“Bros… immigration is no longer for me.”
“Really? What changed?” I asked.
He sighed. “I’ve been here for a week now, just watching. This my friend—except for today—has barely had time to take me out. I see him and his wife shuttle their kids to school in the morning, bring them back in the afternoon. In between, they both work. After work, they’re in the kitchen, cooking. Then they drive one child to music, another to sports, help with homework. All they talk about are bills and taxes. By the time they sit down to rest, they’re both snoring. I just sit at home watching TV or go out on my own. Even the other friends I know here are busy. One of them has carved out time for me this weekend, finally.”
“AJ, your kids are still that young?” I asked, a little surprised. “You had a 10-year-old back then—he should be about 20 now?”
“Yes, Egbon! I’m impressed you remember,” AJ smiled. “He’s 20 now and goes to college from home. But we also have two younger ones.”
“I assume the 20-year-old helps out occasionally?” I asked.
“He has his own life, sir. He’s busy,” AJ said, with a soft shrug.
Then FH jumped in:
“GP—his son is a good guy, no doubt. I see him go out with friends, come home and ask his mom for food. Without question, she makes it. If she’s not around, AJ makes it. When he passes by and sees his dad cooking, cleaning, or ironing, all he says is—‘Hi Dad!’”
He paused and shook his head.
“Na wah for abroad children o. I’m not cut out for that life. Not at this stage. I’ll stay in my lane in Nigeria.”
Trying to shift gears, I said: “Let’s not get into AJ’s household issues. Let’s focus on you.”
“But that’s the issue for me,” FH insisted. “My culture is different. Back home, I have all the help I need. My wife and I spend time with friends, visit family. Egbon, we live.” His voice carried both humour and conviction.
AJ responded:
“Egbon, he’s forgotten this is our culture here—we work hard to support our family. We are close to our family.”
FH didn’t miss a beat:
“And we back home are not? Owambe every weekend with madam. Weekly family dinners. Watching soccer and playing Ludo together. The children must help—cooking, ironing, the works. Not just ‘Hi Dad’ and walk away. Me, I don’t even know where the ironing board is in my house. Yes, I bear most of the financial responsibility, but that’s fine. It’s the life I know.”
We spent the rest of the meeting talking about cultural differences, raising children, and how immigration is deeply personal. I gave him some resources on Canada and encouraged him to reflect carefully before making a final decision.
As they got up to leave, I couldn’t help but think about the different worlds we come from—and the emotional weight of a simple greeting from a child in one of them.
Happy Father’s Day to every hardworking, supportive father—especially those who only ever hear, “Hi Dad!”
NB: 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.*
