Johnson Babalola
At a recent birthday celebration for a dear friend known for her kindness, brilliance, and unwavering support, I discovered more than just an opportunity to enjoy great company and delicious food—I encountered timeless lessons about character, generosity, and the importance of treating others as we would want to be treated.
The party hall was bathed in a warm, welcoming glow, with a deejay spinning vibrant Nigerian beats intermingled with the disco vibes of the 80s. As classics from Rhema to Kool and the Gang filled the room, the energy and nostalgia set the stage for an unforgettable evening. Amid the merriment, the much-anticipated moment arrived: it was time for “Item 7,” as we Nigerians affectionately call our shared meal.
The table was a feast for the senses: plates of Jollof and fried rice, pounded yam accompanied by rich vegetable and melon soups, hearty beans, yam porridge, stewed beef, grilled chicken, and fresh salad. Yet, standing proudly apart was a dish that held a special place in our hearts—Amala, served with its trusted allies: ewedu, gbegiri, and a robust orisirisi stew. The emcee announced it with a flourish: “Amala and friends are on the table in the far corner,” and soon a joyful queue formed with eager chatter about the legendary meal.
Among the murmurs in the line, several comments highlighted the affection for Amala. “Whenever I have Amala, I sleep like a baby,” declared Mr. K, a highly successful accountant. Dr. T, a well-known psychiatrist, added, “It is very therapeutic,” while Mrs. Z, a respected businesswoman, chimed in with, “The best food to come out of Nigeria.” Even Mrs. D, a school principal, joked, “Amala is my key to unlocking my husband’s heart.” These light-hearted remarks not only celebrated the dish but also underscored its cultural significance as a source of comfort and joy.
I watched as my friend B—standing right in front of me—stepped up first. With a playful charm, he engaged the elderly woman serving the food, declaring, “I’m Babalola’s close friend,” in hopes of securing a generous serving of Amala and its delightful accompaniments. As B approached the table, I noticed the server’s eyes light up; she paused, smiled warmly, and then greeted me from behind B with a cheerful, “Hello Mr. Babalola.” It was in that moment that B realized she recognized me—not from personal meetings but through the kind words and recommendations of mutual friends. Her familiar greeting confirmed that our paths had crossed before in the realm of community goodwill.
B’s banter was rewarded as the server served him a generous portion of Amala, ewedu, gbegiri, and an assortment of meats, even topping it off with a whole grilled fish that was not made available to others before him. His effortless knack for connection and his playful use of my name evoked laughter and camaraderie among those waiting in line.
Reflecting on that evening, I realized that beyond the flavors, laughter, and lively queue chatter, there lay an important lesson about character and human connection. Every act of kindness, every generous portion served without expectation, builds our reputation and leaves an indelible mark on those we encounter. We are remembered not only for our achievements but for the compassion we extend to others
Then it was my turn. Curious about the recognition, I asked the server if we had ever met before. With gentle familiarity, she replied, “No, Mr. Babalola, but I’ve heard so much about you from my best friend—the one you once represented as a lawyer. Your commitment to our community has always been spoken of with admiration.” Her kind words took me by surprise, and before I could press for more details, she graciously served me an even larger portion of Amala and its trinity of sides, along with an impressive grilled fish. “We may not have money to give you in return for all you do, but this is the least we can offer,” she said sincerely. I thanked her for her kind words and generosity.
As I made my way to my table, I couldn’t help but tease B for his clever use of my name, even as another friend, L., who had gone off on his own for his meal, missed out on this unexpected generosity. Later, as I settled into my seat with my wife, she asked how I managed to secure such an abundance of extras. I could only smile and reply, “Thou shall not ask the anointed.”
Reflecting on that evening, I realized that beyond the flavors, laughter, and lively queue chatter, there lay an important lesson about character and human connection. Every act of kindness, every generous portion served without expectation, builds our reputation and leaves an indelible mark on those we encounter. We are remembered not only for our achievements but for the compassion we extend to others. The one who offers help or a kind word today might very well be the one in need of the same tomorrow. Moreover, consider this: the individual we may neglect or mistreat today could, in weeks, months, or even years, be the one responsible for our food service, security, employment, or healthcare. Imagine what such an individual might think about how you treated them. In life, treating others as we would want to be treated creates ripples that resonate far into the future, shaping friendships, communities, and even our own destinies.
This story is a gentle reminder that kindness is a legacy. Every generous act—no matter how small—creates ripples of goodwill that return to enrich our lives in ways we might never expect.
*Johnson Babalola is a Canadian immigration lawyer, author, writer, storyteller, and story-based leadership trainer and the Founder of JB Law & Life Compass (JBLLC: @jblifecompass), a mentorship initiative for young lawyers and law students in Nigeria.
Follow him on IG @jbdlaw; FB: https://www.facebook.com/jbdlaw and www.johnsonbabalola.com/www.tpmattorneys.com_
You can obtain a copy of his newly released book, REJECTED on Amazon, FriesenPress, Barnes & Noble, Kobo etc