By Johnson Babalola
My good friend, HG, invited me to join him and his wife, FG, for dinner. We met at a well-known Nigerian restaurant in Toronto, celebrated for its deliciously grilled fish.
After placing our orders, HG asked after my family. I told him we were doing well. FG smiled and said, “JB, your friend wants to return to Nigeria when he turns 65 in two years. I’m not having it. He said he wanted to make his case in front of a fair-minded person—and that’s you.”
I laughed and asked, “Given that HG is my friend, how can I be fair?”
“You’re my friend too,” she said. “And I trust your fairness.”
We all laughed.
“So seriously, what’s going on?” I asked.
“My brother,” FG began, “as you know, we’ve lived in Canada for 38 years. He wanted to retire three years ago, but I pleaded with him to wait five more years. He agreed. Now, he’s reminding me that we have just two years left, but I don’t want to go back to Nigeria in two years.”
“Why not?” I asked. HG listened quietly, as he always does. One thing I’ve always admired about the couple is how they respectfully allow each other to speak. They even time themselves during discussions: “You speak for X minutes, I respond for X minutes, then we talk about solutions.” That’s how they resolve things—so it surprised me that this particular issue had escalated to the point that they needed me as a witness.
“JB,” FG continued, “every parent should be present for their children. Our two children are getting married next year. I want us to be here to help them raise their own children.”
“In what ways?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“In every way,” she replied. “Bathing the babies, feeding them, babysitting while they take breaks, during vacations, school breaks, weekends… all of it.”
“And HG’s role?” I pressed.
“He doesn’t have to bathe the babies or lose sleep,” she said, smiling. “But he can babysit, teach them Yoruba, and support me.”
“For how long?” I asked.
“Not long. Maybe 10 years,” she said, locking eyes with her husband. “After that, we can happily go back to Nigeria.”
“So, HG would be 75 then,” I noted. She smiled and nodded.
“HG, what’s your take?” I asked.
He sighed and began his story: “JB, you and my wife know my background. I was born in a remote village in Nigeria. To survive, I combined school with farming, fetching water miles away—no rest. I served, and I served well.”
He paused, sipped his water, and continued. “After primary school, I went to live with my dad’s cousin in the city. I did all the laundry, ironing, car washing, dishes… all while schooling. I served well.”
A gulp of Guinness followed. I joined him with a sip from my glass.
“I couldn’t afford campus housing in university. So I stayed with the cousin, served, graduated, and served my country in a remote village as a teacher under tough conditions. I served Nigeria well.”
Another pause, this time to glance at FG.
“Coming to Canada was a turning point. I knew no one. Worked three jobs while regularizing my status. Sent more than half of my earnings home to support family. I served my family well.”
Our food arrived—grilled tilapia with fried plantain and peppered sauce. We agreed to eat as we continued talking.
“This,” HG said, biting into the fish, “is one reason I want to go back.”
FG chuckled. “You’re not serious, HG.”
“I met my wife here. Kids came. Then the real service began: diapers, garbage duty, dishes, cooking, snow shoveling, mowing, school runs. I was happy to do it all. We both worked hard. But I always told her—if I survived it, I’d want us to return to Nigeria, the place that still holds my heart.”
“And she agreed?” I asked.
“100%. We even built a home in Nigeria. When I turned 60 and discussed retiring, she begged me to wait till 65 and to refinance our home to help the kids with their down payments. I agreed. I served again. But now, she’s shifting the goalpost. I appreciate that returning home is not for everyone, and I respect that, but it is for me.”
“So why not stay?” I asked.
“JB, I have served my parents, siblings, cousins, Nigeria, Canada, employers, and our children. Now, I am tired. I just want to serve us—my wife and myself.”
“Just 10 more years,” I said with a half-smile.
“Forget it, bro,” HG replied. “Of what use would it be then? What if I don’t make 75? All my life has been about serving others. That must end at 65—God willing. I will return home to finally serve my dreams. Let my children take care of their children and their dreams. I will visit and will always care for them”
We were quiet for a moment, the silence heavy but not hostile. FG squeezed HG’s hand gently, her eyes not of defeat but of deep understanding. She nodded, not in full agreement, but in loving recognition of a man who has indeed given much.
We clinked our glasses one more time—Guinness in hand, fish on the plate, history in our hearts.
Whatever they decide, I know it will be together. After all, love sometimes asks us to serve. But the greatest service may be learning when to let the other rest.
And perhaps, just perhaps, the call to service ends not with a date, but with mutual peace.
N.B: 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.*
