Even a Bad Person can be Good Sometimes

Dear God,

You have a sense of humour that sometimes feels… borderline suspicious. Because explain this to me, how did I, a law-abiding, rule-following citizen… end up being escorted like a visiting dignitary by a group of thugs I would normally cross the road to avoid?

Let me start from the beginning, before You roll your eyes……

You know Lagos traffic is not for the faint-hearted, right? So, My Adam and I were late for an event. Not “fashionably late,” oh no, this was the kind of lateness that smells like disgrace. The Lagos traffic, in its usual democratic wickedness, had decided that nobody, rich, poor, saved, or sinner, was going anywhere that day. The kind of traffic that mocks your urgency, that dares you to lose your patience.

And then, My Adam did the unthinkable. He veered into the infamous shortcut, the “apian way” carved by thugs along the freeway. I cringed. You know me, Lord, I don’t take illegal routes. I endure the traffic, no matter how punishing. But my Adam? He flashed a signal at them, and suddenly, the chaos parted like the Red Sea. They immediately surrounded the car, cleared the road and blocked other vehicles with the authority of people who feared nothing, not even consequences.

They hailed him like royalty: “Baba Nla!” “Na you Ọlọrun send come for us o!” “Chairman do am for us as God don do am for you!”. And there was my Adam, smiling that Alpha-male smile, nodding like a benevolent king. Acknowledging and enjoying the praise.

Then, just when I thought we would escape quietly, My Adam did something that required a family meeting. He drove through the by-pass and parked. He wanted to engage. I blinked, my heart sinking.

“Sweet, let’s just give them something small and go,” I suggested, already calculating a modest offering that would not disrupt our peace.

But no. This man winded down like he had come to hold a town hall meeting, and they gathered around him instantly. And then, Dad, brace Yourself, he brought out a bundle of crisp notes form his bag. Fresh, untouched, the kind meant for spraying at events.

I gasped.

“Who is your leader?” he asked.

An energetic man stepped forward. “E mi ni… Oba.” My Adam studied him. “Oba? That’s your real name?”

“Yes, Obayemi” he said proudly. “Wọ́n ní pé a bí mi fún àwọn nǹkan ńlá… Mo tọ́ sí ìjọba ọba.” (Them say I was born for great things… I am worthy of kingship…)

“Ṣùgbọ́n mi ò rí àwọn nǹkan ńlá náà… Níhìn-ín ni a ti ń ṣe ìsapá… Ṣùgbọ́n èmi ni mo ń darí wọn.” (But I don’t see the great things, we are here hustling…. but I am the leader).

My Adam’s response was disarming, “Your name will speak for you”

“Amen,” they chorused.

I folded my arms. Aha. We have entered motivational speaking.

My Adam nodded slowly, studying him.

“I believe you are meant for great things,” he said. “You can be more than this. There’s something in your eyes… this life you’re living is too small for you.”

I almost coughed. “Sir, I said in my mind, we are here to pass, not to transform lives.”

But he continued.

“How many of you are here?”

“Five. Two dey the other side.”

Before I could process what was happening, my Adam handed the bundle he was holding over to Oba. He just dug his fingers into the bundle, pulled out loads of wads like a politician and handed over.

I let out a sound that cannot be categorized in any known language.

“A bundle of 500 Naira notes?” I whispered.

He handed it over calmly.

“This is not payment for taking the by-pass,” he said. “It’s for you to think. You can do better than this. Sell something. Start something. This is not your end.”

Silence. Then suddenly, five grown men went flat on their stomachs, prostrating. They rose in union and prostrated again, (like we were at a wedding in full cultural display).

I froze. My brain could not process it. At first, I was upset. I thought my Adam was enabling them. But then I saw it, the joy in their eyes, the gratitude in their voices. Yes, the money was much, but was it that life-changing? No. And then one of them turned to me.

“Maale, be happy for us now. God use Chairman to bless us. Today, you be our mother. See all of us no get mama, no get anybody. We don become your pickin.”

Their words pierced me. I looked at their faces. Really looked. Not the labels. Not the fear. Not the stereotypes. Just… faces. Human beings. And something in me softened.

My frown melted. I rolled down the window, smiled, and greeted them sincerely. And in that moment, I understood: my Adam hadn’t just given them money. He had given them dignity. He had acknowledged their humanity. It wasn’t about the amount. It was about being seen. And dignity… is a currency many people desperately need.

Fast-forward some weeks later at Ajah. A sudden shootout between rival gangs. Chaos everywhere. Cars trapped. Fear thick in the air. Just then we saw one of the thugs running towards our car. Fast. Focused. I tensed.

Then I heard the loud hailing….. “Baba ke! Chairman himself! The man God don bless!”

And there he was, Oba himself. I exhaled. Relief and disbelief shaking hands inside me.

“Wetin dey happen?” My Adam asked calmly.

“Some bastard boys wan prove themselves. But no worry, you no go touch ground. Your boys dey here. Nothing do you.”  Your boys. Just like that. Identity had been assigned. Loyalty had been established.

Before we could say jack, his men moved. They cleared the road, shielded us, and carved out a path. We drove out of the trap, safe. As soon as we passed, they sealed the road again. Just for one day, one act of kindness, my Adam had earned their loyalty. They knew his car, his face, his spirit. And they claimed him as their own.

My Adam smiled. “Life is interesting, isn’t it?”

I know, right? I responded.

Dad, here is my uncomfortable truth: Sometimes, the people we label as “bad” … are simply people surviving in broken systems. Sometimes, all it takes is one moment of dignity… to awaken something good in something bad. And sometimes, just sometimes, kindness travels in circles. What you give… has a way of finding you again. Not always. Not instantly. But when it does… it can look like protection in the middle of chaos.

So, what can I say, Lord? That day taught me something profound. Even a “bad person” can be good sometimes. Even a stopped clock can be accurate one time.

Those thugs are not saints. They are products of a broken system, surviving in the only way they know. But beneath the roughness, there is humanity waiting to be acknowledged. My Adam didn’t just give them money; he gave them respect. He spoke to their potential, not their present. And in return, they gave us protection when we needed it most.

Sometimes, all it takes is a moment of compassion, a word of encouragement, or a gesture of dignity to awaken something better in people. Not all of them are bitter or angry; some are simply surviving the best way they know how.

And perhaps the greatest lesson of all: when we choose to see people not for what they are, but for what they could be, we give them permission to rise. And in their rising, we all rise together.

Thank you, Lord, for reminding me that goodness can be found in unlikely places. That even in the roughest corners of society, humanity still flickers. May we never be too proud to acknowledge it, too blind to see it, or too hardened to nurture it.

This is your daughter, Lord, I am checking in.