Afunsó, Afuntó and Afunbi - the concept

I asked us to have a conversation about three Yoruba names—Afunsó, Afuntó, and Afunbi—not just as names, but as concepts. And I want to say this upfront: your responses were brilliant. Truly. But I was seeing it from a different angle entirely.

This came to me in the wake of two recent discoveries that shook me—cases where people were treating other people's children worse than they'd treat animals. It forced me to sit with these names and what they actually mean. Literal translations:

Afunsó: the one given to me to watch over.

Afuntó: the one given to me to raise.

Afunbi: the one given to me through birth.

Here's what struck me: every single child bears these names. Whether we realise it or not, people don't cross our paths by accident. They're divinely positioned to receive from the deposits God has placed inside us, specifically for that moment. And we have to break down these walls of self-preservation that make us hoard our love, our care, our resources, as if they're only meant for "our own."

The Bible tells the barren to rejoice—because they have many children. I believe that's the divine position of every single one of us.

That Esther you raised, the one who isn't yours by blood—she might be the one to pull you out of the fire when your back is against the wall. That Moses you guided, the one who calls you "auntie" or "uncle"—he could become the deliverer, or even the one who marries your daughter and honours your lineage. That David you took in and treated like your own—he might be the very one who preserves your eternal legacy.

We must understand that God can work through anyone. He's not limited by bloodlines.

Let me end with a story I witnessed firsthand.

A man was travelling to another country and got stranded mid-journey. Things were looking bleak—he was stuck, probably afraid, probably broke. Then a man showed up. Even though this traveller did not recognised him, the man didn't hesitate. He paid for his hotel for thirty days. Helped him find a job. And eventually saw him through to his final destination.

When it was time to say goodbye, the man revealed something: he had once been the house help in the traveller's home. But he said, "At no point did I feel like a helper. I was treated like the firstborn of the house."

That's the thing. You don't know who's carrying the light your children will need in the darkness of tomorrow. So be a father. Be a mother—to every Afunsó, every Afuntó, every Afunbi that life places in your path.

I hope this is clear: you're not barren because you don't have biological children. And you're not a parent just because you do. It's how you treat humans generally that makes the difference.