Great people often do uncommon things. Illustrious people, however, replicate greatness around them.
How else can one summarize the ‘many realities’ of Michael Ade-Ojo, the automobile mogul fondly referred to as Nigeria’s ‘Mr. Toyota’?
He is not called ‘Mr. Toyota’ simply because he loves cruising around in the Japanese-made marques.
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“I have dealt with the Japanese now for 44 years. And it is only through me that they can mirror Nigeria. Throughout these 44 years, there have not been any promises broken, or monies owed. My word has always been my bond. That is one of the things that I believe has helped my business – integrity. The fact that I always fulfil my commitments,” he says.
After more than four decades of mingling with the Japanese, Ade-Ojo has earned the rights to Japan’s Toyota Motor Corporation in Nigeria. His lifetime’s work has made Toyota one of the most ubiquitous car brands in Africa’s largest and most populous economy.
“There are countries where Toyota is number three or number four in terms of market share, but when you take it overall, Toyota is number one in the world. They don’t have to be number one in Nigeria. However, they have been number one in Nigeria for 15 years,” he says.
Plagued by a recall of nearly 6.4 million vehicles last year, the Japanese automaker bounced back quickly from this crisis to maintain the reputation of its 78-year-old brand. It ended 2014 on a growth note with increased year-on-year sales in the United States (US), China and Europe.
Ade-Ojo has done “mostly sales” jobs during a career spanning over 50 years. As a poor village boy, he sold charcoal, firewood, matchsticks and food. Years later, he ended up selling vehicles (cars, trucks, vans, buses, tractors, motorcycles and mopeds), auto and aviation fuels, industrial lubricants, automotive and financial services, including auto and life insurance.
A man with a proclivity for details and appropriate business or traditional decorum, he has earned the number one status in Nigeria’s auto market for constantly making his numbers but also on account of his market savvy, focus and stamina, especially during the 1980s and 1990s when Nigeria’s economy was in the doldrums. A walking encyclopedia of Nigeria’s auto industry, he recalls that “Toyotas were not that common during the 1960s&#8230; by 1981, Toyota sales in the Nigerian market totaled about 52,000 units; Datsun, 100,000 units and Peugeot, 250,000 vehicles.”
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“In those days, government and companies were financing vehicle purchases, but this stopped in 1982 with all the woes that came with economic downturn,” he says.
In 1984, an IMF-induced Structural Adjustment Program (SAP) meant tariffs were hiked and an embargo placed on car and spare parts importation.
“Even if you had the cash or access to credit, you needed an import license issued only by the military juntas in power to transact business internationally.”
As consumption habits and car cultures go, Nigeria is any automaker’s delight. With a head count of about 170 million and growing, it is arguably one of the largest motor vehicle markets in the world, rubbing shoulders with the likes of China, the US, Europe, India, Brazil and Mexico.
Ade-Ojo says car sales have grown steadily since 1999 when he was responsible for 12,000 of the 30,000 Toyotas sold in Nigeria that year. In 2014, Toyota recorded about 15,000 sales, of which Ade-Ojo’s companies sold about 45%. The other seven Toyota-authorized dealers shared the balance of 55-60%.
At least one in every four cars on Nigerian roads belongs to the Toyota clan. The ratio is even higher for sales of brand new Toyotas. Ade-Ojo reckons his annual turnover from vehicle sales alone over the last two years is well over N40 billion ($200 million).
In any country, invaluable business experience and a significant slice of the motor vehicle market easily translates to influence, leadership and corporate responsibility. Even though he disagrees with the timing and modus of the government’s new auto policy, there are reports that Ade-Ojo is poised to set up a Toyota assembly plant in the country, in conjunction with his Japanese partners.
The auto policy, which took effect in July 2014, had raised the import tariff on fully built cars from 20% to 70% for companies without assembly plants in the country; and zero percent duty on imported Completely Knocked Down (CKD) units. CKD refers to the total number of parts required to assemble a vehicle.
“I am not against the auto policy in as much as it is to industrialize… but we must industrialize with a sense of strategic responsibility to the local economy; but the way things are, we seem to be putting the cart before the horse. We currently lack the industrial support environment for car manufacturing. For an average car you need about 2,500 parts. We don’t produce anything locally, and we want to begin to industrialize, to make cars, we will only end up getting the short end of the stick!”
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With a reputation for being shrewd, his formula for success is passion, focus and diligence.
“I have learned the hard way to embrace stabilization. I realize that we have not done much profitable business outside our core business area of automobiles. This goes to show the importance of focusing on what you know and what you have passion for… So my advice to young entrepreneurs is that they stick to what they know and be passionate about it. At least, if you do this, you are not likely to be poor.”
His formula has certainly earned him a vast fortune, a solid reputation as a super salesman, with juicy stakes in numerous entities and a prime spot in the commanding heights of West Africa’s automobile ecosystem.
Nigeria has however been his primary business turf.
“All my investments are in Nigeria. I’m a believer in what you call the Nigerian dream,” he says while sitting in his plush house in the town of Ilara-Mokin, his birthplace on the outskirts of Akure, the capital of Ondo State in south-western Nigeria.
Ade-Ojo began selling cars in 1965, five months after earning a bachelor’s degree in business administration from the University of Nigeria (UNN) in Nsukka, in south-eastern Nigeria.
“The first car I ever sold was a British Motor Corporation Wolseley car model,” he says. “I sold it to Mr Okubanjo, a permanent secretary in one of the ministries. We later became friends. This was how I got hooked on automobiles.”
Soon he acquired his very first car, a Morris 1100, with a loan from CFAO, his employers at the time.
He joined CFAO straight out of school – the company sponsored his last two years at university – and had a brief stint as an inspector of taxes at the Federal Inland Revenue Service, followed by four years at British Petroleum (BP). His “painful personal history”, growing up poor, including experiences and escapades at these companies propelled him towards his destiny.
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A near fisticuff with his manager cost him his job at CFAO.
“I had sold 20 trucks to Electricity Corporation of Nigeria (ECN) and this man from New Zealand gave the company the impression that he did the job. The company believed him and ignored the fact that I had singlehandedly brokered and sealed the deal. I showed my anger to management and I almost punched him… I was really pissed off. So in December 1966, CFAO decided not to renew my contract. I became jobless.”
While at BP he went to Benin City to relieve a colleague temporarily and “within three months I increased the total sales of that division by 25%. I grew turnover by 25%&#8230; the dealers were requesting for me not to leave. They actually wrote a petition to BP’s South Western Divisional Office in Lagos asking them to retain me in Benin… so I became restless; I kept ruminating over this Benin episode. I kept thinking to myself, ‘perhaps it was time to quit’. The funny thing is the chap I had gone to relieve in Benin eventually got promoted on the basis of my sweat. BP actually made him my boss.”
Months later, back in Lagos, he approached Danish-owned RT Briscoe, a leading heavy duty equipment and auto dealer, and asked if they would allow him to sell their products on a commission basis. They agreed. Armed with this agreement and key product information from RT Briscoe, he took a month’s annual leave from BP. The results of his moonlighting was a pleasant shock.
“Within the four weeks of freelancing, I sold 40 cars. I put pen to paper to calculate my expected commission and, to my great surprise, what I was going to earn from the 40 vehicles was more than my one year salary at BP. So, armed with that knowledge, I went back to work at BP.”
He quit BP soon after this “discovery”. On August 1, 1971, Elizade Independent Agencies (EIA) was born, co-founded with his first wife, the late Elizabeth Wuraola Ojo, who had been a year below him at UNN.
“I started it with my savings. I had been very thrifty, so we saved £4,000 ($6,300). We used this £4,000 to rent my office and showroom in Lagos. I lived in the same property. Eventually, that was also the very first property I ever owned.”
EIA became incorporated as Elizade Nigeria Ltd (ENL) in 1973, dealing in motor vehicle and spare parts sales and services. After-sales support currently provides 10% of bottom line for the Elizade Group of Companies, a business empire which now includes a string of companies in the auto, education, fashion, hospitality, financial services, petroleum marketing, technology, real estate and construction industries.
Ade-Ojo’s Toyota franchise revolves around controlling stakes in Elizade Group, Toyota Nigeria Limited (TNL), RT Briscoe Motors and the subsidiaries and associated firms of these entities. After a series of acquisitions and divestitures, he currently owns 100% of the RT Briscoe Group in Nigeria and 74% of TNL.
“I had become 100% of TNL in 2004 but after one year, Toyota came and said they want me to partner with a Japanese company. So I had to extricate 26% of TNL to Sumitomo Corporation of Japan.”
Beyond these organizations, his business empire also includes Elizade University, Elizade Autoland, Crown Motors (Nig) Limited, Classic Motors Ltd., Okin Travels Ltd., Odua Creations Ltd., among others. He is the chairman of TNL, Moorhouse Sofitel Ltd., Custodian &amp; Allied Insurance Plc, Baun Limited, Imperial Telecommunications Ltd., Crown Drinks Ltd., Meristem Securities Ltd., Meristem Wealth Management Ltd., MikeAde Properties Development Ltd., 3Line Card Management Ltd., and SMT Nigeria Ltd., distributors of Volvo construction equipment, Volvo trucks and Mack trucks in Nigeria.
He’s also been a director of several banks, including Ecobank Nigeria and First City Monument Bank. For his contributions to business and society, he was awarded the national honor of Officer of the Order of the Niger (OON) in 2005.
Professor Pat Utomi, renowned Nigerian political economist and management expert, believes that in an economy like Nigeria, where mobility and transportation infrastructure are key to socio-economic development, “it is appropriate to make the point that sometimes you have to trade” in order to tap into the inherent commercial capabilities of the market.
“Ade-Ojo is a super salesman. He is in many ways Nigeria’s Akio Morita, the Sony co-founder who came to be known as the paramount salesman of the 20th century,” says Utomi.
A lifestyle of globetrotting in private jets has not robbed Ade-Ojo of his modest manner. Constantly shying away from discussing his personal net worth, he tells FORBES AFRICA that, “considering that Elizade was the genesis of my business, it must be worth at least several billion dollars now, but you see what is important for me is that business must be conducted honestly and openly, and society must benefit from your business gains.”
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He set up the Ade-Ojo Scholarship Scheme in 1991. Over 100 poor students have benefited from this scheme since its inception. A few years ago, he spent slightly over $205 million of his personal funds to rebuild Ilara-Mokin’s township roads. The town’s microfinance bank, primary and secondary schools have also tasted his generosity. His Elizade University, also located in Ilara-Mokin, cost him about N8 billion (about $40 million) to establish.
“I’ve been spending averagely about N1 billion ($5 million) every year to subsidize the university.”
In 2014, he put Ilara-Mokin on the world’s movie map. The town was the setting for October 1, a Nollywood flick directed by popular Nigerian filmmaker, Kunle Afolayan. Ade-Ojo’s auto companies helped finance the movie, which reportedly cost well over $1 million.
For those who may question the efficacy of Ade-Ojo’s dogged pursuit of projects and causes, his daughter, Deola Sagoe, a renowned international fashion designer provides a response: “With my father, what you see is what you get. He’s always been a pragmatic person, and particularly adept at spotting opportunities… he lives and breathes business in all spheres of his life.”
“I like the fact that Chief Ade-Ojo always puts his money where his mouth is. He is so unassuming he makes you rethink the essence of wealth,” Olumide Ojutalayo, a golfer and businessman says on the grounds of a world class golf course Ade-Ojo built in Ilara-Mokin.
Smokin’ Hills Golf Resort “cost me about $17 million to establish,” he says. “I built it for myself and anyone who likes to play golf.”
Soon, the resort will have a five-star hotel, an aircraft landing strip with hangars, restaurants and other entertainment facilities. The project might complete the transformation of the serene, leafy locale – with a current population of about 60,000 – into a modern, suburban community.
At the age of 77, Ade-Ojo has certainly earned the right to build himself a private leisure paradise. His passion for his birthplace is infectious. It may also have deep personal reasons. The fifth of six siblings, it was in the Ilara-Mokin village that he began life in a poverty-stricken family. Hunger was a perpetual companion, he says. He therefore grew up experiencing the harsh reality of rural poverty.
“I was often derided and mocked by people whose parents I considered to be better and richer than mine… so I think I must have been around 15 years old when I made up my mind to change the dynamics of my background.”
He credits his mother, his late wife and business partner, and current wife, Taiwo Ade-Ojo, an affable lady who had also been involved in his business for many years, for contributing immensely to the strong foundation, business success, peace and stability he has had in life.
“My mother made me work so hard. I hated it, in fact, my belief was that my mother was wicked… she drove me to do everything. I was the one sweeping the grounds, I was the one going to fetch water that we would use to bathe and drink every morning, and it didn’t matter whether it was in the cold Harmattan [wind] or the hot season. So after that, I may have had to hawk eko (cornmeal) before going to school…”
“In the evenings, I would sell kerosene and matches… at that time people could not afford a box of matches, we used to tie them 10 sticks a bunch to sell to people. So, I did all these, and I became a very successful laborer. I was going to farms with people, to support my school fees I would go clear bushes, or cut the weeds in cocoa plantations, or clear farmlands, burning the waste, preparing the heaps and then planting… all these I could do. I knew every aspect of farming.”
Amazingly, he excelled at Imade College, Owo town, his secondary school. His path out of poverty had begun. He enrolled for an 18-month course at the School of Agriculture in Akure. This led to a brief stint as a laboratory technician at the Ministry of Agriculture, Moor Plantation in Ibadan, in south-western Nigeria. While in Ibadan, he began attending pre-degree evening lectures at the British Council, studying zoology, botany and chemistry, hoping to eventually study medicine. He however had to ditch the idea after learning he also needed mathematics to qualify for medical school. He picked up a new set of subjects, economics, government and geography, and was eventually admitted into UNN’s Business Administration program in 1961. It was the first set of a Business Administration degree course in Nigeria.
His financial headaches trailed him to campus.
“After two years of struggle, I could not sustain myself in the university,” he says.
He was already working part-time as a research assistant. Unknown to him, a faculty staff member had secretly approached CFAO for financial support on his behalf. CFAO agreed. His tuition fees sorted, he still could barely afford one meal a day. Fate stepped in through the young Elizabeth Wuraola. They met in the university chapel one evening and became friends. Soon, she would begin to save him from hunger and the perils of poverty. She often gave him her meal tickets so he could eat at the cafeteria. One day, she gave him £40 ($63), her entire pocket for the 1962-63 academic year.
“She gave it to me to go pay part of my school fees,” he remembers emotionally. “That was the turning point for me.”
“So, this is really the heart of the matter… She was denying herself for me. This was what made me feel that, yes, a woman could assist you to succeed; even when I approached her, my intentions were not that serious. But I felt it to my marrows that I was going to marry this woman because there was now real love between us. I tell you, I didn’t regret that I stuck to her. But I lost her on November 8, 2003.”
The ‘Elizade’ brand name was coined from both their names, Elizabeth and Ade-Ojo.
Behind every great man is a great woman. Ade-Ojo has never let go of this greatness.

From  Farmworker  To Multi millionaire

We step off Analjit Singh’s blue Lexus into a picture postcard. Such is the scenic beauty greeting us.
Singh is immaculately dressed in blue – shirt, turban and Nehru jacket – and poses with the panoramic mountains, also blue, in the background.
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We are standing under a benevolent April sun in Leeu Estates, Singh’s farm in Franschhoek, a picturesque wine town in South Africa’s Western Cape province.
A few moments earlier, the Indian multimillionaire had driven the car to his farm, pointing to a large white cross perched permanently – like a beacon – on the slopes of the Dassenberg Mountain.
“Everything below that cross is mine,” he said.
We are on 68 hectares of farmland featuring vineyards, pomegranate and plum fields, oaks, olive trees and herb gardens. Men are at work, briskly laying bricks, building and restoring Cape Dutch edifices, putting together the many elements of what will be a boutique winery and 25-room five-star hotel set to open next year as part of the Leeu Collection.
“Leeu is our name [in South Africa]. In Afrikaans, it means lion, just as Singh in Sanskrit means lion,” says Singh. For the record, the number plate on his Lexus SUV is – no surprise – LEEU 1.
Singh cannot conceal his excitement, pointing to the vistas and the valley and everything in between.
We are soon negotiating a plywood plank, connecting precariously two mounds of earth, to the dining room areas of the under-construction manor house. Singh informs the building will also include a library containing both Gandhi and Mandela memorabilia.
The manor house overlooks a manicured garden with art occupying center stage – life-size bronze sculptures by South African artist Deborah Bell hand-picked by Singh.
“I know all the people in the art world in Cape Town; we have been acquiring art and sculptures all of which will be displayed at our estate,” he says.
Singh has 18 sculptures for the farm, he tells us, valued from $50,000 to $200,000.
Leeu Estates is a composite of three adjoining farms – Dieu Donné, Klein Dassenberg and Von Ortloff – that Singh bought in a year. The total investment in the development is $35 million.
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The estate will include a gym and spa – “that will be the best anywhere in Stellenbosch, Franschhoek and Paarl” – and a winery producing the Mullineux &amp; Leeu Family Wines, overseen by husband-wife winemaking duo Chris and Andrea Mullineux. Winners of the 2014 Platter’s Winery of the Year Award, the couple will develop a Leeu range of premium wines for release end of 2016.
Singh also has shares in their Riebeek Kasteel winery in Swartland, a wine region 50 kilometers north of Cape Town where he has another farm, only for viticulture. The Swartland winery specializes in Chenin Blanc and Syrah wines, specific to the terroir of the region.
Leeu Estates is but one component of Singh’s interests in Franschhoek. In this charming one-road town, he also acquired Rusthof, a country house now being renovated as Leeu House, a soon-to-open 13-room boutique hotel that will be “very Cape Dutch” with a large garden in the front.
And at the Heritage Square piazza a few meters away, he is set to open the town’s first Indian and Oriental restaurants, which will also include a bar. And alongside Leeu House, again a first for Franschhoek, he will open a microbrewery making craft beer.
“So that’s our story in South Africa,” says Singh.
Ranked by FORBES as one of India’s richest, with a net worth of $975 million, Singh is the Founder and Chairman of Max India Limited, with diverse interests in life insurance, healthcare, health insurance and senior living.
Max India has a successful joint venture with Life Healthcare in South Africa since 2011. André Meyer, Chief Executive Officer of Life Healthcare, calls Singh “a friend”.
“To me, Analjit is best described by the quote ‘the true character of a man is best measured by how he treats those who can do nothing for him’. No matter who they are, Analjit always treats people as his equal, with dignity and respect. To call Analjit a friend is truly an honor and a privilege,”
says Meyer.
A self-made entrepreneur, Singh is highly respected in India’s corridors of power. He was awarded the Padma Bhushan, one of India’s highest civilian honors, in 2011.
The son of Ranbaxy founder Bhai Mohan Singh, he passed out of The Doon School in Dehradun in 1971, and is an MBA from Boston University. He lived in the United States for seven years before founding Max India in 1985. The 61-year-old Singh, who is also the non-executive Chairman of Vodafone India, lives in New Delhi with his wife Neelu and children Veer, Piya and Tara.
His stately bungalow at 15 Aurangzeb Road, in the Indian capital, sits on a three-acre garden estate. It was renovated with a neoclassical look in 2008, and Singh is known to only serve South African wine at home.
“But why am I [in South Africa now]? Was this a part of my plan and vision? Absolutely not,” says Singh.
Singh visited Johannesburg for the first time in 2010 for the FIFA World Cup with his wife and elder daughter Piya, when they also traveled to Cape Town for two nights. There was a reason why he did.
“The year before, my younger daughter Tara had flown to Cape Town for a wedding. [Before her trip], when she asked me if she could go, I said ‘absolutely not’, and I asked her, ‘how the heck do you get there?’ She [finally did], phoned me and said ‘it’s your kind of place and you have got to come’. I came here out of intrigue; I wanted to know if Tara was pulling my leg or if it was for real. So I arrive here, see the airport, see the town and see this is Africa. I never imagined you would have this little European jewel sitting out here and which otherwise was called Africa.”
Singh vividly recalls the following day when the driver took the family to the Cape of Good Hope and to Franschhoek, for the first time. Ironically, they stopped for breakfast at Grande Provence, the farm right next to Singh’s current estate.
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“When we arrived there, I got off the car, and said ‘where are we?’ I was like a kid in a toy shop. I looked around and there was such a sense of strong energy, a sense of beauty and a sense of place that I imbibed. It was like this is an unfinished piece of work; I have to come back and explore. Just what is this place on earth?”
“I think I later realized [why I took to the place]. As a Delhi family – until all the problems in Kashmir – for about 17 years, we were [regular visitors] to Gulmarg, [a hill station] in Kashmir. And ever since childhood, and probably because of the Kashmir experience, my preference became hills, mountains, fog, clouds, rain and snow and that carried into [my years at] The Doon School, where the topography was much the same. And then I went to [study in] Boston, also a very pretty city. So my whole leaning and preference became that way. And when I saw nature here in winter, I saw the hills and greenery. What is unusual is many places have hills and similar topography, but not at this proximity. Here, you feel like you can walk to them, and that’s a very powerful, energetic feeling.”
After that first inspiring visit, Singh returned to Cape Town, not once, but twice over the next six months, for what was a personal quest.
“I was entering a phase in my life where I was looking for some stillness. I was looking for places to be in that are tranquil, that encourage inner peace; I was looking for settings that are meditative in nature. I then realized this is the place for me. And so the idea was to get a small manor house as a form of retreat, and come here for a few weeks and escape Delhi’s summer. That’s how the story started,” says Singh.
After a fairly exhaustive search, Singh decided on his first property, Klein Dassenberg in Franschhoek, which – “look at the serendipity of the whole thing” – abutted Grande Provence.
“There’s another reason why we ended up there. It’s Vastu-compliant,” says Singh, an ardent believer of Vastu Shastra, an ancient Indian science of construction and architecture.
“The property is high on the south west, low on the north east. The directions are all correct but it had two problems: it had the kitchen in the west when it should have been in the east, and the living quarters were in the east which should be in the west.”
Renovations are on so they now conform to Vastu Shastra. When Singh bought the farm, it had a manor house, guest cottage, and a slave cottage, now renamed The Pomegranate House.
“We got going, until somebody suggested the farm next to us was on sale. Then there was an expansion opportunity on an adjoining farm with a winery on it. So I showed up, liked the site and we acquired that farm too, all in less than a year. And then the farm at the other end was also on sale. So we acquired that as well. And then, we had enough hectares to farm on our own, so we hired a farm manager.”
Luckily for Singh, he got top talent. He was introduced to acclaimed South African viticulturist Rosa Kruger.
“I was lucky to find the right people without looking for them. I told Rosa, ‘I don’t know the first thing about winemaking, would you mind taking my farm on contract?’, and she said, ‘I like you, so I will help you, but I can’t take on the responsibility’. Rosa told me about a boutique wine company called Mullineux, they had two angel investors, and were looking to exit. She said ‘if you acquire, you get an ongoing successful wine company’.”
In October 2013, Singh flew in from London to sign the deal. As with every aspect of his journey into South Africa, this too had a story.
“On the British Airways plane, the stewardess handed out the menu cards and what do I see on the wine list? Mullineux Wine! Again, I felt like a kid in a toy shop.”
Singh says his new venture has made him appreciate wine more. Every year, he visits a new wine-growing area. Last year, he was at Napa Valley in California, and is now a member of The Napa Valley Reserve, one of the world’s biggest wine clubs.
“I have started the whole journey of appreciating wine and the world of lifestyle around wine, which has to do with food and so on. Frankly, now it does not seem so much of an accident as it did before, as actually, it is all the things that I like as a person, and not as a businessman. We give too much emphasis on the aspect of a business person, and too little emphasis on the person. I don’t believe, now at least, that the sole purpose of my life is business,” says Singh.
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“Business is one part of my life but the person is more permanent and more holistic in a manner of speaking. So when I think of myself as a person and my likes and dislikes, and I don’t have many dislikes, what I like most are all the things this life embodies. This place gives me greenery, nature, mountains, fog, and science and technology, as wine-making is all about technology [with regard to] the maturation process, and the way the fruit is extracted. These are the things I like. I don’t like sitting in front of a computer screen trying to trade off the New York Stock Exchange. It’s not my cup of tea. I have therefore really begun to think of this lifestyle, even though my days are busy when I come here. But whilst you may call it work, for me, it’s the most pleasurable thing to do… I am in the moment when I am here. It’s the most restful state for the mind. I feed off natural energy.”
For the moment, until his wine farm and hotels come online, Singh can be found at the Le Quartier Français, where he stays each time he is in Franschhoek. He has blended in well, and earned the town’s respect.
“I am like a local here, everyone is so nice to me,” he says.
“Analjit Singh is a part of the family,” agrees Susan Huxter, the owner of Le Quartier Français. “He is a truly perceptive, inspirational and intriguing individual. We feel [in him] an aura of tranquillity and spirituality that intrigues us and puzzles us at the same time. His journey in Franschhoek will be eventful, exciting and bring a whole new vibrancy to the village, as he is sensitive to his surroundings and the people, and soon – I believe – we will be able to converse with him in Afrikaans.”
Singh’s neighbor at Leeu Estates is Virgin Atlantic’s Richard Branson, whose property Mont Rochelle, is a luxury hotel and vineyard next door.
Singh says it’s a good thing.
“There is an element of novel excitement in the way Mr Branson lives his life and I hope that zeitgeist of Franschhoek in general and our neighborhood in particular, would benefit from his legendary joie
de vivre.”
Clearly, Singh’s is a story that will keep evolving. The South Africa sojourn is perhaps only the beginning of his journey into Africa.
“The show must go on,” says Singh, even as he is mobbed by locals, admirers and colleagues from India in the little South African wine town he now calls home.

IMG_2067

The man pouring millions into a rich slice  of Africa

Outspoken and fearless. Those are the principal character traits that define Charlize Theron, the South African amazon whose brazen attitude towards life is every bit a match for her striking beauty. The Oscar-winning (for Monster) actress is an independent woman who could take on any man, and tends to swear like one, too.
Directors and co-stars have described the 39-year-old Theron as a “ballsy” woman but one with enormous talent and sensitivity as anyone who would have seen her performances in films like The Burning Plane or Young Adult would attest.
Theron is about to achieve another career milestone with Mad Max: Fury Road, director George Miller’s retake of his own original 1979 Mad Max film and cult classic that helped propel Mel Gibson to Hollywood stardom. This time out, British actor Tom Hardy takes on the iconic role while Theron plays the female desert warrior who joins Hardy’s Max Rockatansky in an epic road war in their joint effort to cross the wasteland. For Theron, the film gave her the chance to throw herself into the kind of supercharged powerful role that suits her fiercer, feminist side.
“The original Mad Max created such a vivid world&#8230;George [Miller] really created a female character that I’ve never read anything like [before],” Theron declared with respect to her taking on the role of Imperator Furiosa.
“It’s a really challenging piece of material. Originally&#8230;I was like, ‘Uh, I’m not going to play the f*****g girl for ‘Mad Max’.’ Then I read it and I was like, ‘Oh, Mad Max, I feel sorry for you.’ [Laughs] That rarely happens&#8230;It’s two great characters. It’s not the original ‘Mad Max’. It’s the revamped ‘Mad Max’. It’s Tom Hardy, who’s incredible. So, the whole thing is just exciting, very, very exciting.”
Theron’s naturally self-confident and assertive personality explains why her boyfriend Sean Penn may well be the ideal man for her. He’s a notorious bad boy whose previous relationships with Robin Wright and Madonna were known for being as torrid as they were tumultuous.
Theron and Penn’s romance first heated up when they vacationed together in Hawaii over a year ago over New Year’s – since then they’ve been virtually inseparable, attending various awards functions and other events as a couple.
In her most serious comment regarding their relationship, Theron gushed: “It just kind of naturally happened, and before I knew it, I was in something that was making my life better – the people who really love me can see the effect it has had on me.”
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On Mad Max: Fury Road
One of the key early moments in Mad Max: Fury Road comes when Max (Hardy) and Furiosa (Theron) battle it out in the dirt before she is willing to join forces with him.
“This is not just two people standing there punching each other,” explained writer-director George Miller.
“This is a question of which one of them is going to survive&#8230;.I remember thinking [when Theron was driving the war rig back to base camp during the production and he was sitting behind her]: ‘She IS the Imperator, and if this was a real wasteland and we were at war, I’d be really happy she’s on our side.”
Added Miller: “I can’t really think of another character in cinema quite like her. I’m sure that other people might find connections, but just the way the character was conceived, and how Charlize took it on and transformed herself and played it, she did it with such authority. There have been great female action characters, but there’s just been nothing quite like this.”
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On female empowerment
Theron has long been known for her determined advocacy for women’s rights and specifically for greater opportunities for women in Hollywood. Never married, she has openly dismissed the idea of “the white dress” and is a committed spokesperson on gender and age equality. She also disdains the prevailing climate of discrimination against older women.
Declared Theron: “Women find their strength and power in their sexuality, in their sensuality within, [through] getting older and being secure within that. It’s ironic that we’ve built the beauty world around 20-year-olds, when they have no f*****g concept about wisdom, what life is about, having a few relationships below [their] belt and feeling hardships, to grow into [their] skin and feel confident within [themselves] and to feel the value of who [they] are, not because of a man or because of something like that. And I think that’s such a beautiful thing.
“That’s why I think people say women come into their prime in their 40s. And then for some reason our society just wants to go…it’s like a dead flower. It’s like we wilt for some reason. And men are like fine wines — the older they get, the better they get. It’s such a misconception, and it’s such a lost opportunity because that’s when I think women are really in the true moment of their sensuality.”
As proof of practicing what she preaches in terms of standing up to Hollywood’s patriarchal studio system, Theron recently negotiated a $10 million paycheck for her work in the upcoming film The Huntsman after last November’s Sony hack revealed that top Hollywood actresses were receiving less pay than their male co-stars.
Even veteran industry observers were shocked to learn that Jennifer Lawrence was paid less than her male costars in the Oscar-nominated American Hustle despite being arguably the hottest and highest-profile cast member.
Theron will now earn the same salary as co-star Chris Hemsworth in The Huntsman, a prequel to 2012’s Snow White and the Huntsman.
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On motherhood
Theron’s personal life underwent an upheaval five years ago when she split with actor Stuart Townshend after a nine year relationship. She didn’t work for nearly three years around the time of her breakup before resuming her career with films like The Burning Plain and Young Adult. It was during that time that she adopted a four-month-old baby boy in 2012 from Kenya whom she subsequently named Jackson. Sean Penn recently filed papers to become the three-year-old boy’s adoptive father.
Stated Theron: “I’m so happy to be a mother&#8230;It’s so amazing to finally reach this point in my life and be able to enjoy this incredible experience. I’m overjoyed!”
She added: “But the thing that caught me totally unprepared was the impact and intensity of this change in my life. Being a mother has struck me at a very deep level. I mean, to hold a young child that grows slowly and then starts talking and looking at the world around him is something absolutely incredible.”
“I want to be that example for my son. I want him to grow up with a mom that he could see and look at her life with all the mistakes and with all the failures and all the flaws and say, ‘My mom lived an authentic life. That was the life she wanted to live’.”
Theron is also adamant that being a mother does not affect her screen choices:
“I don’t look at material and go, ‘This is too dark, I have a kid now’, because my interests still are my interests. That doesn’t make me a bad mother. I think that makes me a really good mother, because when I go and creatively satisfy myself and those interests, I come home satisfied. And I can be a really good mother to him because I’m happy.”
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On her powerful bond with her mother Gerda
Theron, an only child, grew up on a farm in South Africa with a father she has characterized as an abusive alcoholic. In 1991, Gerda, her mother, fatally shot him after he came home in a drunken rage and threatened to kill her and the then-15-year-old Theron. Authorities ruled the slaying was self-defense, and Gerda was never prosecuted. Theron has remained close to her mother during her time in Hollywood and has never lost sight of her mother’s courage and profound influence on her:
“She has taught me to stand up for myself and be courageous. I’m not someone who indulges in self-pity and I hate it if I ever start feeling sorry for myself. I was raised in a way that I should never allow myself to be the victim, but to take responsibility for my decisions and my actions and live as boldly as possible.”
“My mother has given me a lot of guidance on that level. She’s someone who believes in not dwelling on the past and getting on with your life. I’m trying to live on those terms. I want to live the way I want to and not think back 50 years from now why I didn’t live my life when I had the chance. You have to be willing to go through the highs and lows and keep moving forward.”
When Theron was struggling to find good acting parts in her 20s she often dealt with the perception that she was a former model (though never a particularly successful one) and too pretty and striking for most roles.
But when 2 Days in the Valley (1996) earned her immediate recognition, leading to subsequent roles in Devils’ Advocate (opposite Keanu Reeves) in 1997 and Woody Allen’s Celebrity the year after, Theron was on her way.  She credits her mother with giving her both moral and financial support to help her hang in there before her career took off.
“I may have been insecure in finding myself as a teenager, or early-20s person, but I always had a very strong sense of what I felt was inside me,” she says. “My mom always used to tell me, ‘You have a foundation, and the foundation is there because of who you are, not because of what people think you are’. And it’s the kernel of that truth, of your truth — of knowing who you are, deep down — that lets you not pay that much attention to what people perceive in you.”
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On her sense of independence
“Sean [Penn] is very close to his children. But I was not looking for a baby-sitter, I was looking for a partner. I can pay for a babysitter! [Laughs]
“I have lots of friends who wanted to get married, for whom marriage was a major milestone. It never meant anything to me, I’ve tried a different way.”
“I don’t like [sympathy] for myself. Sometimes sympathy can feel like you’re trying to kind of victimize someone. I don’t know, maybe it’s just my own [stuff] that I have to deal with, but I think that, more than anything, people just want to be understood, you know?
“I grew up in a house with an alcoholic (father). And I experienced a lot of people being overly sympathetic, and for me, sympathy and pity — there’s a very, very fine line between the two. Maybe I was being ultra-sensitive, but the way I was treated then, the way people looked at me, it made me feel weak. And I was not a fan of that feeling at all. I’m still not.
“[There’s this misconception that] I’m a dark and bitchy kind of woman. [Laughs] I’ve played dark people in the past&#8230;and I’m nothing like that although I can be a bitch if I need to be. [Laughs]
“Most directors are constantly surprised when they meet me and get a chance to hang out with me for a while. I have a reputation for having a very raw sense of humor and I kind of use that to my advantage. I’ve always used humor as a refuge and as a way of overcoming or getting past a lot of the darker, sadder things that life can throw at you.”
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On fame and happiness
“For me, fame has no value. I never read anything into it than what it is. I don’t even know what it really means&#8230;In my position, you can’t manage it all, much less being able to control the media and that sort of thing. Life is never as rational as you would like it.
“I’m well aware of those less privileged than me [Theron works for numerous African charities] and how ambitions and expectations are dashed every day in life. In my case the pressure of media attention is a small downside that I simply need to ignore. It cannot and should not in any way affect my choices. The only priority that I have is my happiness and my son.
“I don’t think that life is that happy in general. It’s always going to be a struggle and you have to hang on to those moments where the world seems wonderful rather than grim. And even when things look bad, you shouldn’t let yourself get caught up in that because it won’t help you deal with things. You need to be able to pick yourself up off the floor and get on with things. That’s the attitude and life philosophy I’ve picked up from my mother.
“I’m not sure that happiness is [the] goal. It’s not the kind of state of being that you can necessarily control. You try to do the things in life which please you and the best you can hope for is that you’re going to be happy on some general level. Life takes you in many different directions and not all of them are going to be good. You’re going to have to deal with very tough times and sad moments because that’s just inevitable and life is like that.  You have to find the strength and determination to move past the difficult times and stay positive so that you can enjoy all the good moments. I’m feeling good about things now and I’m open and looking forward to the future.”

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The Oscar Winner  For Whom  Fame Is Worth Nothing

Narendra Raval is a palm reader, a priest and an astrologer; credentials that have seen high-ranking people – including presidents – call on him.
Despite his powers, Guru, as he is known, did not foretell the meteoric rise of his integrated construction firm, the largest in East and Central Africa, with an annual turnover of $650 million, according to FORBES.
The rise is even more remarkable when you consider he was born in India’s Gujarat state, to a family so poor that they couldn’t afford to send him to school.
Raval, now a Kenyan citizen worth around $400 million according to FORBES, is the industrialist behind the Devki Group of Companies, a conglomerate of three companies which manufactures cement, roofing sheets and steel.
But even with his sizeable bank account and reputation, Raval has maintained a down-to-earth character; repeatedly crediting his company’s success to his God and more than 4,000 employees.
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“When we started the steel manufacturing company in the early 1990s, my 70 employees agreed to go months without pay; we were not making any sales,” says Raval. “A majority of those loyal pioneer employees are still working with me and so are their children.”
He’s also an indefatigable philanthropist who spends millions, including half his annual salary, on scholarships, plus clothes and food for hundreds of hungry children. He has also poured his money into government schools.
“When you are blessed, it is your duty to bless the less fortunate,” he says.
When we meet in his office early on a Friday morning for this interview, it quickly becomes apparent that Raval is an extremely busy man for whom 24 hours in a day is not enough. His two mobile phones buzz every five minutes.
Two of those calls were from top-ranking government officials. As he ends one of the phone conversations, he apologizes and explains that the Minister of Industry was scheduled to tour his roofing sheets factory in two days’ time.
It’s not surprising. The government has lined up several multi-billion-dollar infrastructure projects, making Raval a highly sought after entrepreneur.
His journey to the top began at the age of 11, when he joined a temple in India as a priest’s assistant. There he studied Hinduism and astrology in exchange for a $50 monthly bursary for school.
Raval was sent to Kenya in 1978, to serve as the head priest of the Swaminarayan Temple in Nairobi. He was 16.
At the Nairobi temple, he pioneered mentorship classes and counseled youngsters against drug abuse. In 1982, his father instructed him to get married in order to set a good example for his two younger siblings.
“My family forced me to get married,” he says, as he excuses himself to answer yet another phone call, which this time, incidentally, is from his wife Neeta, a medical doctor.
“In order to get married, I had to leave the temple, which I did in 1982. Three years later, I married Neeta.”
The newlyweds tried their hand at business in 1986. They opened a hardware shop called The Steel Centre, in Gikomba, a market area in bustling downtown Nairobi.
Gikomba was not their preferred site. A former Kenyan finance minister rented a small shop to the couple for $70 (then Sh3,500) per month, a rate four times cheaper than shops in the smarter end of town.
“My wife and I did everything ourselves; one of us would make the deliveries while the other manned the shop,” he says.
The Steel Centre churned out $24,000 a month, a pretty penny in 1986.
Raval ventured into steel manufacturing. He approached one of his acquaintances, and his mentor, former President Daniel arap Moi, who promised to help with plans provided Raval made it his priority to employ Kenyans. It was an easy promise for Raval to keep.
Some of Moi’s friends offered to sell land to Raval but asked too much.
In 1989, he secured 30 acres of land in Athi River, a vast industrial zone about 35 kilometers south of Nairobi, for Sh365,000 (around $4,000 now). Today, this amount can only buy an eighth of an acre in the same place.
This piece of land, which Raval shared with wild animals, became the launch pad for the Devki Group business empire.
“It was a piece of land that hid any potential it had away from us,” says Raval.
Kenya Commercial Bank (KCB), a government-owned lender, lent him a $700,000 to set up the factory, import the raw materials to kick start production in 1992.
It wasn’t an easy birth. The three established steel manufacturers at the time fought back.
“They priced their products a few shillings below ours. They had established markets so their dubious pricing tactics did not affect their bottom lines,” he says.
Six months after commissioning the plant, Devki Steel was selling less than 10% of what it made. It had a growing pile of finished product and raw material in its warehouses.
It was at this point that Raval froze salaries. They heard him out; agreed to go three months without pay, and survive on food allowances. It was hard but good news was around the corner.
In the third quarter of 1992, international steel prices skyrocketed.
Devki Steel was in the pound seats. Its warehouses were packed with $1.2 million worth of raw material and finished products. Raval made a killing, earning $1 million in profit right off. Devki Steel was on its way.
“The profit enabled me to settle my workers’ dues, clear my bank loan and invest in expanding the factory,” Raval recalls, shaking his head in disbelief at his luck.
In 2015, Devki Steel produces 250,000 tons of over 100 different finished products every year, a huge climb from 7,500 tons in 1992 when it produced merely steel reinforcement bars and tubes.
Seventy percent of Devki Steel’s products are sold in Kenya. The rest is exported to Rwanda, Uganda, South Sudan, Tanzania, Burundi and Ethiopia.
After working his way up from a humble priest to one of Africa’s leading entrepreneurs, Raval is far from ready to slow down. He wants to offer Kenyans construction materials to build a house at an affordable price.
In 2008, he took $72 million from his steel business to set up Maisha Mabati Mills. It manufactures aluminum and zinc-coated iron sheets, the most common form of roofing material in many parts of the continent. The company’s size, in terms of assets, has since grown to $125 million, churning out 200,000 metric tons of iron sheets every year.
Raval was investing again in 2010, this time commissioning a $100-million cement factory, National Cement, with an annual capacity of 350,000 tons. Investments have pushed annual output to 1.2 million tons.
Kenya’s cement industry is no picnic either. It is highly competitive with players jostling for control against Lafarge-owned Bamburi Cement.
New Kenyan players, like National Cement, Mombasa Cement and Savanna Cement, have entered the market, driven by a slew of infrastructure and housing projects in East Africa.
Kenya’s six cement makers produced 5.2 million tons in the 11 months to November 2014, a 13% increase from the 4.6 million tons manufactured in a similar period the previous year, according to the Kenya National Bureau of Statistics (KNBS).
The new cement players, despite already producing excess capacity, are now announcing plans to expand.
Raval last year accepted $70 million ($55 million in debt and $15 million in shareholding) from the International Finance Corporation (IFC). In return, the World Bank’s lending arm took a minority stake in Devki Group of Companies.
“We would like to send a strong signal of IFC’s confidence in a Kenyan company making a difference in the local economy,” the IFC said when the deal was announced.
The money will be used to expand National Cement’s annual production capacity to 2 million by 2016. This includes the construction of a clinker (cement’s main raw material) factory.
The $200-million expansion will make National Cement the largest manufacturer in Kenya, for now. ARM Cement and Bamburi Cement have also announced plans to increase capacity.
Johnson Nderi, the corporate finance manager at ABC Capital, says that these enhanced factories and investments in improved equipment has driven the price of a 50 kilogram bag of cement down from approximately $9 to $7 in three years.
“Kenya is experiencing a construction boom and it is therefore logical that the monopolistic cement industry in the country has finally come to an end following the entry of new local players,” says Nderi.
By agreeing to do a deal with the IFC, Raval snubbed an offer from Africa’s richest man, Aliko Dangote. The Nigerian cement king wanted to buy Raval out and then changed his offer to a majority stake. Raval said no.
Undeterred, Dangote is planning to enter Kenya’s cement scene with a $400 million factory in Kitui.
“We had our reasons for not accepting the offer from Dangote. IFC, other than the substantial financial support, will also bring on board their expertise in infrastructure management,” he says.
The IFC’s expertise will be useful in Raval’s grand plan to expand across the continent. He plans to set up steel and cement factories in the Democratic Republic of Congo, Uganda, Tanzania, Zambia and Nigeria over the next five years. The expansion will cost around $150 million, with a portion of this coming from the IFC.
“Beginning next year, we shall be setting up factories in one new country every year. I traveled to Zambia in February to view some potential factory sites,” he says.
Raval could be onto something as the IFC estimates that Africa needs to increase cement production by between 10 and 15 tons per year, every year, for the next decade, to meet demand.
In the four years to 2013, production of cement in the continent increased from 33 metric tons to 88 tons, growth the IFC and Raval hope to sustain ahead of a listing.
“The intention is to list the Devki Group at the Nairobi Securities Exchange (NSE) after 2020. I want to give Kenyans a chance to own a part of what is innately their company,”
he says.
Raval dreams of being the man who put a roof over every Kenyan’s head without breaking the bank.
Raval doesn’t like to waste time. He is a trained pilot who flies his helicopter to visit his factories.
“There is still a lot more to be done. Our intention is to become the biggest pan-African manufacturer of steel and cement.”
So, if you see a chopper swooping over Nairobi, it could be a steel-and-cement-making priest on a mission.

Nerves Of Steel That Said No To Dangote

Diezani Alison-Madueke turns heads, not only because of her sartorial elegance. With a record-breaking career of many firsts, she is a force to reckon with in Nigeria’s corridors of power and among titans of industry.
Her list of career firsts could fill up an entire chapter in Nigeria’s book of powerful people.
Alison-Madueke is the country’s first female Minister of Petroleum Resources, a post she has held since 2010. She was the first woman to lead a country delegation to the annual Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries (OPEC) conference. She was Nigeria’s first female minister of the mega Transportation Ministry and the first woman to be appointed to the board of Anglo-Dutch oil giant, Shell Petroleum Development Company of Nigeria. She recently added more feathers to her cap when elected the first female president of OPEC, and also the Gas Exporting Countries Forum.
Alison-Madueke’s rise to the top in an aggressive male-dominated industry has been studied by critics and admirers alike.
As sliding crude oil prices (expected to go down to $30 a barrel according to a recent Goldman Sachs report) send volatile tremors across economies and sectorial bottlenecks linger, there is no hotter seat than Alison-Madueke’s.
OPEC’s decision (largely driven by Saudi Arabia) to maintain production in the face of decreasing oil prices has been called a double-edged sword. One that defends the market share of member countries, yet hurting a few key economies, Nigeria included.
In the scheme of things, Alison-Madueke’s optimism is unmistakable – and unshakeable. She is confident and articulate.
“I am not shaken by the vagaries and viciousness that surrounds the sector, the economy and the politics of Nigeria,” she says when we meet her in February in Abuja, Nigeria’s capital city.
She says this with gusto; you can tell she has had this attribute all her professional life. She admits her early experience as an architect provided the foundation.
“When you study architecture, you fundamentally have to make structures stand up, the integrity of a building is crucial; it is otherwise a failed project,” she says.
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Early life
Being a creative person, Alison-Madueke decided a career in architecture, at Howard University in the United States (US), would complement her personality. Studying her chosen subject well, and with an MBA from Cambridge, she moved very quickly into construction, facilities and project management in the US, before returning to her home country Nigeria. There is where she understood the nuts and bolts of the oil and gas industry.
“I returned to Nigeria to take up a job in the civil infrastructure section of Shell at the time. I moved into public affairs and soon joined venture relations which [found] me working directly with the major governmental organizations in the oil and gas sector under my domain now. I had to learn the hardcore operational details of the oil and gas industry during that period. Having understood the operational details, I took the position of External Affairs Director – the first time a woman had been made a director in Shell Nigeria in over 70 years of it being in operation.”
With each new step, came even bigger global – and social – responsibilities. The topic of women’s empowerment is not far from her mind.
“All the firsts, each time they came, were very humbling and a great privilege. When you realize that the steps you are taking and the glass ceilings you are breaking open the door for other women to enter into that arena, it is something very pleasing to me. I believe that as women, it is important to remember that there are many other women who have been shut out of many areas of professional expertise and as you rise up the ladder, always remember to turn back and give a helping hand to other women to rise along with you,” she says.
Alison-Madueke identifies her parents as early influencers. Her father had been a teacher in colonial days and attained a scholarship to study in the United Kingdom whilst her mother joined him to study nursing and midwifery. Her father returned to Nigeria to take on a senior position with Shell-BP. To their young daughter, they were strong role models.
“I don’t see how I would have had the innate confidence and strength that I had without that sort of a background and influence,” says Alison-Madueke.
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Confronting challenges
As Nigeria’s Minister of Petroleum Resources, Alison-Madueke sits at the helm of a sector that has been plagued by operational challenges. When she took on the role, her mission was to change the narrative of Nigeria’s core revenue-producing sector, and boost investment.
“This is a period [rife] with challenges as we have seen with the drop in the price of crude over the last few months which has of course, affected the federation’s budget quite drastically as well as [that of] many other crude-producing countries around the world. We are grappling with that, reviewing our processes in the oil and gas sector here to make us much more competitive, to have a much more enabling environment for investors and to begin to look at future investment and ring-fence them now to ensure we have them over the medium to long term,” she says. Nigeria is Africa’s foremost oil producing country and Alison-Madueke’s ministry oversees the Nigerian National Petroleum Corporation (NNPC), one of Africa’s largest state-owned petroleum enterprises. A lot of hope is pinned on the sector to take the country forward.
Alison-Madueke’s tenure has recorded some transformatory highs in Nigeria’s oil and gas sector. Her drive to empower local enterprises saw her champion the passage of the Nigerian Oil &amp; Gas Industry Content Development Bill.
The bill was signed into law by Nigerian President Goodluck Jonathan in 2010, influencing indigenous participation and the development of local capacities thus changing the face of the sector. It saw a notable growth in the number of Nigerian-owned exploration and production companies and indigenous entrants, which was a first for the industry. Importantly, it created more jobs.
“The act has ensured that well over 300,000 jobs have been created because of the trickledown effect it has had on the economy but more than that, it has brought into play a whole host of new players, across society, into the downstream service sector of the oil and gas industry – from supply, fabrication of parts for the downstream service sector, fabrication of pipe mills, a massive rise in ownership of rigs and marine gold vessels for use in the oil and gas sector. It has given Nigerians first consideration in many areas of the oil and gas sector.”
Stability of supply, distribution of petroleum products and a uniform price regime in Nigeria are still challenges. Alison-Madueke’s leadership has seen to the revamp and rehabilitation of key depots to restore product supply.
The Petroleum Industry Bill (PIB), a bid to ensure the oil and gas industry is more transparent in order to attract investment, is yet to be promulgated. While Nigerians wait with bated breath, the Minister sheds more light on its intricacies.
“Despite the fact that the PIB has not been promulgated, the Gas Master plan and areas of fundamental reforms in major oil and gas parastatals such as the NNPC and the NPDC (Nigerian Petroleum Development Company) have been pulled out. The Gas Masterplan is being worked very stringently and has ensured we have not only moved for gas to power but also for gas to industry and to ensure we get value for our gas to export. Quite a lot of reforms have taken place in this area in the last three years to ensure we are not only creative about putting in place the formerly non-existent infrastructure for gas to power, but at the same time, the framework that will allow Nigeria in the next four to five years to become a regional hub for industrialization based on gas.”
In a quest to boost Nigeria’s position as a global oil and gas powerhouse, Alison-Madueke’s ministry has had to deal with the scourge of illegal refineries, crude oil theft, as well as the issue of over 5,000 kilometers of vandalized pipelines.
But Alison-Madueke remains resolute.
“There are no bottlenecks that cannot be overcome,” she says, “but we need to very carefully delineate aggressive responses to a number of issues that we have to deal with. We are working very hard with security services to mitigate this bottleneck. Over the last three years, we have been able to drop the rate of bunkering from 200,000 to about 60,000 barrels per day. It is one of the most irresponsible issues we are faced with as a government because it affects the entire country.”
Identifying pricing frameworks in the gas sector is the next frontier for Nigeria and Alison-Madueke says the sector needs to equip itself better with infrastructure.
“We have put in place over 400 kilometers of pipelines in the last three and half years. We have another over 470 kilometers as we speak for gas infrastructure. We are also trying to attract the necessary investors to help us with that,” she adds.
How does she do it all?
On juggling an incredibly busy professional life with family responsibilities, Alison-Madueke offers a simple formula, which is achieving the right balance.
“Women have really come into their own in all spheres of expertise in this day and age. A woman not only has professional responsibilities to deal with, she is a mother, she is a wife, and she is a sister. A woman handles many roles rolled into one. All my professional roles don’t stop me from playing my other roles. I still have my family-related obligations that I attend to.”
In spite of a hectic schedule, Alison-Madueke takes time off whenever she can.
“The most precious things in life are not the things money can buy. What give me satisfaction in life are the things you cannot pay for: the love of a family, seeing them do well as they grow into their professions and start their own families. When I am standing by a football pitch in the mud and rain, screaming out for our youngest son to make that goal, or just enjoying time out or indoors with them is very refreshing,” she says.
The African woman
Alison-Madueke sees the African woman’s place in society as evolving and her presence now acknowledged with a “no-limit view” on how far she can go. She thanks the Nigerian leadership for effecting the mind-set change in gender issues – at least in government.
“For the first time in the history of Nigeria, we have had a president confident enough to place over 35% of women in top nominated positions in his government. Women are not in tokenism positions anymore. It has been very rare for women to be placed in key positions in government. The Nigerian president has gone out on a limb which is historical where women of this country are concerned and I see this happening all over the continent because African women have come into their own. The times for women have changed. I see, over the next 10 years, major progress for women across the board in Africa and I think it will be quite an accomplishment we will all live to enjoy.”
Among Nigeria’s other powerful female leaders is the globally-famous Nigerian economist and Nigeria’s Coordinating Minister for the Economy and Finance, Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala, and Arunma Oteh, who served as Director-General of the country’s Securities and Exchange Commission.
Alison-Madueke says networks and support structures amongst women are key to ascending the corporate ladder.
“Women are in competition with each other. This is highly unfortunate. Leadership is not about being liked. It is about making tough decisions for the betterment of the whole and as women rise, they should learn to begin to network among themselves. Creating clusters where other women support each other. Men do this very well.
“I envision an Africa with a lot of strong women in a lot of very powerful positions.”
By the same token, she encourages young adults to be more assertive.
“Don’t wait for your ship to sail into harbor. Swim out to it and climb onboard. Learn to recognize opportunities when they present themselves. They may turn out to be the most critical opportunities and game changers in your entire life.”
Alison-Madueke may have derived these words from her own life, seeing resources as sustainable opportunities, but how does she counter opposition and critique?
“For every stage I have come into in life, I have been responsible to a certain segment. That we can open up sectors like the oil and gas industry and allow so many Nigerians an opportunity to benefit from the natural resource that runs under their feet, and that lives can be changed completely from their involvement in a sector which hitherto was a great mystery.
“The responsibility to impact positively on the lives of so many Nigerians is what drives me. Every day, I face this work with a certain fuel and passion and I am not feeble about it. Even in the face of opposition, I channel my energy into the sector that I run.”
Energy. Power. Fuel. Drive.
The words of the oil and gas industry fit the woman.

DSC9655

The Queen of Black Gold

Aliko Dangote lives as you might expect, given he’s the richest person in Africa and resides in the same country being bullied by the insidious Boko Haram terrorist group, which finds something noble in kidnapping village girls. Located on Victoria Island, a wealthy Lagos enclave that has a moat in the form of a lagoon and the far eastern shores of the Atlantic Ocean, his mansion comes with all the trimmings: massive black gate, bulletproof windows, Big Brother video surveillance, guards and a secret entryway.
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After I enter, a butler motions to a sitting room overlooking a patio and a blue-tiled pool. The three-story fortress is shielded from the 90-degree heat by powerful air-conditioners (themselves presumably shielded from Nigeria’s notoriously unreliable electric grid by diesel generators). Dangote, round-faced with a trimmed graying moustache, appears from upstairs dressed in khakis and a casual blue button-down. The 57-year-old can seem miscast in the role of industrial titan, often speaking so softly that he mumbles.
As breakfast arrives by the platterful, including plantains, smoked chicken in red sauce, diced sweet potatoes, whitefish and sausage, he sticks to coy conversation. Whether about his country’s fraught presidential election (“It’s going to be tough for both parties”) or his cement company’s long-delayed overseas listing (“Maybe next year”), he has little to say. On one subject, though, he is always articulate. “Nigeria is one of the best kept secrets,” Dangote says. “A lot of foreigners are not investing because they’re waiting for the right time. There is no right time.”
Nigeria does provide fertile opportunity for vast wealth. As evidence, look no further than Dangote’s No. 67 rank on the World’s Billionaires List and his $14.7 billion fortune – mostly from three majority stakes in publicly traded cement, sugar and four companies. And he doesn’t arrive here alone. In another dramatic sign of his country’s emergence, Nigeria has overtaken South Africa on FORBES’ 50 Richest in Africa ranking. Thirteen Nigerians earned spots in 2014, including a trio of new billionaires.
Dangote and these other Nigerians power Africa’s largest economy. The drop in crude prices prompted the oil rich country’s stock index to plunge 40% last year, taking Dangote’s net worth down in lockstep – no surprise, since his companies account for almost a third of the nation’s benchmark index (his $10.3 billion drop in net worth was the world’s largest last year). But the underlying fundamentals are strong. From 2010 to 2013, Nigerian GDP expanded by an average of 5% a year. (It now totals some $500 billion, or a third larger than South Africa.) Even with the oil glut, forecasters believe this year’s growth will top 5%. In fact, according to a widely cited Citigroup report, economists expect Nigeria to have among the fastest average annual GDP growth in the world between 2010 and 2050.
There are other reasons for international interest as well. In the shadow of rising Islamic militancy, which has destabilized the Middle East and now threatens to do the same to parts of Africa, President Obama recently issued an executive order tasking US business executives with strengthening trade ties to sub-Saharan Africa (the council includes heavy hitters from Wal-Mart, G.E. and McKinsey).
Prior to that, in May 2014, he dispatched Penny Pritzker to Nigeria, the first visit by a Commerce Secretary in two decades. America’s foreign direct investment in Nigeria reached a continent-leading $8.2 billion in 2012, the last year for which statistics are available. Overall US-Nigerian trade was $9.8 billion last year. Nigeria sells far less oil to America these days – it exported $2 billion of the black stuff last year as the US’ tenth-largest supplier – so most of that trade comes through other goods and services.
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Keeping Nigeria successful is critical. The country is already Africa’s most populous, with more than 170 million people, and that figure will swell to 210 million by 2020. By 2050, Nigeria is forecast to overtake the United States (440 million to 400 million). Yet a majority of the people subsist on less than $1.25 a day. About half are illiterate; most are very young (the country’s median age is 18.3). And 50% of rural Nigeria lacks access to clean drinking water. It’s hard to imagine the government coming to grips with it all, even if oil prices recover. Nigeria consistently ranks in the bottom quarter of the most corrupt countries in the world, according to Transparency International, and is proving a feckless pursuer of the Boko Haram thugs terrorizing the northeast.
All of which makes Dangote – well connected, wildly wealthy and ready to do business – an increasingly important player on the world stage. “Anyone doing business in Africa,” says David Rubenstein, the cofounder of the Carlyle Group and a fellow billionaire, “knows Dangote.”
The roots of Dangote’s rise lie 150 miles south of the Sahara in his hometown of Kano, Nigeria’s second largest city. A dusty metropolis, Kano has been a trade center and commercial hub since its establishment in the 10th century, thanks to its strategic location on the edge of the vast desert. Egyptian perfumes, incense, inks and mirrors dominated at first, then leather goods. The camel caravans became lucrative enough to fight over; wars broke out with neighboring kingdoms. When the British arrived in the late 1800s, Kano was West Africa’s most important business center.
Under British rule, Sanusi Dantata, Dangote’s grandfather, grew rich trading commodities like grain oats and rice, and ranked as one of Kano’s wealthiest citizens. Dantata insisted on personally raising his grandson – not an unusual arrangement in northern Nigerian culture – and instilled a businessman’s mind-set in Dangote at a young age. At the age of eight, he turned allowance into startup capital. “I would use it to buy sweets, and I would give them to some people to sell, and they would bring me the profit,” Dangote says. “When you are raised by an entrepreneurial parent or grandparent you pick that aspiration. It makes you be much more aggressive – to think anything is possible.”
The country was growing up, too. Post-colonial instability, including countless coups and a civil war in the 1960s, was eclipsed by an oil boom in the 1970s. During that decade, the economy grew 18% annually, with many of the spoils going to well-connected elites. Despite the explosion of revenue, the World Bank still considered Nigeria – along with countries such as Bangladesh, Ethiopia, Chad and Mali – as “low income,” a candidate for international aid.
Dangote, a Muslim, attended Al-Azhar University in Cairo and studied business. After graduation, he asked his grandfather for permission to move to Lagos. A $500,000 loan from his uncle set up 21-year-old Dangote as a trader of rice, sugar and cement. He was well capitalized and a naturally talented trader. He imported sugar from Brazil and rice from Thailand and sold them locally at a huge mark-up. At his height, he says, he was pocketing $10,000 in profit a day. “Things were quite good,” he says. “It allowed us to create an awful lot of cash.”
He also worked the politicians. According to a State Department cable unearthed by WikiLeaks, Dangote “held exclusive import rights in sugar, cement, and rice, using such advantages to do volume business and undercut competitors.” Dangote flatly denies this.
Dangote’s success landed him firmly on America’s radar. A 1994 diplomatic cable singled him out as a businessman to know in Nigeria and drew attention to his clan’s homes in Kano, Lagos, London and Atlanta. The State Department report also highlighted the annual family vacation to the States.
A 1995 trip to Brazil convinced him to shift from trading to manufacturing. Why continue to play middleman when he could make the stuff in Nigeria instead and pocket even more profit? His resolve was strengthened in 1999, when Nigeria held its first democratic presidential election in six years, choosing a bespectacled former military ruler and chicken farmer named Olusegun Obasanjo, whom Dangote had known since 1981. As a key part of his platform, Obasanjo had pledged to protect and promote domestic industry.
That’s all Dangote needed to hear. Dangote Sugar started in 2000 and quickly expanded the annual production capacity of its refinery at Lagos’ Apapa Port to 1.44 million tons, enough to satisfy 90% of national demand. By the time Dangote Sugar debuted on the Nigerian Stock Exchange in 2007, sales had quadrupled to $450 million. The four firms, which began in 1999 and also produces pasta and noodles, followed a similar trajectory. It began with a single mill, tripled revenue to $270 million, increased capacity eightfold to 1.5 million tons – then joined Dangote Sugar on the NSE in 2008, the same year Dangote became the first Nigerian on FORBES’  World’s Billionaires list, at No. 334. In 2005, Dangote secured a $480 million loan led by the World Bank’s International Finance Corporation – Nigerian banks didn’t have the ability, or the stomach, to put up the cash alone – and agreed to plunk down $320 million of his own money to build a cement factory. Dangote Cement listed on the NSE in 2010 as a $1.3 billion-in-sales company. The three companies today do a combined $3 billion in revenue; while Dangote Flour operates at a loss and Dangote Sugar’s net margin falls in line with Brazilian peer Cosan, the cement company is wildly profitable, with a margin of 52% – about double that of close competitor LaFarge Africa.
Obasanjo, re-elected in 2003, worked overtime to ensure that any Dangote challenger who entered the market did so with a significant handicap. At the time Dangote’s sugar and four companies went public, raw sugar was taxed 12 times less than refined sugar, wheat six times less than flour. Dangote Cement prospered from restrictive licenses. The companies retain a vice-like grip on their industries today, controlling at least half of the cement and sugar markets and about 25% of four.
“When Obasanjo took over, he took guys with him,” says a Nigerian belonging to the country’s overlapping circle of business and political elites. “He gave them a leg up.”
Last August, as the Islamic State overran northern Iraq and Boko Haram was declaring its own caliphate in Nigeria, the White House held a US-Africa trade summit in Washington, DC. A highlight was the announcement of a $5 billion fund backed by Wall Street billionaire Steve Schwarzman’s Blackstone Group – and Dangote. They plan to invest in infrastructure companies throughout sub-Saharan Africa.
“We can do well as investors, and the countries will do well,” Schwarzman says. “We’re aware that operating in Africa isn’t as easy as many other places. You have to have a very strong local partner, and we were lucky enough to find Aliko. He’s done a remarkable job.”
Rubenstein, of the Carlyle Group, sought out Dangote as well when raising money for his firm’s first sub-Sahara-focused fund in 2012. Dangote ultimately invested in the $700 million fund.
“His name carries a great deal of weight,” Rubenstein says. “If you say he’s an investor with you that carries a lot of weight. He’s helped us.”
The Carlyle fund has so far invested in five companies, including a $147 million deal last November for Nigeria-based Diamond Bank, a retail lender.
It’s all part of Dangote’s fast-rising international profile. He’s a Davos regular, and appeared with Goodluck Jonathan, Nigeria’s current president, on a panel about investment potential in Africa at the 2014 World Economic Forum. Even four years ago, he was there making a familiar pitch: “Don’t give any more aid to Africa,” he said. Invest with local partners instead. “You will make money, and we’ll make money, and it’s better for everyone.”
But it is not in Dangote’s nature to rely on others to prosper. Mostly, he relies on himself.
He trusts few others with real power at his companies, often making decisions with little more than gut feeling, says a former top executive.
“Ultimately all the decisions sit with the boss, Dangote, rather than the senior management,” the executive says.
Self-reliance and a supremely healthy ego blend seamlessly into a cult of personality at Dangote’s firms. Portraits of him hang on the walls. The average Dangote employee seems to virtually worship him.
“I’m going to be a big man, I’m going to be the next Dangote,” a lab technician at the one of the cement plants says over and over again until his sentiment is recorded on paper. A lieutenant warns that Dangote will walk out of a meeting if it starts even a minute late.
But Dangote is hardly the hermetic workaholic (“I don’t think I’ll ever retire”) he puts on. “He attends more parties than anyone I know,” says Jim Ovia, a banker and close friend. One Sunday last month found Dangote on his yacht – christened Mariya after his mother – and then flying to Geneva on Monday to see his grandchildren. Later that week, he met first with the French general counsel and then with Davido, Nigeria’s biggest pop star.
Another recent social call: breakfast with former president Obasanjo, then onto Abuja to meet the current president. Dangote has good reason to keep up with Jonathan, whose government still enforces Obasanjo-era high tariffs on imports that compete with Dangote’s key products. Indeed, the State Department has come to see Dangote as completely inseparable from the Nigerian government.
“But without him a lot of people wouldn’t have jobs,” says a former US diplomat in Africa. “And Nigeria would be weaker.”
Jonathan’s reign may soon end: He faces a surprisingly strong challenger in this March’s presidential election, and Boko Haram’s unchecked bloodshed is at least partly to blame. The insurgents have killed an estimated 20,000 people, displaced more than a million and now control some 20,000 square miles within Nigeria. Jonathan’s opponent – a retired army general – is seen by his supporters as the best man to finally defeat the terrorists. For Dangote, the upheaval has meant lower demand for his cement (“There are places in the north where no one is thinking of building a home,” one Dangote executive says), and he cut cement prices twice last year, most recently by 14% in November. But whether it’s Jonathan or someone else ruling Nigeria, observers find it difficult to believe that anyone would shut him out of the presidential palace. He’s simply too important to the economy.
Oil represents another big play. He is busy building a refinery some 40 minutes by car outside central Lagos. He explains with uncharacteristic glee that the recent drop in prices will actually make construction easier. His suppliers will be desperate… and easy pickings. “We will be the only ones around,” he says. “We will carry a big knife and cut them on prices.”
The refinery, Dangote says, can be profitable even at $50 to $70 a barrel. Raw crude for the refinery will come from multiple suppliers. If all goes according to plan, it’ll produce 650,000 barrels a day – a variety of gas, diesel and jet fuel. Dangote would basically walk away with a monopoly on refined oil in the country: The four Nigerian National Petroleum refineries are viewed as corrupt to the point of non-functioning.
To make it happen, Dangote plans to invest some $10 billion to $11 billion in the project and an adjacent petrochemical plant, with at least $6.75 billion in debt financing. Dangote threw a big celebration the day he signed the loan terms at the Hilton in Abuja. Guests included state governors, bank executives and, naturally, the president.
Terraforming is almost complete on the refinery’s 10-square-mile site – a jungle swamp now turned into a sandy expanse. A drive-through reveals a few stick huts, the last remnants of native villages that were there before Dangote arrived. Dangote executives promise the government has compensated the displaced natives well. As a stream of black Dangote trucks pass – one with a full bed of armed guards – a woman scurries inside a hut and shoots back a dark look.
The convoy pulls to a halt on a palm-tree-lined beach, a tropical paradise more suited to multimillion-dollar condos than refining petrochemicals. It’s a goner, though, the future home of another Dangote empire.
“The refinery will start in 2018 if we finish on time,” Dangote says, optimistic as always. “By that time all the dead bodies will have been removed from the street. All the trouble will be gone.”

The Gatekeeper  To Growth

It was a gloomy winter’s day outside the domed Good Hope Centre in the heart of Cape Town. Table Mountain peeped through the clouds and a slight drizzle pattered gently against the concrete roof. It was July 18, 1998, the day that saw the money of poor people stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the rich. A day the dream of turning $840,000 into $628 million took root.
This was the moment when Brimstone Investment Corporation Limited listed on Africa’s largest bourse, the Johannesburg Stock Exchange (JSE). It carried the hope of small shop owners, fishermen and teachers who had put their life savings on the line.
“It was early days at the Good Hope Centre, which is at the foot of District Six, what was then called the Fruit and Veg Market. We had this view we were taking the people to a different kind of market, the market of high finance,” chuckles Fred Robertson, Executive Chairman of Brimstone.
Many of the thousand shareholders that gathered ran the same streets as Robertson. The future entrepreneur and millionaire sold newspapers, apples and popcorn in cinemas in District Six. The company’s choice of District Six as the launch pad for wealth for the people was no accident – rather an unspoken statement. In the 1970s, the apartheid authorities moved Robertson and 60,000 of his neighbors to make way for white residents.
“You must remember there were forced removals across the country, not only in District Six. But we were thrown across this piece of wasteland called the Cape Flats. Families were taken apart. Friends and neighbors were all thrown. We were a family of nine children. My sisters were in different townships. Our family started disintegrating at the time,” says Robertson.
All this was a distant, if painful, memory as the shareholders in the Good Hope Centre stood nervously staring at two large computer screens as they flickered into life. Most knew little about the shares their money had bought. They were a cross section from the margins of Cape Town: the sort of people who walked to work with little money to spare.
This listing was also proof of the promises from Robertson, a former teacher, and his partners Mustaq Brey, a self-taught chartered accountant from Wynberg, and Lawrie Brozin, another chartered accountant who joined the company from his family business in Illovo, Johannesburg; three men, three worlds, three religions; one fear shared with their shareholders – a loss.
“We are talking about a community that was previously disadvantaged that didn’t know about stocks. We listed at R4 ($1.12) and came off at about R6 ($1.68),” says Brey.
“Life was good then, hey?” laughs Brozin.
Since that soggy day in July 1998, the investment company has gone from strength to strength. Brimstone these days claims assets worth $628 million, with an intrinsic net asset value (INAV) of R17.09 ($1.48 in June 2014) a share, a far cry from R4 ($1.12 in 1994) on day one at the JSE.
After 20 years of investment, the group employs around 3,300 and has 16,000 subsidiaries. Its associates are among the biggest names in Africa: Life Healthcare, Oceana, Sea Harvest, Lion of Africa Insurance, Old Mutual, Nedbank, Tiger Brands, Grindrod Limited, The Scientific Group, House of Monatic, Taste Holdings, Afena Capital and Rex Trueform.
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Chili Poppers
The Brimstone trio reflect on leaner times in their humble offices at the back of Newlands cricket ground on a brighter day. Around the boardroom table the mood is easy. In between questions, at least one of the three will reach out to snap up a steaming spring roll or a chili popper, made by Brey’s sister Bibi.
“Your sister is the best cook, I am telling you now,” says Brozin to Brey.
Bibi’s spicy tidbits are a small reminder of how everything, as Leonardo da Vinci said, is connected to everything else. In 1994, Bibi, along with her chili poppers, was at the first Brimstone shareholder meeting in the small Newlands Grounds South Club, a stone’s throw from this boardroom.
“We called in a whole lot of people together and explained to them what we wanted to do. The meals we ordered were from Bibi, she then brought us a bill the next morning,” says Robertson.
“For R5,000 ($1,400),” says Brey, ever the accountant.
“And we then gave her a share certificate,” says Robertson.
“I then said ‘you owe me another R12,500 ($3,503)’. She said ‘I owe you money?’ And I said ‘yes’. She ended up paying the extra money and landed up with 5,000 shares,” says Brey.
“Six thousand seven hundred and fifty shares [in total],” corrects Robertson.
Back in 1994, it wasn’t just the chilies that were popping. In that year, the shareholders spotted their first hot deal. They called it the Oceana deal: a 9.73% stake in Oceana Group, a collection of operating subsidiaries in the fishing and cold storage industries along South Africa’s west coast.
“The bank told us they would give us a loan of R4 million ($1.1 million). We had to raise another R3 million ($842,000) in six weeks. We went door to door. I even remember organizing a bond on the one shareholder’s house to get some money,” says Brey.
“At the time you were starting a company. It’s not like you were buying a company. It was an idea. You were backing guys,” says Brozin.
By 1995, the deal was done; the first drop in an ocean of investments that was to make more than a few waves. Word spread to the ear of former head of state Nelson Mandela.
“Mandela was one of our first shareholders. He paid for shares, like everybody else paid for shares. He saw it in the newspaper and then called us to the presidency and said he also would like to invest, like everybody else. And we said ‘yes of course,’” says Robertson.
“He bought 240,000 shares with
a cheque of R300,000 ($85,000),”
says Brey.
Foul Weather On The Horizon
It was not all fair winds and following seas. Storm clouds loomed over the horizon as foul weather threatened to sink Brimstone.
“In 1995/96, it was the start of a huge boom in the stock market. South Africa was in a fantastic space. Everyone was listing. We used my house as an office in Illovo, a study at the bottom. We had cigars and whiskey. It was just such a crazy time. We became quite substantial after about a year because the market carried us. Then the music stopped,” says Brozin.
The financial storm hit in August 1997.
“The world financial markets were in turmoil. At the listing time it had been up to R6 ($1.68). Our INAV, if you did a calculation of what our values were, it was then R2.50 ($0.35) at that stage,” says Brey.
By 1998, Brimstone’s share price almost hit the seabed.
“Then the vultures came out and said they wanted to buy us out. They told us we could make R150 million (around $30 million)… A financial group in Johannesburg came to us and said why don’t we delist Brimstone, buy the shareholders out at current market price. Buy them out at a rand. Sell all the assets and then make R1.50 (30 US cents) profit,” says Brey.
“But we said we don’t want to leave Cape Town. We’ve taken money from the people from the [Cape] flats; we’d have had to run out of Cape Town if word got out that we’d do something like that. It was unethical. What we then decided to do was sell off all liquid or listed stocks, the easily sellable stuff. Turn that R1.50 and give back capital of R1.50 to our shareholders. Our shareholders liked it, but the market didn’t. Our price went down to about 20 cents ($0.03) in October 2001,” he says.
“The lowest of the low our share was 18 cents,” says Brozin.
In those days, you couldn’t even buy chewing gum for that.
Brimstone weathered the storm and looked to the ocean for salvation. In 2003, they doubled a stake in Sea Harvest to 61.44%, one of the largest hake producers along the west coast – its gross value in 2014 was at just over R557 million ($52 million). The waters appeared to have calmed and the shares rose with acquisitions into Old Mutual (now at $22.4 million), Nedbank (now at $47.5 million), Life Healthcare (now at $202 million) and Oceana (now at $162 million).
Five years later, another whirlwind hit. This time it was the 2008 global financial crisis, in which the whole world got soaked. Companies floundered after the United States (US) property bubble burst. Sub-prime mortgage-backed securities on US property price estimates crashed. The knock on effect hit Cape Town with a vengeance. Brimstone’s headline earnings went from just over R752 million ($69.9 million) in 2007, to a headline loss of about R77 million ($7.1 million) in 2008.
“Looking back over the past year, it was a period that brought some extraordinary challenges. The turbulent and perhaps up to this point, unprecedented deterioration of the global financial market, has and will for the foreseeable future continue to impact on economies, businesses and ordinary people across the developed and developing world. Like many other companies, Brimstone has not escaped the effects of the negative market,” wrote Jakes Gerwel, former Director-General of the Presidency when Mandela was in office and the Non-Executive Chairman of Brimstone in 2008.
By the end of 2008, Brimstone’s net asset value had declined to $204 milion, an erosion of 7.7%.
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Turning Point – Life Healthcare
Joy came in the morning. To the rescue was a lifesaver in more ways than one. The Life Healthcare deal, struck in 2005, matured in 2010 just in time to save the company.
“Life Healthcare issued almost double equity on our shares. In June 2010, we unbundled Life Healthcare and created significant wealth for our shareholders,” says Robertson.
The unbundling threw off the recession and stabilized Brimstone’s name in the investment business. It was a good time to be in the South African private healthcare market with a growing and aging middle class and a cash strapped public health system.
These days, Brimstone’s 5.04% share in the private hospital operator is valued at over $202 million. It’s an important part of the $628-million company. Brimstone’s share price now sits at R17 per share, a far cry from the dark days of 2008 and $0.03.
So, do they think that their shares are undervalued or overpriced on the JSE?
“We’ve always been selling at a discount. We trade at about a 20 percent discount. You will see most investment holding companies will trade at this,” says Robertson.
In the last year, the company has been busy. In April, they sold their shares with the diagnostics group, The Scientific Group (SG), to Ascendis in a deal worth R284 million ($26.7 million). In July, they also led a R1.6 billion ($151 million) transaction giving them an 4.97% share of Grindrod, the South African-based freight holdings company.
“Over the past 10 years, Brimstone has delivered an annual total return of over 40 percent to investors. Over the past year, Brimstone’s exposure to the fishing industry in particular, through Oceana Group and Sea Harvest, as well as its investment in Tiger Brands, has boosted its performance. The underlying assets offer investors the opportunity to get exposure to unlisted companies with good earnings growth. As the company is relatively closely held by investors, with a small free float, liquidity is an issue for new entrants,” says Mia Kruger, Director, Equity Analyst &amp; Portfolio Manager at Kruger International.
“Grindrod has been in existence in Africa for over 100 years. The infrastructure sector which we are busy with at the moment is exceptional. Grindrod, in Mozambique, is doing well with port and the rail,” says Brey.
Other investments include the purchase of a R125 million ($11.7 million) fishing trawler from Norway called The Harvest Atlantic Peace that works for Sea Harvest out of Saldanha Bay, 120 kilometers north of Cape Town.
“She is, touch wood, fishing absolutely phenomenally. [Sea Harvest] certainly is one of the biggest economic drivers along the west coast. I think people underestimate the importance of Sea Harvest. In Saldanha, we must be the biggest consumers of electricity; pay the most taxes; pay the most rates and employ the most people. Again, the knock-on effect from that is an economic driver along there and it keeps hundreds of small shops open,” says Robertson.
A study by the University of Cape Town concluded that this single business was the largest economic driver along the West Coast of South Africa. It employs 2,400 people, of which 51% are female.
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Largest AGM In Africa
Brimstone’s ticket to billions lies in the hands of hundreds of shareholders’ homes across Cape Town. Most of them are working people; one reason why Brimstone hold their AGMs after hours, in the evening.
“In the early days, we had one shareholders’ meeting in the day. People came up to us and said ‘are you going to pay me for my day I am not going to work?’ We’ve learned that part of setting up Brimstone and developing Brimstone was we had a new wave of shareholders, who had never invested in the market before. Shareholders for the first time got shares in a listed company. We had to educate them. I think more of this should have been done in the country to be honest,” says Brey.
“I’ve learned from Brimstone that one takes for granted that you have a stockbroker, you go and buy a share and all is well. But that isn’t the way life works for the shareholder we have. They don’t know what a share is; they don’t know what a share certificate is; they don’t know what a CSDP [Central Securities Depository Participant] is. It’s very confusing. We’ve been very accommodating and I don’t think there is a company today that actually manages that process for our shareholders,” says Brozin.
“Three hundred people come to our AGMs. It’s one of the biggest in the country. I think you can’t go on doing business as usual, offered to us in our new democracy. You couldn’t do this before,” says Robertson.
Empowering the previously disadvantaged remains a core aspect to Brimstone’s success.
“They are saying today one percent of the world’s population owns half of the world’s wealth. That’s why we have some of the issues we have got today,” says Brozin.
“People say [Black Economic Empowerment (BEE)] is dead. I don’t believe that. I believe it’s very much alive. We are going to have to do much more of it if we are going to get this country into the right economic shape that it should be in… We are going to have to rethink in this country for its own good how we’re going to do BEE going forward. It’s going to have to cascade more and go broader.”
When it comes to Africa investing in Africa, they say it’s simple.
“The people of Africa should have more stakes in those businesses than what they have ever had before. That also counts for any region you invest in. You can’t go in and just do business and not employ the people there and not leave the profits behind. You have to leave the country in a better place than what you started in,” says Robertson.
Almost 20 years to the day, it’s a fair walk on a gusty summer’s day as the trio trudge into the wind up Signal Hill. A former teacher and two accountants, who turned an idea into an investment company, look down the valley beneath Table Mountain. In the hazy distance is District Six, the former home of Robertson. It’s one of the only parts of Cape Town that has been left fallow. This is land Robertson and his 60,000 neighbors are claiming back.
“It was our home after all,” says Robertson.
“Oh, I didn’t know you had submitted for that?” says Brozin.
“My family did a while ago. But we’re waiting to hear from the government. Hopefully they won’t give us our piece of land back. We’re hoping they’ll mix it up and give us one higher up on the hill instead. The views from there were much better,” says Robertson.
All three laugh at the joke and the analogy. You could argue Brimstone is always looking to move up the hill.
As the sea crashes onto the Cape Town shore, the sound is another reminder of yet another analogy that even the sturdiest vessels can be wrecked by a violent storm. Just
ask Brimstone.

Mandela And Billions…  Then The Vultures Came Out

He’s slowing down now, but with Paul Harris you can tell; time is money. He doesn’t look much like a multimillionaire, but on this Thursday morning the banker, with piercing blue eyes and a hint of power behind a firm handshake, is one of the brains of Africa, who wears his eminence and his fortune of around $200 million lightly.
“I suppose I stumbled into it. I went to Stellenbosch University and my interest was in sport. I had a sports bursary for cricket and rugby. I ended up becoming intrigued in studying and ended up coming out with a Master’s degree in Commerce.”
These were the first steps, in the right place at the right time, for Paul Harris, the unassuming man who built fortune on banking and bright ideas. He, along with two other millionaires, his university friend GT Ferreira and colleague Laurie Dippenaar, took $10,000 and forged the $2.1 billion FirstRand empire, the largest bank in South Africa, by market value, according to Reuters.
You could say Harris is: the father of FirstRand; the grandfather of Rand Merchant Bank Holdings (RMBH); and the great grandfather of First National Bank (FNB), OUTsurance and Discovery Health –all pillars of South African business.
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“A lot of tech in Africa has been quite far behind the developing world. But the new wave of the world, the internet and mobile, has enabled Africa to leapfrog. The opportunities lie in using technology in creating different business models. The African can go into industries that have been doing something from the 1980s and in one shot update them into [the 21st century],” says Harris.
Harris has grown a thick skin in 37 years of business; he had to. He battled through the 2008 financial crisis, cricket scandals – which really hurt – and a public spat with an Australian pen pal named Jeff. On this bright bustling spring morning, amid the affluent sparkling skyscrapers of Sandton, he held forth with a masterclass for young entrepreneurs.
“Young people should know something about everything and everything about something. You must find areas you are obsessed about and must become the world expert in that particular field,” he says.
Harris takes his cellphone in his left hand.
“This thing put the man on the moon. There is so much space for African entrepreneurs to re-engineer business.”
It’s hard to believe that this man, in a plain blue collared shirt and black pants, who calls himself an unemployed former investment banker, is a multimillionaire and one of the most influential minds in Africa.
It’s a journey that began way back in 1977. It was a time when people went to discos to listen to Rod Stewart’s Tonight’s The Night; Star Wars was in the cinemas and the force was with the rand, which was worth a dollar. In this year: Dippenaar, Ferreira and Pat Goss left their safe banking jobs to set up Rand Consolidated Investments (RCI), with $10,000 and a secretary.
Eight months later, Harris, who worked with Dippenaar at the Industrial Development Corporation (IDC), a South African government institution that bankrolls industrialization, was a last minute substitution; called on when Goss left the company.
“When you start as a new business the thing you need to do is get the next deal done, you have to pay your bills, you have to work really hard at surviving; exploiting the opportunities that come your way,” he says.
Opportunity knocked after four hard years in the trenches. RCI grew from $10,000 capital to profit, after tax, of $48,000 (R657,000).
“Everything we really did was start-up, and then we acquired some companies. It was always a new way of doing things. It was always a new approach. We grew from being a very small group of guys to become huge.”
In 1983, six years into the business, billionaire Johann Rupert, the fourth richest man in Africa, whose family is worth $6.3 billion according to FORBES, approached the group of guys to sell his bank, Rand Merchant Bank (RMB). Rupert was going back to the family business, Rembrandt Group, that sold everything from luxury watches to cigars; he needed to offload.
The opportunity was too good to miss. RCI sold into RMB and got a controlling stake of the company, which they named RMBH; RMB remained a subsidiary. The deal gave Harris and the guys a banking license. By 1988, RMBH was making profits of $964,000 (R13.5 million) a year.
Harris set off for Sydney to set up another subsidiary, Australian Gilt Securities, now RMB Australia. By the time he returned to African shores, in 1991, he had a burning desire to implement lessons learned abroad.
In 1992, the company bought Momentum Life, a life insurance company that formed Discovery Health, now the largest private healthcare company in South Africa. In 1998, it added Southern Life and First National Bank (FNB), bought from Anglo American.
RMBH needed to raise $370 million (R5 billion) in new capital in order to seal the Southern Life deal. Harris and his crew did it in two days.
“Funnily enough I don’t think about that too often. It was quite a compelling proposition and it made a lot of sense. I don’t remember that as being hugely stressful,” says Harris.
Stress or not, FirstRand was born.
“It’s only after you have got some more stability that you start looking at bigger things. Once we got into that mode, we started to get people around us as partners. The opportunities were painted on a bigger canvas,” says Harris.
The 1998 merger with FNB promised greater things. Harris didn’t just want to own banks, he also wanted to change the way people used them. Along came the means, the internet.
“There was no doubt that we were pioneers… It was the early 1980s when I first heard about [the internet] from a chap we did business with in Chicago. One of the guys that was very involved in our option trading. I didn’t understand it for about five years. He used to talk about these network computers that you can access. I didn’t get it at all.”
“In the nineties, you would go to a board meeting; people would say ‘what’s the internet?’. I then went and registered this proposal called Cyberbank. We put together a small team. They used the internet in the business under the name Origin. It eventually became RMB Private Bank. Right from that stage we were into the internet.”
“I still don’t fully understand [the internet]. It really helped that I hooked up early on with Michael Jordaan. I mean he was my PA. He is an incredibly sharp guy. We liked this concept of using the internet, using mobile phones.”
Jordaan is a success in his own right. A venture capitalist and wine enthusiast who started his life as an officer in the South African navy, went on to build Montegray Capital. He also was the Chairman of social media platform Mxit; the CEO of FNB; and is an Executive Committee Member of FirstRand.
“[Harris is] always the lateral thinker who comes up with a range of new and unconventional ideas. At first this could be very frustrating if you interpret them as instructions; as would be the case in an autocratic environment. Over time you learn that his ideas as not orders but the start of a rigorous debate about what is possible and practical. If you engage properly the outcome was inevitably better than the conventional resolution. But it took guts to debate with Paul,” says Jordaan.
Jordaan first crossed paths with Harris in an interview for the self-starter workshop Class Of spearheaded by Harris in the 1990s.
“I had researched the bank so well that I could even quote Paul in some of the questions that were asked. Nevertheless I felt completely unprepared. RMB had an open bar on Fridays after work. Paul would work the crowd and I was mildly terrified of whatever questions he would ask of me. So I had a strategy of always having some questions prepared for him should he join our group,” says Jordaan.
“One day in a passage, in the old RMB building, he asked if I would become his Executive Assistant. I was bowled over and could not say no. It ended up as a hugely valuable part of my career, learning how a bank was run by being in close contact with one of the founders,” says Jordaan.
Harris’ vast office in Sandton speaks of the man. His desk is surrounded by paintings and sculptures from African artists, his bookcase lined with cricket books and photographs of him shaking hands with the strong and powerful. It is a world away from the simple farm home in Greytown, in the KwaZulu-Natal province, where he grew up on peanut butter and bread. He left home at the age of eight to go to Maritzburg College, 77 kilometers away in Pietermaritzburg, coming home at weekends.
“We grew up fairly modestly. I think the first time I was ever on a train was when I was chosen to play for Natal in rugby as a school boy. It was the first time I was ever out of Natal,” he says
“I went to Stellenbosch speaking only English and came out speaking Afrikaans fully.”
It led to a life of gadgets, golf and art, a far cry from peanut butter.
The ideas that changed African banking came in offices like this. It took eight years to convince hundreds of millions of Africans to use their phones rather than a bank teller.
“We said we needed to have a land grab&#8230; Very early on we saw [banking] was going to go mobile. We always said banking was going to be electronic and on the internet. People don’t realize this but when was the first iPad sold? In 2010. The iPad is only five years old. It’s a phenomenal story. We always said internet banking was going to be a big thing. That’s why we had Cyberbank and made a big push for it. Mobility only came in in the last five or six years,” he says.
The crowning glory was eBucks – the loyalty reward system that gives discounts and money to customers every time they swipe.
In the life of an African entrepreneur it’s amazing how often ideas that make millions start at odd times in strange places. In Harris’s case, eBucks hit like a bolt from the blue to the crash of waves in Plettenburg Bay, on South Africa’s east coast, on his Christmas holiday. He was supposed to be resting at the time.
“I clicked. I sat down and then I wrote a strategic document on how this thing could work. I still have the document. And we pretty much still follow it. A team of thinkers built the product and the rest is history.”
“If you are in the business of ideas, you have to accept that to get a good idea you have to have a lot of bad ideas. People have to understand that’s what you are. You aren’t the oracle of all wisdom. But you have to create the idea, but you also have to evolve the idea and take it to the next level.”
In 37 years at the helm, Harris has learned to run with the great and the good taking a few kicks along the way. His hardest kick was the 2008 financial crisis. It hit FirstRand like a hammer destroying R1.4 billion (around $100 million) in overseas earnings.
“If you were to take a plot of any financial index; it was almost impossible to conceive that the drop could be so dramatic. Equity markets went from a factor of a hundred to a factor of ten. Banks that were capitalized at hundreds of billions of dollars were suddenly worth nothing.”
“I woke up and on one specific day and FirstRand had a bigger market cap than Citigroup bank. That was the most terrifying day of my life when I just realized this huge bank had just now become smaller than us. All I could think of was this is going to happen to us. We didn’t have the infrastructure like theirs.”
In 2008, it was happening to anyone who had money. The United States (US), built on the shifting sands of sub-prime mortgage-backed securities on US property price estimates, sank. Banks like Citi, the largest bank in the world at the time, realized they had overextended credit and couldn’t pay the people back.
“The reason there was a crash was because there was a lot of things that slipped into the system that was ill discipline. People were buying things they should’ve been buying. From our perspective we survived it. At our worst, our return on capital was higher than our competitors. It was the worst year that we ever had,” says Harris.
“We were hit, but we weren’t dealt a mortal blow. We had a very good diversification. I’ll never forget the presentation we had to make to our board members. I had to make it. I still have the YouTube clip. And I said ‘big s*** is coming’, we had to take drastic measures.”
Harris took a bearish approach to the markets.
“From our perspective we survived [2008]. At our worst, our return on capital was higher than our competitors. It was the worst year that we ever had… We were seen as being extremely negative. I must say we didn’t get very good press about it. But hindsight says we recognized the problems and we immediately did something about it. That’s why we came out of it much quicker than the others. The others hung around for a while and hoped for the best,” says Harris.
It was a hard lesson to learn.
“It’s like a sportsman. You put on weight and you get a little unfit and one day you get found out. That’s what happened to the financial world.”
And speaking of sports: Harris had to make some more painful decisions for the sake of the game he loves.
He played an important role in exposing a R4.7-million ($671,428) bonus scandal involving Gerald Majola, the CEO of Cricket South Africa (CSA), in the wake of the 2009 Indian Premier League (IPL) in South Africa.
“I was involved in a public thing where effectively I was chairman of the remuneration committee. There were dodgy things going on with the IPL. I was the one that objected and set off this whole process which eventually ended with the CEO being fired,” he says.
Harris, an independent director on the board’s remuneration committee, objected to CSA handing out bonuses to 40 people. The president of CSA, Mtutuzeli Nyoka, ordered an audit of the bonuses but was dismissed by his board through a vote of no confidence. The board also pushed out Harris and Hentie van Wyk, the board’s treasurer.
Nyoka wrote a book on how he fought for three years to see justice. In 2012, after a series of investigations, Majola was suspended.
“It shook the foundations of my life. I was plagued by so many emotions and sentiments, anxieties and fears. It was a significant event in cricket, there was a deep resonance in the rest of society,” says Nyoka.
Battered and bruised, Harris has also locked horns with an Australian pen pal named Jeff. Jeff, who sent Harris a number of articles that put South Africa in a bad light, never expected the response he got; a letter from Harris promoting it.
It read: “I often get e-mails like this from “concerned friends” worried about us, which is sweet of you guys. Of course we are concerned. Some worrying things have happened but we have been through and survived much worse in much more volatile environments. Including the Boer War, two World Wars, apartheid, the financial crisis without a bank bailout, the rinderpest, Ge Korsten and Die Antwoord!”
“…My message is, please don’t stress about us in South Africa. We are fine. We are cool. We know we live in the most beautiful country in the world with warm and vibrant people. There are more people here with smiles on their faces than in any country I have ever been to…”
The letter went viral.
So did Jeff’s response:
“Kids don’t get text books, pregnant women sleep on the floors of ill equipped public hospitals, tenderpreneurs keep the luxury car market buoyant but fail to build the roads they were contracted to&#8230; it’s a farce mate. And I won’t even mention the succession of dodgy police chiefs you’ve suffered. So please Paul, take off those expensive rose tinted specs of yours, smell the raw sewage and stop pretending you have a functioning government&#8230;”
Harris backs what he said in his letter.
“What I wrote is what I feel. It’s all in there. I think South Africa has got a hell of a lot going for it and you mustn’t let that get on top of you,” he says.
The future? Harris has teamed up with his daughter and son to venture into property, asset management, solar technology and sponsoring education projects. You could say Harris has started again. He argues any entrepreneur, young or old, has a mountain to climb for success.
“We worked incredibly hard. Sometimes I look at young entrepreneurs and I think it’s not possible to be one and have a balanced life… forget having a nine to five. The sad thing is a large proportion is going to fail, we know that statistically. The ones that are going to make are the ones that have got resilience, that are prepared to overcome incredible obstacles. And obviously have a good idea and work ethic,” says Harris.
According to Harris, entrepreneurism is even riskier if you don’t understand the market.
“I always say young people should know something about everything and everything about something. You must find an area you are obsessed about and must become the world expert in that particular field. If you just know a little about something and then go into a market and compete, unless you know more about that niche than the next guy, forget about it.”
“Wherever we have gone it’s always been grassroots and a new approach to something. Innovation and change is what we are all about.”
So says the farm boy who grew up in the middle of nowhere, who got somewhere, survived the 2008 financial crisis, and changed the way Africans bank.

The $200-Million Pioneer Who Changed The Way Africans Bank

And so it came to pass recently that 62-year-old Folorunsho Alakija, the oil baroness from Nigeria, became known as the richest black woman in the world. Alakija, however, is profoundly uncomfortable with the ‘super-rich’ tag. She believes that she is far more than just her fabulous wealth.
Her minders who fondly refer to her as ‘Madame’, make it clear that an audience with her will be granted only if she is engaged in a comprehensive manner. Those seeking to label and box Alakija as just another rich woman in Africa are not going to be entertained.
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But her prickly attitude notwithstanding, Alakija’s extensive oil fortune has seen her morph into an instant celebrity. So much so that she has upstaged the queen of black corporate accomplishment herself, Oprah Winfrey.
‘Richer than Oprah’ screams one of the headlines that accompanied the narrative about Alakija’s life and how she made her millions. According to FORBES, she is worth about $3.2 billion. Or $2.5 billion (Forbes Nov). Other estimates put her fortune at $3.3 billion, but in October, Ventures Africa Magazine suggested that figure could be as high as $7.3 billion. This makes Alakija – at the very least – $500 million richer than the Queen of Talk.
It also means that she is the fourth-richest black person on the planet, behind fellow Nigerians Mike Adenuga ($4.3 billion) and Aliko Dangote ($11.2 billion), and Ethiopian Mohammed Al Amoudi ($12.5 billion).
The oil baroness was born into a wealthy family, so her story is no rags-to-riches tale, but the reality of her climb to the top of the oil heap is still mind-blowing. Talk about being in the right place at the right time. “God was directing us into oil production. My entry into this business was God’s own way of leading me down a particular path that had its ups and downs,” she says matter-of-factly during an interview on the sidelines of the Brics Business Council meeting, recently held in Johannesburg, South Africa.
A self-proclaimed fashionista, Alakija cuts an elegant figure in her designer duds and eye-catching headdresses. Her trademark African-inspired couture ensures that she stands out in any gathering. Preparing for the FORBES WOMAN AFRICA photo shoot, the multibillionaire confers occasionally with Amanda, her unobtrusive aide, who is a constant at her side.
Flamboyant but diminutive, Alakija was born in 1951 to a wealthy family whose patriarch had eight wives and 52 children. While she is the offspring of a polygamous father, she is undoubtedly the only wife in her own marriage.
“I am the first lady of the Alakija family,” she says, firmly eschewing the idea that her husband, a lawyer by training, would be allowed to follow her father’s example.
Deeply religious, Alakija is very much a representation of many modern businesswomen with strong Christian roots. When I ask her to contextualize her faith, she says: “God directs us to be in business. There is no church without business. Business is the concern of the church.”
And while she has gone to great lengths to showcase her generous charity work through the Rose of Sharon Foundation, details of her oil business remain sketchy.
So How did Alakija acquire her petrodollars? That’s the proverbial million-dollar question – and it still needs to be answered properly. To quote football legend Maradona, did ‘the hand of God’ set her on the path of prosperity? Or is it the less lofty but infinitely more probable case of ‘God helps those who help themselves’?
On a recent trip to Abuja, the city of federal government in Nigeria, I posed the question to some of the business people, activists and journalists I int-eracted with. How does a former secretary and fashion designer get an oil prospecting license from one president, only to have it taken away by another? My desire for a plausible answer leads me back to where it all began, long before Alakija became the woman to push Oprah off her global perch.
Determined that their daughter would receive an international education, Alakija’s parents sent her to a private girls’ boarding school in Wales when she was seven years old. Although she returned home to attend high school, it was not long before she left again, to complete her secretarial studies in London.
Alakija was back in her homeland, working as a secretary for what was then the International Merchant Bank of Nigeria. When the institution became defunct, she crossed the ocean again, this time to study fashion. It was a move that would stand her in good stead.
A gusty entrepreneur, armed with a passion for fashion, Alakija launched her own line, Supreme Stitches. She says hard work and a keen business savvy ensured that she quickly made a name for herself in Nigeria, and in 1986, scooped up an award as the country’s top designer.
Casting around for a new challenge, Alakija decided to apply for an oil prospecting license. As a close associate of the president at the time, Ibrahim Babangida, her propinquity to authority gave her a foot in the door.
In 1993, she was eventually granted a 620,000 acre plot to explore. But there was a snag. Alakija had no idea how to drill for oil. In fact, she says, many believed that nothing would come from her block because it was so far out at sea. “It was 5,000 feet into the sea. We didn’t have the techno-logy. It was a big risk.”
Today Nigeria is Africa’s oil giant, but in 1993, prospecting was still an extremely dicey and expensive endeavor. But Alakija is not someone who gives up easily. With her firm belief in God and family, she stuck it out.
“We stayed the course. We made the right connections and partnered with great people, who put Nigeria’s interests first,” she explains.
In 1996, still green but eager to learn, Alakija hired oil conglomerate Texaco. Its brief was to assess the oil potential in her granted area. After four years of research, Texaco reported back: Alakija was sitting on an estimated one billion barrels of oil.
Her tenacity had paid off. Most of her wealth can be traced back to Famfa Oil, a company she founded after the Texaco assessment. The deposit, called OML 127, currently produces 200,000 barrels of oil every day.
With access to Nigeria’s liquid gold, Alakija’s journey to riches was set on course. She describes the oil find as a “true blessing”, but concedes that it also had its “ups and downs”. Wealth brings its own challenges, and Alakija’s case, these challenges came from serious political players who ruled Africa’s most populous nation.
In many ways it is unsurprising that her newfound status as a serious oil producer would draw the attention of the wealthy and powerful. While Alakija enjoyed excellent relations with Babangida and basked in his protection and indulgence, the opposite was true of his successor. During his presidency, Olusegun Obasanjo unconstitutionally acquired a 50% interest in Alakija’s block without duly compensating her company. Famfa Oil went to court to challenge the acquisition, and in May 2012, the Nigerian Supreme Court reinstated the 50% stake. Chevron owns 40%.
Alakija is not keen to delve into the details of her battle with Obasanjo’s government, but she is forthright about her readiness to stand up for what she believes in. She says the Obasanjo regime “just took” her oil block and had no interest in negotiating with her or her family. “We were prepared to fight them because we had the law on our side.”
She speaks quietly but pointedly about how fellow Nigerians had cautioned her against taking on the government of the day. “You are really foolish, you can’t win against government” was a common refrain. But Alakija says, for her family, the choice was clear. They had to stand their ground. She recalls how many fair-weather friends “stood back and watched” while she was fighting the state to reclaim her seized assets.
“It was a real eye-opener. It made us better Christians. For every battle we fought, a better lesson was learnt,” she says philosophically.
In May 2012, with the law and the Lord on her side, Alakija’s oil shares were restored by a Supreme Court writ. The landmark decision morphed the oil baroness into another stratosphere, placing her in the spotlight, not only on the continent, but also globally.
Now a regular at the Brics Business Council meetings and other intra-African trade meet-and-greet soirées, Alakija is easily recognizable in her iconic, colorful headwraps. A member of the elite guild of Africa’s uber-rich, she is an integral part of a small coterie of business people and policy analysts are keen to parade as the drivers of the Africa Rising narrative. Their stories are compelling and signal a departure from the prism of hopeless and despair through which Africa is historically depicted.
Alakija and her fellow billionaires are the new breed of African global players. They are leading examples of progress and economic growth, and more importantly, they are proof of the handsome returns on investments available to an increasingly affluent middle class.
In a modern, democratic Nigeria, sans military dictators, Alakija epitomizes Africa’s promise. She embodies the can-do attitude projected by many of her countrymen and – women in the private sector. It is the approach Nigerians often use when they engage with business players and investors keen to exploit the county’s vast oil resources, despite its obvious infrastructural weaknesses.
Alakija is vocal about the importance of African countries shifting away from extractive-based economies. “Gone are the days of the multinationals that just take and go. Our eyes are open. We won’t allow it a second time.”
Her sentiments are strong, but some argue that it is easier said than done. Despite Nigeria and Angola’s oil-producing status globally, both countries still need to re-route crude oil off the continent to be refined.
Alakija concedes that Africa has its share of challenges. But she is opt-imistic that its political and business leaders are prepared to hire the exp-ertise, cultivate the technology and go the distance to add real value.
She is also a strong proponent of intra-African trade, saying Africans need to band together to develop their businesses and increase their market share in the global stakes.
“We need to hold each other’s hands. As Africans, the barriers are crumbling. A divided Africa is in no one’s interests. We face common challenges and for all those reasons we need to cooperate more, to trade more, to visit each other’s countries, and take hands and work together.”
She is happy that Africa’s democratization program has heralded economic prosperity and greater economic growth, not just for its uber-rich, but also for its expanding professional classes.
Her sought-after properties in Dubai and London, her private jet and her extensive high couture wardrobe have become fodder for anyone wanting to boast about Africa’s newly minted billionaires. Alakija owns five apartments, one of them in One Hyde Park in London, the world’s most expensive apartment block, according to Vanity Fair.
But in a world with finite resources, to be rich is no longer enough. Net worth has to be larger than the size of your portfolio or your bank balance, says Alakija. Even more so in the wake of the global financial crises, where conspicuous consumption invites opprobrium and scorn.
While philanthropy and charity are often the hallmarks of the super-rich, who believe they have to give back in some way, increasingly wealthy Africans know that in order to remain rich, good deeds are necessary.
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Put differently, there is a real value proposition in giving away money. It makes more money. It leads to tax breaks. For all you naysayers, just ask Bill and Melinda Gates, who are leading corporate citizens. They have not only made philanthropy sexy, but infinitely more profitable.
This is why the wealthy – even the nouveau riche – are increasingly involved in charitable trusts and donor organizations. As the affluent get richer, often at the expense of the poor, charity and philanthropy have become buzzwords for those seeking to draw attention away from crass materialism and ostentation.
This is nowhere more obvious than in countries where the chasm between the haves and the have-nots grows ever wider, and where the origins of extreme wealth are sometimes ascribed to being in the right place at the right time. Responding to my earlier question about Alakija’s proximity to power and patronage, one Nigerian social activist offered: “In my country, Nigeria, depending on whose mistress you are, you can become a millionaire in the space of a half an hour.”
Stories and rumors abound about the oil baroness’s good fortune. Her detractors in the social justice networks believe that privately wealthy Nigerians owe their largesse to their government connections, not because they are particularly competent or industrious. Others who admire Alakija’s business prowess are adamant that she genuinely cares for the underprivileged. They believe remarkable tenacity and fortitude lie at the heart of her enormous wealth.
When I ask if her extreme mammon makes her uncomfortable, Alakija responds: “My wealth allows me to reach out to others, to those in need. I am a God-fearing woman and I am not in competition with anyone. I use my wealth to touch the lives of others.”
Through the Rose of Sharon Foundation, the oil tycoon dedicates money, time and effort to ease the burden of widows and orphans. Women and their well-being are at the center of her good deeds.
“We need to understand how central women are to households and their communities. They are the ones that are putting food on the table. Their education is therefore crucial. Women can really transform a nation. Food and education are just two of the many issues that need addressing when we talk women empowerment,” she points out.
Alakija attributes her charitable nature to a lifelong dedication to Christianity. She believes she needs to make a difference by helping to educate those in need. The Rose of Sharon Foundation has chapters all over Nigeria and Alakija says she is proud of and encouraged by their impact on the lived realities of women.
“At first I just wanted to give away the money. But I then realized that whatever charity we perform, it must be sustainable. So now we assist with microfinancing, scholarships and education,” she says.
English poet and historian William Hutton once cautioned: “The charity that hastens to proclaim its good deeds ceases to be charity, and is only pride and ostentation.” When asses-sing Alakija’s life story and her many, many good deeds, Hutton’s words are food for thought.
But it is French-Algerian philosopher Albert Camus who nails it on the head for me: “Too many have dispensed with generosity in order to practice charity.”

FOLORUNSHO ALAKIJA Nigeria oil baroness

Aliko Dangote is an Africapitalist who has been nominated for FORBES AFRICA’s Person of the Year every year since 2011 and now he has won. The $21.6-billion entrepreneur believes in Africa forging its own future in business and is leading the way.
Heralded by some as the face of the new Nigeria, Africa’s richest man is looking beyond cement, sugar and flour – the three commodities that built his fortune – to the oil business. In April, he announced $9 billion in financing from a consortium of local and international lenders to construct a private oil refinery and fertilizer and petrochemical complex in the country. In August, he announced plans to invest $1 billion in commercial rice farming and modern rice mills. His publicly traded Dangote Cement is also grabbing new markets in Africa, with $750 million in new plants planned for Kenya and Niger.
Dangote is also cementing his position as the continent’s most generous individual after donating $1.2 billion of his personal fortune to the Dangote Foundation.
In 2014, shares from his listed companies were transferred into the foundation, which he founded in 1994 to support initiatives in education, health and youth empowerment.
The Dangote Foundation runs a cash transfer program which complements the Nigerian government’s poverty alleviation programs. It disburses small grants to poor rural women and youths who want to start small businesses. The foundation also funds the construction of university libraries and hospitals across Nigeria.
This year, Dangote also led the way in funding the fight against Ebola in West Africa. He first gave $5 million to the Nigerian government’s containment efforts and then added a further $3 million to the African Union fund to help Liberia, Guinea and Sierra Leone.
Dangote made his first fortune more than three decades ago when he started trading commodities with a loan from his powerful uncle. An aggressive industrialist, his company is one of the largest employers in Nigeria and has four of its 13 subsidiaries listed on the Nigerian Stock Exchange (NSE).
The flagship of the group, Dangote Cement, is the largest listed company in West Africa, accounting for around 30% of the NSE in terms of market capitalization. It is also the first Nigerian company to be on the Forbes Global 2000 companies list.
In 2012, Dangote Cement opened its newest cement plant, with an injection of $1 billion to boost Nigeria’s capacity by 10 million metric tons per annum (MMTPA). Strategically positioned at Nigeria’s largest economic hub in Ibese, near Lagos, the plant was expected to generate 7,000 jobs and transform the import-reliant sector into an export and revenue-generating industry.
As infrastructure has always been Nigeria’s weakness, Dangote announced in April that he was planning a $7-billion investment program for the next four years. It will focus on Nigeria’s power, petrochemical and mining sectors – a move set to position the company as an independent power producer that will supply 2GW of power to the national grid.
In 2013, the Dangote Group signed a $3.3-billion loan agreement with a consortium of banks. This was in line with plans to construct the continent’s biggest petroleum oil refinery and a petrochemical plant in Nigeria. With the refining capacity expected to reach 400,000 barrels of crude oil per day and producing a variety of fuel products from local crude resources, Nigeria would cut its volumes of imported fuel products by an astounding 50%.
In the same year, the Dangote Group launched the integrated mega sugar plantation and sugar refinery projects in seven Nigerian states.
“Our mission is to, through industrialization, reverse the historical trend of the export of foreign exchange and jobs and replace it with foreign exchange conservation and job creation,” said Dangote at the loan signing ceremony in Abuja.
FORBES AFRICA applauds his relentless drive, aggressive ambition and contribution to the continent’s economic trajectory.
<h4>What The Judges Say 
Aliko Dangote is a lion of Africa in terms of business. He is second to none when it comes to investing in Africa, not just Nigeria. He is also a capitalist with a big heart. He puts his money where his mouth is and his foundation is a step forward for a man who wants to make a difference on 
the continent.</h4>

The Lion  Of Africa

The house on the hill. That’s what Winnie Madikizela-Mandela’s Soweto home in Johannesburg is, not far from 8115 Vilakazi Street where she and Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela started their married life together.
That home is now a museum, a vestige of their anti-apartheid days, and a mandatory tick mark for tourists. Winnie moved to her present home on the hill after Mandela’s release in 1990.
It’s a red-brick structure with imposing walls and brawny security guards at the gate.
Inside the home, in three levels, we pass a living room choc-a-block with Mandela photos, portraits and paintings. They are everywhere, on the walls, tables, floors, and are probably gifts, from diplomats and presidents. There’s more. Entire showcases filled with chinaware, crystals and collectibles. Rugs cover every conceivable floor and tables groan under the weight of glossy books and glass vases. There is Indian art too: a large Nataraja statue welcomes visitors at the door.
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We step into “the Angola room”. Zindzi appears in a black skirt and polka-dot top, her hair coiffured. She says this room is filled with gifts to Mandela from the Angolan president following his release from prison. More rugs here too. The highlight of this room is a wooden dining table with – now rickety – red velvet chairs.
“It’s like a museum,” Winnie says when we meet her later.
The room overlooks an expansive garden, with a fountain and benches. Zindzi says every plant and tree here has been planted by ‘Mama’.
“She is so creative, she spends time in the garden every day.”
These days, Winnie is recovering from a surgical procedure. We wait a while before she materialises on the staircase, in a traditional Xhosa dress and African beaded jewelry. This is the ceremonial mourning attire stipulated by custom and the family’s elders, worn for a year in honor of Mandela’s passing.
Winnie is still quite a head-turner at 78, and has a graceful gait.
This is a woman who has led an extraordinary life, a courageous and controversial life, as a revolutionary in South Africa’s liberation movement leading up to Mandela’s release from prison after 27 years and the country’s freedom in 1994. She continues to be popular among her supporters as ‘Mother of the Nation’, and has been the subject of books, films and two operas.
Winnie smiles genially, her eyes look tired, but she is ready to roll.
She is emotional when she starts speaking about the late South African president.
His final moments, when he breathed his last, keep coming back to her.
“It has been a very difficult year. There will never be a sense of closure,” she begins.
“There will never be another funeral like that. That was heavy. I wouldn’t like to see anything like that again, the image of my children walking past their father’s body with millions of other people. Death is such a personal thing, so private, they were not allowed to even have him in his death. They had to in fact share him more with the rest of the world&#8230;I cannot wipe out the image of Zindzi and Zenani walking past that coffin at the Union Buildings. It is something I wake up and see in the dead of night on those days when it is difficult to live with the past.”
She sighs loudly.
Winnie’s eyes well up as she speaks, slowly, recounting those final moments by Mandela’s side. Her daughters were in London at the time attending the royal premiere of Anant Singh’s Mandela biopic, Long Walk To Freedom. It was during the film’s screening that news about his death came.
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“The circumstances surrounding that particular day were very difficult. I got a call from Zindzi, who alerted me she had heard her father was critical. I rushed [to the hospital] and when I arrived…the doctors let me sit next to his head. He was breathing with difficulty. But his face looked very calm. I sat there for three-and-a-half hours. I was just going downstairs at one point, and the doctors called me back and said ‘Mama, you can stand close to him’. I knew what they meant. He was breathing hard and pulled three deep breaths. The last one was very long, he had this smile on his face and he still moved his lips. And he was gone!”
And when it happened, the words “till death do us part” came to Winnie’s mind, she says, as she harked back to that day in June 1958 when she married Mandela.
“And that’s exactly what happened, I happened to be there. I just felt this excruciating pain. I didn’t know how they [her daughters] were going to be told. In fact, from that day, I have kept trying to imagine how they must have felt on that flight back&#8230;My eldest step-daughter [who was there] was wonderful in trying to bring order and comfort. I never dreamt I would witness [his final moment]. But for some reason, God decided I should be there…It was particularly rewarding that I managed to hold him when he pulled his last breath. It brought back all the memories of our struggle and what one had gone through politically, and a certain chapter was just closed.”
For Zindzi, that moment meant losing the father she had missed all her life, the 27 years that he was imprisoned by the white government in South Africa.
In the months before he died, aged 95, she had been a constant by his bedside, as he was in and out of hospital.
“All those health scares he had…you were mentally prepared, but not emotionally prepared to let go of somebody you have missed your entire life. The few years you have been given with him, you just wished to prolong and extend. Every moment counted. He had become so repetitive in the latter years, because of the ageing process, but we had learnt that even if he was telling a story for the 20th time, to enjoy as if we were hearing it for the first time,” says Zindzi.
Soon after his release from prison, on 11 February 1990 – when Winnie famously walked with him, hand in hand, clenched fist in the air – Mandela had returned to 8115, the house on Vilakazi Street. In his book, Long Walk To Freedom, he retells that moment: “For me, No. 8115 was the centrepoint of my world, the place marked with an X in my mental geography.”
“The house was too cramped,” says Zindzi, “so Mama moved to this house in Soweto thereafter.”
Winnie and Mandela were married
38 years.
“Were we? asks Winnie. The number escapes her now.
And then says: “We were never together. I was the most unmarried married woman.”
Freedom fighters don’t have personal lives. The years Mandela was imprisoned were most “difficult” as Winnie continued the defiance struggle. In 1969, she was jailed for almost 18 months, thrown into solitary confinement. How did the family cope?
Winnie passes on the question to Zindzi: “I think you should answer that.”
“I was 18 months old when my dad went to prison. I was a grown woman with three children when he came back. In between, I never always had my mother home, because she was often incarcerated herself,” says Zindzi.
At this point, her eyes well up.
“It wasn’t easy because the system was unbelievably brutal and harsh even to children… because one had to find oneself in adult spaces, making adult decisions and choices whilst still a child.”
When she was five, and her sister Zenani, six, they went to boarding school in Swaziland, because they couldn’t go to school anywhere in South Africa – the security forces said no.
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“The moment we got to a school, the security police would get there, harass the principal, and we would be thrown out. We were literally on a tour of schools. At some stage we had to play colored, we straightened our hair, we changed our identities, and [still] they caught up with us. It reached a stage where my mother was now stuck at home with two children who couldn’t go to school…they wanted to break her, and break my father…they wanted to say, ‘even your children will have no normalcy in their childhood’,” says Zindzi.
They were shunted from school to school, spending various stages of their childhood living in other homes. When they returned home from boarding school, the authorities would take their mother away.
“On the day that school closes, we would come back to the house, and find mother has been locked up that same morning. This became a pattern, where, as children, we would come home and not even know where the key was&#8230;Somebody [would] take us and dump us with aunts. But then I was given an extended family, because of the choices my parents made, and choices, that mind you, if I were to do all over again, I wouldn’t change anything.”
Zindzi says she is grateful for those years, as they taught her to be self-reliant and determined.
“I have learnt to respect the strength of an African woman because of the example set by my mother…She taught us a strong work ethic. I started working at the age of 13.”
Winnie finds it hard to describe her own experience of those years, especially the indignity of her time in prison, and then her exile in Brandfort, in South Africa’s Free State. In her book, 491 Days, published by Pan Macmillan, she shares her despair
and resilience.
“It’s not possible to attribute precisely how one coped. It was particularly painful in the sense that it actually dawned on me that our freedom was so priceless…I didn’t know where my children were, and they were so young. I hate to revisit that chapter. I decided to bury it for years in my subconscious mind so I could deal with the pain differently, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to carry on the task bestowed on me by fate. You had to make a decision then whether you were going to give in to the enemy or fight till the last drop of your blood. I am so grateful my children have turned out the way they are,” says Winnie.
Did she feel anger?
“I don’t think I would be here if I had that continued feeling. As angry as I was during the 491 days, you sort of learn to live with that kind of political background, if you are ultimately rewarded by the liberation of your country.”
We near the end of the interview and as the cameras are put away and the mood lightens, she turns to me and asks: “What is the Mandela legacy actually?”
“It is a political legacy,” she goes on.
“We need to remind future generations that the Mandela legacy is not what you can make out of his name. It’s not about creating entities that are going to give capital. Our legacy is political, it was never about material gain…it’s not about the statues in the country, it’s not about egos. I never wanted to be associated with such things, which is why I am [living] in Soweto. My days will come to an end here with the people I threw stones with.”

IMG_1730

A Year Without Mandela ‘There Can Never Be Closure’

London could be Nigeria’s 37th state. From the underground to the finest hotels, you can hear an army of Nigerians on the march. There is an attitude about them – forward thinking, money spending – a force steeling Britain’s economy with streetwise Lagos cut-and-thrust. Be it academia, business, or just plain rich, there is plenty of Nigeria to go around in London. One of the best known is the Nigerian billionaire, Femi Otedola, who owns a $53.5-million home in the heart of rich Knightsbridge.
Otedola, the man who always wears white, clearly doesn’t believe in doing things by half. He owns a fleet of custom Rolls Royce cars in London and a Mercedes fleet in Nigeria, together worth $7.7 million. On the waters off Lagos, he has a sleek, custom-made, $19.5-million yacht in the Victoria Island lagoon. His home in Lagos is bigger than the one in Knightsbridge, with more expansive balconies and better weather.
Be it homes, gadgets or cars; Otedola appears to love the good life and doesn’t mind spending on it.
On a Thursday morning, in his tastefully furnished London pad adorned with family portraits, we meet for a chat; Otedola is jolly, answering phone calls and checking stocks on his tablet. He does this every morning after a few hours in the gym. There is no doubt it has been another prosperous year for the chairman of a leading Nigerian downstream oil company.
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Otedola was the second Nigerian to make the FORBES billionaires list in 2009. Following a major plunge in the shares of African Petroleum (now Forte Oil), he fell off the list. Another blow came when he topped the list of Nigeria’s debtors – owing banks around $900 million. Otedola has since reshuffled his finances and paid off every cent, according to the Asset Management Corporation of Nigeria (AMCON). He returns to the FORBES rich list in 2014 wealthier and wiser. He is worth at least $1.2 billion, as valued this year by the FORBES wealth unit in the United States and FORBES AFRICA. The rise in net worth was helped by a spike in the share price of his company, Forte Oil where he owns an 80% shareholding.
Otedola is part of a group of relatively young men who represent the new face of Nigerian capitalism. Born around the sixties and seventies, they came of age in the eighties and nineties as Nigeria inched deeper into military dictatorships that crippled the economy and the ambitions of entrepreneurs. They had to wait until the return of democracy in 1999 – and the subsequent opening up of the economy – to unleash their entrepreneurial skills. They have since taken advantage of the upturn in the country’s fortunes; their rise coinciding with waves of Nigeria’s economic reform.
So, how do you run up $1.5 billion in debt and become solvent in a few years? Just ask Otedola, who believes it was something he had to go through that had an echo in his childhood.
“I had my first business at the age of six. It was called FEMCO. I’d offer to groom my parents’ guests’ nails. Then, write a receipt and charge them for my service. They paid me too. I always had an interest in business. For my seventh Christmas present, I remember asking my dad for a briefcase. I just thought it was a good look. He gave me one of his and I insisted on taking it to school with me. The kids laughed at me, but I still loved the briefcase.”
Down the years, Otedola nursed his passion and grew up to work for his late father, Michael Otedola, the former governor of Lagos State.
It was a career that began with inky fingers. Otedola ran the marketing side of the family printing press in the late 1980s. It was a springboard to becoming a name in the world of Nigerian business.
An insight into the way Otedola’s mind worked came years later in a very public feud with his now best friend and one-time business partner, Aliko Dangote – the richest man in Africa. The squabble was over a bid for the Nigerian arm of Chevron, Texaco’s downstream business, which the company put up for sale in 2006. Otedola – the oil-and-gas man and second largest shareholder in Texaco at the time – was beaten to it by a company with links to Dangote, the cement-and-commodities man; a move said to be in violation of a gentleman’s agreement to respect each other’s turf. When Otedola announced that he would be investing in sugar and cement factories – Dangote territory – few missed the dig in the ribs.
The squabble lingered, but the storm passed, leaving the two men closer than brothers. A nautical manifestation of this is their identical yachts that bob side-by-side in the lagoon off Lagos.
“It was a case of conspiracy theories. Aliko and I have a genuine relationship and it was only natural that we had a few differences along the line. Today, he is my mentor. I like his sincerity and integrity. Aliko’s word is his bond and I have a lot of respect for my friend. I believe he is a real blessing to Nigeria and Africa as a whole. He is a godsend to this continent. I believe Aliko is highly underrated too. He will become the richest man on the FORBES list someday,” says Otedola.
<div id="attachment_3200" style="width: 310px" class="wp-caption alignleft"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-3200" class="size-medium wp-image-3200" src="/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/000_Par1412570-300x200.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="200" />TO GO WITH AFP STORY IN FRENCH BY JACQUES LHUILLERY ******Nigeria-économie-énergie-société-politique*** (FILES) File picture of Nigerian businessman Aliko Dangote (L) and Femi Otedola are pictured during the opening of the second Lagos domestic airport MM2, 7 April, 2007. Aliko Dangote said that he is far more wealthier than US TV anchorwoman Oprah Winfrey which US magazine Forbes said her wealth fetches USD 1,5 billion. AFP PHOTO / PIUS UTOMI EKPEI/FILES</div>
Otedola’s foray into the oil business began after he stopped working for his father and started working for himself.
Being the son of a governor, Otedola had friends in government who supplied him with diesel. Friends that didn’t do his business any harm down the years. When the political climate changed, the supply stopped. He made enquiries and approached a company for fresh supplies of diesel.
The light bulb in his head went off when Otedola saw a clanking, broken-down truck deliver supplies to his house three days after placing the order. He decided to open his own, more efficient, diesel supply business.
“I started buying diesel from a guy who had control of the market for retailing. I soon realized that a lot of companies in the country actually used diesel. I once received an order from a big transport company. The banks were closed and I could only offer a cheque. I was my supplier’s biggest customer but he refused to take a cheque from me. I immediately realized I needed to source alternative methods of getting my diesel.”
With outrageous ambition, Otedola approached the new management of the depot, which was worth $4 million, and offered to buy it for $20 million.
“I contacted Zenith Bank, sold my pitch on the venture and how we would finance it. I had a meeting that barely lasted 10 minutes with Jim Ovia (another billionaire on the FORBES rich list); he believed in me and it was a done deal. This was in 2003.”
Soon, Otedola had full control of the diesel supply infrastructure with his company, Zenon Petroleum and Gas Limited, holding 91% of the market. It turned out to be a great business decision. He set up a transport and shipping company in line with the logistics attached with diesel supply – F.O. Transport and Seaforce Shipping. At a stroke, he took control of the entire chain. He went further to diversify into property and buying into a string of other large companies. He was 35; he felt the adrenalin rush and wanted to dominate the market. All this in a mere seven years.
At this point, Otedola’s biggest competitors were oil giants Total and Mobil. Soon, he was setting the diesel price and supplying his competitors.
“While my competitors were sleeping, I was busy strategizing. I was liberal too. My strategy was: high volumes, little margins. I was very excited at this point. However, I knew that at some point the government would fix the power issue (diesel is mainly used for generators during power cuts) and I needed to move a step forward.”
In what proved a wise move to cushion the business, Zenon bought a 28.7% stake in African Petroleum. Zenon invested aggressively across the financial sector becoming the second largest shareholder in Zenith Bank, largest individual shareholder at United Bank for Africa (UBA) and many more banks in Nigeria. As the banks sought share capital, following a new directive from the reserve bank, many approached Otedola. He rolled the dice in the knowledge he was playing safe.
At that time, Zenon was very solvent and the largest diesel importer in Nigeria. It invested a lot of money in African Petroleum with Otedola increasing the shareholding from 28.7% to about 55%, at a cost of $400 million. Then, the worst happened – the crude oil prices plunged from $146 to $36 in 2008.
“We took a very big hit and I lost about $1.5 billion, plus interest, in the process. When the oil prices were dropping, I saw it all coming. I could see myself losing big money. I had diesel worth $400 million on the high seas. It didn’t look good. I’m a capitalist though. It was great while the money was rolling in. Now that I lost so much, it was also time to face the tune. It was a very low time for me and I explored different options, including suicide, but ultimately, I knew I had to solve this problem. My debts had to be paid.”
“The same banks that had once sent pretty sales ladies to get money from me for their accounts in the past were now sending tough looking men to knock at my door to get me to pay my debts in the mornings. The only people I’d credit at this point were my wife for her great support, Jim Ovia of Zenith Bank and Segun Agbaje of Guaranty Trust Bank who understood the situation and offered a restructure of the loans for ease of payment. I was however determined to pay it all up and move on. The banks sold the debt to Asset Management Corporation of Nigeria. It was a total of N200 billion
($1.2 billion).”
Otedola separated his personal fortune from his business, so Zenon was bankrupt but he wasn’t. AMCON bought the debt for $867 million. They valued the Zenon assets, Otedola’s property company and existing assets. He added some cash and there was a court settlement. He had also started selling his bank shares, before the big plunge. It dragged on for four years.
“The most important lesson I learned, is that no one is invincible. No matter how high up there you are today, you can lose it all tomorrow if you’re not on top of your game. I also learned that being a good entrepreneur does not necessarily make you a good business manager. I learned to keep my hands off managing and leave it in the hands of experts.”
Today, Otedola describes his approach to business as very risk averse and content. Having sold all the Zenon assets to pay his debts, he shifted his focus to African Petroleum which had to go through restructuring.
Otedola’s fingers were burned and he was going to be tougher this time around. In 2011, a complete overhaul saw him sack all staff at African Petroleum, albeit with a handsome severance package. In the restructuring, African Petroleum became Forte Oil.
“I also made a decision not to run the business as I had failed at running it well. I then brought in a crop of fresh young talented guys to take over. I wanted fresh, brilliant minds and ideas. I wanted to build an institution based on the best corporate governance practices; a whole new direction.”
Forte Oil owns about 500 retail outlets across the 36 states of Nigeria. Its audited half year 2014 results show growth. Its revenue grew by 33% to $511.18 million as against the $385.03 million in 2013. Contributing significantly to revenue, for the first time, is the company’s power generation segment from Amperion Power. Under Nigeria’s power privatization program, it acquired the 414MW Geregu plant in Kogi State. Overall sales costs increased by 30% to $453.39 million from $348.20 million in 2013. Gross profit surged by 57% to $57.79 million from $36.82 million while profit before tax grew by 152% to $26.92 million from $10.68 million.
Alongside recovery in underlying business performance, exposure to the power sector acted as a catalyst for a rise in the share price at Forte Oil. The company has aggressive ambitions and is on the brink of a big deal.
On returning to the FORBES list, Otedola says: “It is good to be back and is simply an indication of how well we are doing.”
On family, he says: “I’m extremely dedicated to my family. They come first at all times.”
Speaking of family, Otedola’s daughter is on the way up through turntables rather than oil barrels. Florence Otedola, one of four children who is also known as ‘DJ Cuppy’, plays and produces music on the dance floors and flies around the world to spin the tunes.
“Cuppy is a very smart young lady who will go places. She has done very well and is currently in the United States for her Master’s program. She is very talented at her DJing. It is her passion and I have no choice but to support her. I want my children to follow their respective passion and I’ll support them to the best of my ability.”
Otedola believes Nigerians are enterprising and therein lies the country’s strength. He detests the bad light in which Nigeria is often seen and hopes for fairer reporting that celebrates its successes as well.
“I’d like to see a Nigeria with about 50 Dangotes,” he says on Nigeria’s future.
As the FORBES list welcomes Otedola back, he is looking towards a brighter future and increasing his $1.2-billion wealth. He may have made a small slice of FORBES history by making a billion, losing it and clawing it back. Either way, he is burned, humbled and bouncing back – w

“You Can Lose It All Tomorrow”

It’s raining heavily the morning Oluchi Orlandi arrives at the Nike Art Gallery in Lagos for the photo session with FORBES WOMAN AFRICA. The Nigerian-born supermodel has traveled from New York, where she lives, and the rain-soaked welcome has lifted her spirits.
She steps in and instantly fills the room with raw energy. There is a moment of quiet reservation, the lights and camera go on, and then there is magic.
It is clear Orlandi, 33, has faced the camera for years, she is a natural in front of it. She struts, sways and smiles for the lens, embodying grace, all six feet of her.
She was only 17 when she first came face-to-face with the camera – and became an instant sensation.
This was in 1998, when ‘Oluchi’ became a household name in Nigeria following her win as M-Net’s Face of Africa. The popular show on the South African TV channel brought her success and fame, and a life she never dreamt of.
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From the fashion runways of New York to Milan, showcasing lingerie to haute couture, this African beauty has traversed the globe, gracing billboards and the covers of international magazines such as Elle and Italian Vogue. She has been the face of campaigns for Victoria’s Secret and Gianfranco Ferre
More recently, Orlandi has added another feather to her cap. She now owns rights to the reality television show Africa’s Next Top Model, a show she brought to Africa in November 2013. As the African version of the globally-televized America’s Next Top Model show hosted by Tyra Banks, it has successfully completed its first season on the continent. The next season is currently being filmed. Orlandi is Executive Producer, head judge and host of the show.
Supermodel. TV hostess. Businesswoman. She has donned many hats. Orlandi says she has had an entrepreneurial streak from childhood.
Ordinary childhood
Growing up in Lagos with four siblings, raised by her mother, a nurse, and her father, a civil servant, Orlandi recalls being a tomboy who loved to play ping-pong in the street with the boys.
It was an ordinary childhood. “We had a normal routine of home, school and church. I remember being very entrepreneurial at a young age though. I’d generally sell and think of ways to bring additional income home. It was entirely my initiative and I wasn’t pressured into anything by my parents,” says Orlandi.
Continuously seeking new projects to invest in, she bought her first property, as an investment, at the age of 23. She recalls not sleeping for a month, worrying about the mortgage she had to pay off.
When the first season of Africa’s Next Top Model was aired, following young supermodel hopefuls from across the continent, it enjoyed note-worthy ratings, creating an appetite for more in viewers, and quelling Orlandi’s long-felt desire to create a better understanding of the modeling and fashion industry in Africa.
For this, she had to step out of herself, and reexamine the industry she had been a part of for almost a decade-and-a-half.
“I have seen this industry grow and metamorphose over this time. It is progressing at a fast rate but the general public has such a limited view of it. There is minimum insight to the enormity of this industry and its existing opportunities. I had a small team that worked day and night to bring it all together. We had designers, fashion editors, creative directors on the panel. It was a joy to put faces to names people had known and introduce their craft to the continent on a different platform. I wanted to bring all of these elements to television and bring the industry to people’s screens.”
Orlandi’s ambition is two-fold: to create awareness about fashion and also a platform for women. It is to modeling that Orlandi owes everything to. After all, it thrust her into the limelight and opened doors for her.
“I’m forever grateful to a corporate platform like M-Net that provided an opportunity like this to young African women, as I believe the continent doesn’t do enough for our women and their aspirations. Today, I appreciate this platform more than anything. For me and many other young girls that were given that opportunity, it is indelible and has shaped my views differently today. As the years go by, it has become my driving force to make a mark in the industry. All I ask myself these days is: ‘How can I give back?’ I don’t think I’ve done anything at all in comparison to what I should and could be doing and this quest has become my unrelenting drive.”
Though tall and slender, Orlandi never thought she would become a model. As a high school student, she wanted to be a banker, or an air hostess.
“I had a stronger banking aspiration though. I just thought it was glamorous. I loved the professional, powerful look of women in suits.”
But it was a family friend, a fashion designer she had become close to, who influenced her. The friend talked her into taking part in the modeling competition that was to change her life.
“I didn’t know what to expect. She took me to the auditions and my life took a 360-degree turn from there. It was a room of over a thousand girls all gunning for the title of Face of Africa. I was lucky enough to progress from stage to stage, eventually winning the title.”
Orlandi represented West Africa at the finals in Zimbabwe – and when she won, there was disbelief, and tears.
“I remember the night before the final stage, I just couldn’t sleep. I knew I had two other strong competitors. When my name was called, it took me a few minutes to believe it and I just broke down.”
Culture shock
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That was the launch of a sterling career but it was no cakewalk. Orlandi’s parents didn’t buy into it instantly as there were reinforced stereotypes about the modeling industry they weren’t comfortable with. They soon warmed up to the idea as time went by. This wasn’t all. It was time to face a world alien to her in many ways. Getting used to it was not easy.
“I suffered a real culture shock when I arrived in New York and was very homesick. I had never lived away from Lagos. I missed everything about home and wanted to be there. I went back home after a few months and was later convinced to return to New York for the sake of my career. Things got better from there and I learnt to make [New York my] home.”
While her career flourished and her calendar brimmed with bookings, Orlandi couldn’t miss the fact that her studies suffered. She had only completed high school when she made the move.
“My life had taken a very fast pace and my education had been affected. One thing I learnt from New York is that you can have anything you want if you work really hard. My education was still important to me and so I enrolled at New York University and started taking weekend classes for an associate degree in business. I later went back for two years to earn another [degree].”
She managed to juggle her studies and career, but starting a family threw a new set of challenges.
“I really struggled. I went through some emotional ups and downs and depression as I had to make a decision between my career and building a family. I was at the top of my career, working on Victoria’s Secret and pregnant with my first son – they had no idea at that point. This posed a threat to my career. I went through it all however and when I had my son, I had to say to myself, ‘you have to keep it going, there are women who have gone before you and have survived the patch’. I adjusted my view.”
Today, Orlandi is married to Italian fashion designer Luca Orlandi and is the proud mother of two children, aged seven and three. To upcoming models, she has a word of advice.
“Take advantage of every single minute. Don’t be culture-blind. Use fashion as your platform to see the world. Have a voice and understand the woman that you are. Don’t be scared to take risks.”
Orlandi is taking new risks now and constantly challenging herself.
“Back then, as a fledgling model, I was just focused on myself. It was all about me. Now, I am my biggest critic. I punch myself everyday saying ‘there must be more you can do Oluchi’,” she says.
Orlandi is very optimistic about the future of African fashion.
“I talk a lot about South Africa as they have been more structured and highly consistent in their approach than any other country on the continent, using magazines and varying portals to showcase the strength and magnitude of this industry.”
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In 2007, Oluchi partnered with the Shine Group to launch O Model Africa, a South Africa-based modeling agency dedicated to selecting and developing African models.
Yet, she feels more needs to be done.
“We need to praise ourselves more. Nobody will do it for you. We should stop idolizing the West so much and start celebrating and marketing ourselves better. I am an African woman and I know beyond doubt that the only way to build a better Africa is to embody, think and celebrate our own grand feats.”
And to achieve her goals, Orlandi has a simple philosophy, which she reveals before wrapping up for the day: “If you’re good to life, it’ll be good to you.”
<h1>Oluchi Unplugged</h1>
<h3>Jan Malan</h3>
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<h4>“The first time I laid eyes on Oluchi back in 1997, I knew she would become a star. Oluchi is an incredible businesswoman; she instinctively crafted and honed her career without losing herself in the glamor of it all. Oluchi has become a dear friend and compatriot and she is the one who guided me on the pitfalls of doing business in New York City,” says Jan Malan, Head of Production at Umzingeli Productions, one of Africa’s leading show producers.</h4>
<h3></h3>
<h3>Duro Olowu</h3>
<h4>“Oluchi is great to work with. Super smart and funny too. Her beauty is effortless and so she has a fantastic way of giving her best without it looking forced. And she understands the camera and clothes too, you can’t get better than that,” says Nigerian-born London-based designer Duro Olowu, who has worked with her.</h4>
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Beyond The Catwalk

Two days before last year’s Grammy Awards, the prolific South African jazz musician and activist, Hugh Masekela, arrived in Los Angeles. He had been nominated in the ‘Best World Music Album’ category for Jabulani, a collection of South African wedding songs, some of which are more than a century old.
Although it was the second Grammy nomination of his long career—his song Grazing in the Grass was up for best contemporary pop instrumental in 1969—Masekela didn’t seem too preoccupied with the possibility of winning.
“Awards are not really my thing,” he says with a shrug.
At the time, the 75-year-old artist was content to catch up with his son Sal Masekela, who is best known as a TV host for ESPN’s X Games coverage and the E! Entertainment celebrity gossip show, The Daily 10.
Sal’s latest endeavor was an album of his own, The Sound of Alekesam, a blend of hip-hop, jazz and R&amp;B that wafts over the speakers at his production company office, where he and his father had just completed their first ever photo shoot together.
“The album sounds good, Selema,” Hugh says, slapping his son on the back and calling him by his full name, as he always does.
It’s no small compliment from a musician who has released more than 40 albums and performed with Dizzy Gillespie, The Byrds, Fela Kuti, Paul Simon, Stevie Wonder and Miriam Makeba.
Sal smiles sheepishly and says, “Thanks, man.”
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Sal is 42, and over the course of their relationship there has at times been distance between the two men, both physical and emotional. It was not always easy having a father who was constantly touring, who lived in exile from his homeland for 30 years while speaking out against South Africa’s apartheid, or who once struggled with substance addiction. But their bond is a strong one.
“The great thing about my relationship with my dad is that we’ve always been able to pick up where we left off. We’re two guys running on one track with a baton, and we’ve each sometimes had to go in different ways, but we’re there to hand it to each other,” says Sal.
Today, both father and son find themselves looking forward, while also embracing their roots.
Hugh is committed to restoring African heritage. Born in the town of Witbank, east of Johannesburg, he has always drawn inspiration from the music of his country.
“The music I make, I don’t call it my music. It is based on my township and indigenous rural roots in South Africa. That’s what brought me fame all over the world,” he says.
Hugh first started playing the piano when he was five years old.
“I didn’t go into it for notoriety or fame. I just went into music because I love it,” he says.
At the age of 14, he was given his first trumpet by Archbishop Trevor Huddleston, the late British anti-apartheid activist. Hugh began to develop his signature sound in the late 1950s, melding jazz with African influences.
He left South Africa in 1960, aged 21, beginning a 30-year exile. Settling in New York during a golden age of jazz, he attended the Manhattan School of Music and watched legends like Miles Davis, John Coltrane and Louis Armstrong firsthand. His first album, Trumpet Africaine, was released in 1963.
In the ensuing decades, Hugh became an international star and an outspoken political voice with songs such as Stimela, Soweto Blues and Bring Him Back Home (Nelson Mandela), which became an anti-apartheid anthem.
Sal was born in 1971 and, like his father, grew up immersed in music.
“My earliest memories of my father are being with him in jazz clubs. Hanging out in studios and being around music and around artists that talked about the world,” he says.
As Hugh divided his time between the United States (US) and Africa, living in Zaire, Liberia and Nigeria, Sal was raised by his mother, Jessie Lapierre, a Haitian immigrant, and his stepfather, Manny Gonzalez.
“I’m a unique first-generation American. I borrow from all of it. I’m lucky in that I get to take the influences and the principles of my different cultures and shape them into who I am as a person,” says Sal.
As a young man, Sal marched to the beat of his own drum. Upon moving from New York to California in 1988, he took up surfing, which sparked his love of action sports. One of the tracks on his album alludes to his individualistic nature and his love of the ocean, as he sings: “I’m a black cowboy riding a dolphin”.
In 1990, after the release of Nelson Mandela, Sal joined his father on his homecoming tour in South Africa.
“It was really crazy. While Mandela had been released, apartheid itself was having a very hard time breaking down. I think people were starting to see that it was going to take a long time to put this car in reverse. There was a lot of violence and it was a tense time,” says Sal.
“It was very fulfilling for me to be able to bring him home and for him to see the other side of his heritage,” Hugh says.
In 2010, the two traveled throughout South Africa during the Fifa World Cup for ESPN’s 10-part video series titled ‘Umlando—Through My Father’s Eyes’.
“I took him to the poorest places in the country, to see the other side of it, and also the beauty of the country. It was just wonderful to watch him take it all in,” says Hugh.
For Sal, it was a different South Africa than the one he had visited previously.
“You could pull up at a red light and there’d be a car full of white people at the red light next to your car, and they might wave to you or smile. That might sound minute but the texture of the way people dealt with each other was different—especially among the younger generation,” he says.
The experience gave him immense hope for what the next 20 or 30 years could be like in South Africa.
When it comes to their own futures and those of Africa, Hugh and Sal are both ambitious and optimistic.
In the past year, Hugh has been busy performing in Australia, New Zealand, Japan, the US, Canada, Europe and throughout Africa. He also spent five weeks in Trinidad and Tobago working on an album with Siparia Deltones, a steel band. The album is expected this year on Hugh’s record label, House of Masekela.
Sal has been equally busy covering surfing and mountain biking, writing new songs, and developing Art of Craft, a line of limited-edition T-shirts. The shirts are created in collaboration with artisans and a portion of the proceeds is donated to a charity of each subject’s choosing. Hugh was the first artist to be featured.
Sal was due to return to South Africa in March to ride in the Cape Epic, an 800-kilometer mountain bike. He also had plans to work with the South African surfer Jordy Smith, a good friend who does charity work in Durban to promote the sport to youth.
“I’ve always said that the first surfer of color that will have a real shot at the World Tour is going to come from South Africa,” Sal says during a recent phone call.
His optimism echoed that of his father during their earlier conversation before the Grammys.
“There is no society that has as much diversity and wealth and a reservoir of music and other things than Africa. We’re looking at Africa in its embryonic stage as far as I’m concerned,” says Hugh.
Hugh did not win the Grammy but when you are a legend, who cares?   FL

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Strong and Together in Song

It was mid-morning on a warm Saturday in Nairobi. Atul Shah, the 53-year-old Managing Director of the family-owned retail chain Nakumatt Holdings, sat at his desk scanning through live feeds from CCTV screens at his head offices and warehouses. Then his phone rang. It was the branch manager at Westgate shopping mall. Shah was overcome with dread.
<div id="attachment_3019" style="width: 310px" class="wp-caption alignleft"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-3019" class="size-medium wp-image-3019" src="/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/RTR242EP-1-300x178.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="178" />Kenya&#8217;s President Mwai Kibaki (C) and Police Commissioner Hussein Ali walk past the burnt-down Nakumatt supermarket in downtown Nairobi, January 30, 2009. At least 22 people died and more than two dozen more were missing after a fire destroyed a supermarket in downtown Nairobi two days ago. REUTERS/Stringer (KENYA)</div>
“There’s a shootout at Westgate,” said the caller.
It was painfully true. On September 21, masked gunmen stormed the mall, throwing grenades and firing bullets at shoppers.
“We all thought it was a plain robbery and that it will end in a couple of minutes.”
It didn’t. Shah and Kenya were in for a shock.
“After a few minutes we realized it was not just a robbery but more of a terrorist attack as they were shooting anyone on sight,” said Shah.
“This cast a dark spell over business, and generally many sectors have slowed down since, including investment and tourism. The Westgate attack has had a big impact on business. We were all lost. We had never gone through something like that. Yes, a few robberies here and there happen, but a terrorist attack was something very new to us.”
Shah switched into crisis mode and gathered his team. He dashed to Westgate.
“I made my way to Westgate to see if there’s anything I could do to help but unfortunately there was nothing we could do, as we were kept at bay. The police had come by that time and they were doing what they are supposed to do.”
From a safe distance, Shah came face to face with the horror. People filed out in droves, most with gunshot wounds or shrapnel injuries. Some stumbled as they fled. He stood helpless with the relatives and friends of those suffering inside.
“I could see a lot of rescue operations going on and a lot of people moving out of the mall. I was in touch with the manager of the branch and a couple of other tenants to know what was happening but they were all confused. They all said there were dead bodies everywhere and these people were out to kill. The team in the branch did very well, though, by escorting shoppers out through the back door. They had the guts and the will to do what they did to ensure safety for shoppers and staff.”<img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="alignleft size-medium wp-image-3020" src="/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/5E9V8670-300x200.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="200" />
After four days of battle with the army and police, the siege ended in 67 deaths, hundreds of injuries, the collapse of a section of the mall and several burned shops and cars. It was a scary sight.
“The impact was big. In the first week, we were lost for words. It was one of our flagship branches where everybody frequented. Financially it put a lot of strain on us. But the biggest loss was that of our three colleagues,” he says.
Before the attack, Shah was, like most shop owners, concerned about attracting more customers. The attack, just 10 kilometers away, changed his life.
Like Kenya, he was to live through days of fear, danger and misery.
Westgate was an easy target for terror. It is packed with shoppers, many of them foreigners, and security was lax. Nakumatt, which serves 250,000 shoppers in Kenya a day, was the soft center.
A year on, many shoppers look over their shoulder in Nairobi. A burst tire in the parking lot or a sudden noise can send scores stampeding towards the exits.
“Whenever there is a scare of terrorism, real or imagined, people definitely keep away. We aren’t seeing many scary text messages these days. Some time back, there were lots of SMS alerts warning people to avoid this or that shopping mall and you’d see people evacuate immediately,” says Shah.
The Nakumatt branch in Westgate was a study in ambiance and luxury shopping. It was the middle-class shopper’s paradise in Nairobi; attracting diplomats and senior government officials. At all times, the store had at least 600 shoppers.
The supermarket suffered an estimated loss of $17 million. Only part of the business was insured, he says, so there was no full compensation. Rebuilding Westgate began after a couple of months and could still take many more months to resume operations. Some businesses that operated there have moved elsewhere, while most remain closed, including Nakumatt.
That evening, as Shah watched the live coverage of the siege, he took a hard and long look at his business. It wasn’t that bad, he thought, but one thing was clear: terror needed serious attention. His business was prepared for fire, robbery or a building collapse, nothing had prepared them for what happened at Westgate.
“Internally we were doing a lot in line with the regulatory requirements in terms of safety hazards and disasters.  A lot of staff had been trained for disaster, fire-fighting, medical emergencies, and we have been doing these for many years. Now we have engaged more security organizations, where they are more visible to provide security. We still see shootings in other parts of the country and we aren’t sure how much security they can offer in the event of a terrorist attack.”
It was a hard lesson. Nakumatt had terrorism insurance cover because its large proportion of expatriate and foreign customers made it vulnerable to attack.
“Who would have thought we would one day use the terrorism cover? We are adequately covered now although insurance never pays 100 percent because there are lapses here and there. The most painful part, however, is that no insurance can cover loss of life.”
With no hope of Westgate getting back to business soon, Nakumatt is counting the losses. It was the goose that laid the golden egg. Other branches saw increased business after the terror attack but for the first few weeks, people avoided shopping malls. Shah says people are returning to shopping malls, yet the capacity of its other stores cannot handle the business that Westgate once had.
Nakumatt moves on.
“We are confident about the market, we are confident about East Africa and we will continue expanding.”
Westgate is a million miles from where Nakumatt was born in 1978 in the Rift Valley town of Nakuru. In that year, Shah’s father sat with his two sons to review the small shop that they had just bought. The first decision was to change the name to Nakumatt, short for Nakuru Mattresses. In 1992, the first branch opened in Nairobi, on Uhuru Highway.
“We have carried on opening stores, as opportunities have come our way. We have brought the world shopping experience to East Africa. Whatever you get at Nakumatt is the same experience you get in the developed world,” he says.
The fledgling business took a leaf out of Walmart’s book.
“I had the opportunity to be in the United States for a while and saw how stores were managed and operated and brought home the skills as well. During my free time, I would spend a lot of time at the stores and see how it is done. Although it took many years to adopt and actualize the concept in Kenya, we have succeeded in doing that. We adopted the all-under-one-roof policy from the onset,” he says.
The first branch ushered in 47 others in East Africa.
“Location is the key thing in retail stores,” he says.
Kenya is Nakumatt’s biggest market with 33 branches, Uganda has eight stores; Tanzania, four and Rwanda, two. It’s grown into a conglomerate, with a turnover of $600 million and an army of 7,300 employees, that has fought off the multinationals. This year, it expects turnover to top $750 million.
“We have a huge variety of products on offer under one roof. We sell everything and anything except planes. If we had space we would be selling airplanes. Also, we have focused on changing lifestyles through innovations and new ideas. We keep growing our products portfolio in line with changing trends and improving the shopping experience.”
“Nakumatt was the pioneer of late night shopping, pushing it from the initial 5PM deadline in the early 1990s to 10PM when most people in villages and small town are asleep. At the turn of the millennium it went further to introduce 24-hour shopping.”
Shah has traveled on business in 45 countries. He says 25 years ago South Africa had the most developed retail market on the continent and East Africa is catching up.
“Besides South Africa, East Africa is the most advanced market in formal retail. Economies in West Africa are more financially developed, but not retail,” he says.
Nakumatt’s business model is simple. It focuses on what it does best: selling. The rest is left to specialists. It does not own real estate, but works with partners. The managers locate a prime site, get developers to put up a mall and then go in as an anchor tenant. This has helped it improve its cash-flow by steering clear of the cost of bricks and mortar.
He says East Africa is the place.
“We will look beyond but the [East African] area is still wide open and green. Kenya’s 47 counties are all opportunities for us. County governments will learn how to invest to make counties good for investments. We see a lot of opportunities, despite the problems we have faced.”
Days before the interview with FORBES AFRICA, Shah, who talks fast as if it’s your duty to catch up, had arrived from the World Cup in Brazil.
“I was looking at Spain but it was disaster. Brazil were hosts but did not play well. Argentina was my team finally and did very well to play against Germany, and conceded not seven goals but only one.”
Shah is a sports fanatic. He looks more like a cricket coach than a multimillionaire. He dreams of bringing the Fifa World Cup to East Africa.
“People say sports bring people together. In Kenya we are always talking politics. But I am talking about bringing the World Cup to East Africa in 2030. This falls within Kenya’s Vision 2030 but it’s not a Kenyan drive. It is an East African vision. We will need infrastructure, such as stadiums and everything that goes with it. We have 16 years to prepare for that, which is enough time.”
Vision 2030, Kenya’s long-term economic development blueprint, provides for infrastructure development and other facilities that the World Cup requires. Shah has it all worked out. He says Kenya can provide three stadiums, Uganda and Tanzania two each while Rwanda can take care of one.
“It will bring a lot of exposure to East Africa in terms of tourism investments and so on. Everybody will start investing in hotels and other service sectors. This is the right time to start lobbying the right bodies. The triple bonus is that in 2031 we have the opportunity to host the Cricket World Cup and the Olympics in 2032. We are not just looking at one event, but three subsequent events.”
Shah has started speaking to various leaders in the private and public sectors to build momentum.
“Despite the protests and riots preceding the World Cup in Brazil, when the games began everybody was calm and they are still enjoying the fruits. Rio is hosting the Olympics in 2016, one year later. East Africa won’t have a gap; it will be continuous if we get it right.”
“I have been to three football World Cups, three Olympics and three cricket events and I have seen what sports can do to an economy. I go to enjoy and absorb myself but I see the economic gains. I am vying for it and I see the potential. Nakumatt alone cannot manage. We can be one of the minor sponsors because we are a brand. In Kenya there are many brands; Coke, KQ, Safaricom, which can support sport.”
He says to achieve this goal, sport management must improve. He says Kenya, Uganda and Tanzania have great talent yet don’t qualify for major tournaments like the African Cup of Nations or World Cup because of sports politics.
“Look at our runners; we don’t even need to tell them to run yet they bring us medals. We need something similar in football. At one time, cricket was popular in Kenya but politics or something messes up everything. But if the focus is there and the right people are in place, we will get back to glory not just in football, cricket, volleyball, but also in swimming and rugby where we are a big name. Investment in sports is not taken seriously. If well managed it can bring a lot of revenue to countries.”
For now, Shah will concentrate on market share. His company has had its fair share of setbacks. In 2008, one of its biggest stores was pulled down by the government after it had been built on a road reserve along the Thika-Nairobi highway. A year or so later, one of its lucrative stores in the capital burned down, killing more than 20 people.
“We take every tough moment as a challenge and as a signal of what we need to improve on. There are challenges in every business. We get better by the day, we get better solutions. They are obstacles but we look at them as challenges to move on. We had Westgate and the Nakumatt downtown fire. Now and then, we have issues with departments. We believe in improving ourselves. Wherever we see fault we don’t hide it but improve it.”
For Shah and his family, it is no longer about making money, running Nakumatt has become a lifestyle. The inspiration is always spotting the next big thing in retail.
African governments should give more support to home-grown investors to stimulate growth, he says.
“When a foreigner comes the governments are open arms and offering incentives here and there, but for locals, things become a bit tight. They should treat local investors equally as foreigners,” he says.
To strengthen management, Shah has brought on board his two sons as he plans to list on the regional stock markets in the next three years. Even so, he still misses the Westgate branch.
“It was a sad incident for us and Kenya. Everybody loved Westgate and they want Westgate back.”

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