It was like a scene from a Hollywood movie in the African bush. A helicopter hovered in the bright morning sun before swooping on a patch of long grass. A stocky man in a khaki cap, short-sleeve shirt and shorts, with a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, emerged with a walk to equal the power of his arrival. This is the game auction business. The man was Waltie van der Walt, a game farmer and wildlife breeder in the Limpopo province, in the north of South Africa. In this business, Van der Walt is the lion of the jungle. He strides to the auction through a fleet of Land Rovers, 4&#215;4 double-cabs; the trappings of a multi-million-dollar business.
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In Limpopo wildlife auctions, Van der Walt is a kingpin with a large wallet. He is the founder and owner of Superior Game Breeders (SGB) on the Oorlogsfontein Game Ranch in Mokopane, Limpopo. You could argue he commands auctions as much as bids. Such is his standing that he doesn’t even deign to enter the auction. For the duration of his bidding, Van der Walt merely leans through the doorway.
Chere du Toit, a manager at Aucor Wildlife Auctions, likens him to fellow game buyers Johann Rupert, one of the richest men in Africa, and Cyril Ramaphosa, South Africa’s deputy president. Ramaphosa put game auctions in the news with his attempt to buy a buffalo cow and its calf in Rustenburg, in the North West province of South Africa, in 2012. He lost to farmer, Boet Troskie, who paid around R20 million ($1.6 million). Ramaphosa later apologized to the nation for this attempt at conspicuous cow consumption.
Like Ramaphosa, Van der Walt, found this Saturday, in late March, was not his day. To his chagrin, a young man, bidding on behalf of somebody else, bought the kudu bull he was after. The most expensive kudu bull on the day went for R510,000 (around $40,000). An exasperated Van der Walt hovered off to another auction 30 kilometers away.
“I plan my bidding before I go to auctions. The animals are advertized on the auction’s website, so when you go there you already know precisely what you are after. Needless to say, I went to the auction knowing exactly what I wanted and what I am willing to pay for the animal. It must be within my budget. This was ridiculously expensive,” says Van der Walt later.
Van der Walt also owns Superior African Hunting Safaris, a hunting farm that his son Eli van der Walt manages. They have been in the business since 2001.
Among the 110 bidders who spent millions on the day, was Arie Kuhn, a game farmer in Limpopo, who is also a chartered accountant in Johannesburg. He says the game farmers were stocking up for the hunting season between May and September.
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“We know what the hunters want, so we stock on those animals that are trending. On my farm, we host trophy hunters who are mainly from abroad. Normally they like blue wildebeest because it’s a cheaper animal to shoot. You can shoot it for R6,000 (around $500) and take your animal home. I purchased a lot of them. We also do exotic game breeding in other camps but these are not for hunting,” says Kuhn.
He says his auction budget is determined by his bookings.
Kuhn has been in the game farming business for nine years and grew up on the farms of Limpopo. He brought his two children, Kaylen and Jayden, with him. Jayden, his eight-year-old son, has taken to his father’s passion of hunting impala.
As the auction wore on, the mood was festive at Aucor Wildlife Auctions. Du Toit says that this may not be one of their best days, without saying how much, but seemed satisfied.
In the near distance, in a thatched-roof building, rapped the voice of auctioneer Mike Killassy. He’s in his element and in high spirits. This auction lasted four hours.
“Hammer is up. Can you make it R10,000 ($800) now, sir? Are you happy, can we sell it?” asks the auctioneer.
Killassy, owner of Killassy Auctioneering, has spent more than three decades auctioneering and worked in the United States, Australia and Europe. He says his career’s highlight was being featured in TIME. Killassy was born in Aberdeen, a farming town in the Eastern Cape, to a family with more than 100 years in agriculture. He started as a stock farming auctioneer; these days he is inundated with wildlife auctions. They come up every week in South Africa.
The business has grown enough to attract analysis. Academics in North West University, South Africa, carried out a study. They found game ranching to be a better bet than banking and the stock exchange.
Flippie Cloete, an academic from North West University, says the economic contribution of game farming was close to at least R20 billion ($1.6 billion) in 2014.
Around 29,000 animals were sold at auctions in 2014, making R1.88 billion ($151 million). In total, around 130,000 game animals were traded during the 2014 season. This means a mere 22% of animals were sold at auctions.
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“If we assume that the trade composition of official auctions and private trade are analogous, then the economic contribution from live wildlife trade alone was close if not in excess of R10 billion ($800 million). This is not even considering the economic contribution for services such as capture and translocation, pharmaceuticals, veterinary expense. In addition, the contribution of hunting is estimated to be in excess of R8 billion ($642 million),” says Cloete.
“Game yields higher returns because of the cumulative effect. You have an asset with a reproductive ability. The returns of your investment are not only determined by the change in value of the original animals that were bought, but also from the progeny. If I put my money on stock exchange, or buy a house as an investment, then the returns will to a degree depend on what happened to the value of the shares or the house. However, the big difference is that one share can’t become two or a house can’t become two. But one animal becomes two and so forth. There’s a cumulative effect,” says Cloete.
Van der Walt concurs.
“There’s no comparison between investing in property and wildlife. The animals multiply themselves but property doesn’t. In animals you are guaranteed a 30 percent profit the next year,” he says.
Meanwhile, Andrew Lianos, a chartered accountant at River Group, wants to list wildlife animals on the Johannesburg Stock Exchange (JSE). This has never been done before but he’s convinced he will have his way.
“The JSE does not comment on potential listings in the pipeline. It will only comment once a listing has been confirmed and this confirmation occurs via a SENS announcement as per JSE listing rules,” says Andre Visser, the General Manager for Issuer Regulation at the JSE.
On that sunny day in the bushes of Limpopo, Van der Walt may not have got his way in buying the kudu, but you could argue he has taken the game business by the horns.

Taking Millions By The Horns

Mmusi Maimane – Democratic Alliance leader: It is an insult to them [miners and their families] that three years later, not a single person has been criminally prosecuted or taken political responsibility for the tragic events. The report that was supposed to provide some sense of closure has now called for further investigations. But how many more years will it be before those responsible are held to account? The constitution clearly vests political accountability for the South African Police Service with the Minister and National Commissioner; at the very least former Minister of Police, Nathi Mthethwa, and the National Police Commissioner, Riah Phiyega, should take political responsibility for the events that occurred under their watch. There is something very wrong with a system that allows those who presided over the slaughter to remain in office without any penalties.
Dali Mpofu – Miners’ lawyer: The commission did not look at the underlying issues. It confined itself to the issues of who pulled the trigger and all sorts of technicalities about who was standing where without really interrogating the fundamental underlying issues that caused the conflict in the first place.
Julius Malema – Economic Freedom Fighters leader: While the commission of inquiry had the power and mandate to recommend further actions and persecutions in certain cases, the Economic Freedom Fighters believes that the actions of [Deputy President] Cyril Ramaphosa and Mthethwa had a casual effect on the mass killings in Marikana. We think Judge Farlam did a good job. He did what he was asked to do, although within a short period because of the terms of reference, he did not have an opportunity to dig deep.
Livhuwani Mammburu – National Union of Mineworkers spokesperson:  We welcome the report, but from the beginning we were worried when the strike started. The commission found that the strikers who marched to NUM’s offices did so with violent intent and found that the actions of the NUM can’t be criticized. We welcome the recommendation for further investigation. We maintain that NUM officials and members acted within the parameters of private defence.
Joseph Mathunjwa – Head of the Association of Mineworkers and Construction Union: There is no truth, no justice. I think the commission was made as a gesture not to find the truth. This was another two years wasted. If there is no truth that is unearthed, there will be no healing. This was just a cover up exercise to cover the executives and the blunder of the government.
Zwelinzima Vavi – Former General Secretary of the Congress of South African Trade Unions: I find this insulting and insensitive. A new commission of inquiry must look at the conditions of both work and living conditions. Once the terms of the commission were amended, with the president writing another letter in April reminding the commission of inquiry that it can do everything except to make a finding on the executives, then you must know that by design the commission by Farlam was a fuss. It was never intended to give the victims and South Africa a point of knowing that they now are in a better position because the facts are out and they know who is responsible for all the deaths of the workers that perished. There is no truth, there is no justice… Where is the commission on the fitness of those who appointed them, the President for example? The commission is designed not to find the truth. It is designed to put junior officials as the fall guys.
Mosiuoa Lekota – Congress of the People leader: The moment that the terms of reference were amended to say the commission may not make any findings on the executives is one of the most shocking things that suggest that it was an order not to probe the central issue of political accountability to the people and to the nation.
Gareth Newham – Head of the Governance, Crime and Justice Division at the Institute for Security Studies: The deaths of the miners are unjustifiable. There is no finding that the police were under attack. The four commanders who testified, who stood in front of those members who shot, said they didn’t feel under attack. The police have not showed that what happened at scene two was self-defence.

No Truth, No Justice

As a journalist, I will always remember the evening of June 25, 2015. At 7PM, I was driving in the darkness along the Magaliesberg Mountains, with my eyes trained on the tar of the N4 highway and my ears straining to hear the radio over the engine, towards Marikana the land of despair.
On this night, Jacob Zuma, the President of South Africa, spoke over the radio the findings of the Marikana Commission overseen by retired Judge Ian Farlam. It was a long and painstaking business the FORBES AFRICA team dubbed the Misery Commission.
The Marikana Massacre, between 11 and 16 August 2012, sprang from a wildcat strike, outside the Lonmin mine, along South Africa’s Rustenburg platinum belt, 120 kilometers north west of Johannesburg. Forty-four people, including miners, security guards and police, were killed.
It was on May 14, 2013, nine months after the massacre, when I first laid eyes on this hill where people died. It rang with the chants of thousands of miners on another wildcat strike. The protestors littered the hill, dressed in the green of the Association of Mineworkers and Construction Union (Amcu) and carrying knobkerries. The atmosphere was tense as they marched to the Wonderkop Stadium, a kilometer away.
I remember asking journalists then, where they had been when the gunfire started on August 16, 2012? They would point, like hounds to a scent, at patches of dirt etched in their memories. The spots where they dived for cover from the gunfire that brought an end to the lives of 34 miners.
On June 25, 2015, as the report outlining that day was released and the expected portion of blame given, the night air held a deafening silence. I remember jumping out the car, opening the boot and shivering to set up a tripod and camera. The hill was cold and barren under the starry sky.
We drove around the township searching for people who had been listening to the broadcast. To our disappointment, many that were awake did not watch, or even know the report was being released. On this night, Bongikhaya Ndumndum, a former pipe maintenance worker at the mine, was in his home on the corner of the township, meters away from the quiet hill. He didn’t hear the news.
“I remember the police being here. When the police started shooting I ran,” recalls Ndumndum.
The Commission sat for 300 days, ringed by journalists from around the world, in the heart of Pretoria. Among suits, laptops and lever arch files were the truths of how the massacre happened.
Farlam’s 600-page document was summarized by Zuma in 24 minutes.
The report absolved a number of key players. Deputy President Cyril Ramaphosa, a shareholder of Lonmin, who allegedly sent an email to other shareholders to deal with the problem; Minister of Women in the Presidency, and former Mining Minster, Susan Shabangu; Minister of Arts and Culture, and former Minister of Police, Nathi Mthethwa; and Joseph Mathunjwa, the Head of Amcu, were exonerated.
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Others, according to the enquiry, did not easily escape. The Commission recommended a full investigation into the criminal liability of all the members of the South African Police Service (SAPS) involved. The killings and assaults prior to August 16, 2012, should be referred to the Director of Public Prosecutions‚ for further investigation.
The Commission also ordered a probe in National Police Commissioner Riah Phiyega’s fitness to hold office. Both the National Union of Mineworkers (NUM) and Amcu are accused of not exercising control over its members and endangering bystanders. Lonmin is accused of failing to comply with its housing obligations, which created the environment to begin the strike.
It also issued that a panel should revise the strategies of public order policing within SAPS and implement proper protocols to best dissolve violent clashes. The SAPS training methods were proved to be inadequate and should be revised, including basic first aid training.
It was not closure for all. As the night stretched on, we found a group of journalists who had returned from inside the iron fences of Lonmin. In a small TV room, the families of the victims and their legal representatives waited anxiously for the findings, but by the time the president had finished, the mines had not set up the TV, a small but telling irritation for the families.
Just another cold night on the fields of the Misery Commission.

The Slaughter Of 34 Miners That Shocked The World

David Sipunzi’s election to the top job of general secretary in the National Union of Mineworkers (NUM) was as low key as the man himself. He scraped in by nine votes against a man who had held the post for 10 years, Frans Baleni. Apparently, many in NUM felt the gentlemanly Baleni may have been too gentlemanly in dealing with the mining bosses.
The soft-spoken Sipunzi, a 54-year-old father of four from the small town of Willowvale, in the Eastern Cape, is a former underground miner. He was one of the first to join NUM when it formed in 1985. He spent decades as a union organizer, latterly in the Free State, and is seen as a radical.
“Sipunzi looks a bit like a deer in the headlights following his unanticipated election over the weekend. He has been suddenly foisted into the national spotlight with a swirl of contentious issues around him,” wrote journalist Ranjeni Munusamy, in the Daily Maverick.
Thapelo Tselapedi, a University of Johannesburg academic and political commentator, says Sipunzi was not a well-known candidate and his victory was a surprise.
“It is still early days to say Sipunzi and the new leadership will change the fortunes of the trade union. But for the new leadership, the task ahead is the unity of the federation (Cosatu). This could be the starting point to turn around things in the Tripartite,” says Tselapedi.
The Tripartite Alliance, comprising Cosatu, the federation that NUM is a member of; the African National Congress and the South African Communist Party, has been unsettled by divisions.
The first job for the new big man in NUM was to rally the troops at Westonaria Sports Complex, near Krugersdorp, west of Johannesburg, in late June. The union said there was going to be 3,000; less than a 1,000 turned up in the region that pushed for Sipunzi’s election. A fitting debut for a low key man.
On this day, the question was how NUM is going to stop the exodus of members – 100,000 to other unions in 10 bruising years in the mines. The former undisputed champion of the union movement is in danger of being knocked out by the militant streetfighters of the Association of Mineworkers and Construction Union (Amcu).
Prompted by his small audience’s warm applause, a calm and resolute Sipunzi took to the podium. He preached unity and radical recruitment.
“This situation is sad; we are very scared of it… Losing members means losing money. A union is strong when it has its own money. Let’s not use the excuse that the mines are closing down. We must look elsewhere for new membership. We must recruit in the construction sector, but we are lazy,” he says.
It is a search and fight against indolence that could decide the future of the most powerful union in Africa’s biggest mining industry.

Can The Deer Stare Down The Headlights?

The Birchwood Hotel in Boksburg was an apt choice for these talks for two reasons: firstly, Boksburg is a mining town built on the digging of gold; secondly, it is a venue for boxing and home to former world heavyweight champion Gerrie Coetzee. The Friday before gold mining pay talks began in earnest, on June 16, there was a boxing tournament at Birchwood. At least the Friday fight night was fought under Queensberry rules.
The Association of Mineworkers and Construction Union (Amcu) led with its left. It may be merely the second largest union, representing 30% of the 93,000 gold miners compared to the majority National Union of Mineworkers’ 54%, but what it lacks in numbers it makes up for in chutzpah.
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“We are a serious union,” says Manzini Zungu, the spokesman for Amcu.
When the major gold producers in South Africa, the leading gold producer in Africa, made one of the best opening offers in history on July 6 – of between 7.8% and 12.96% – Amcu was the first to despise it. To rub salt in the wounds, in rejecting the offer, Amcu presented slides showing the salaries of the top mining bosses, of up to $1.7 million a year, juxtaposed with the salaries of underground miners.
“That was brilliant,” says an official from a rival union as he emerged impressed from the negotiating room.
“You can’t compare a CEO to a man who carries a shovel,” scoffed another.
Amcu put pressure on the gold employers to make a counter offer two days later. The employers stuck to their guns and Amcu deadlocked on July 8, taking a dispute to the Commission for Conciliation, Mediation and Arbitration (CCMA), the independent arbitration body. It was enough bad news to drive the value of mining stocks down by 10% on the day on the Johannesburg Stock Exchange.
The next step is a strike and Amcu proved, in 2014, this is not too difficult. In that year, the union took the platinum mines out for an unprecedented five-month stoppage that cost more than $2 billion.
“The problem is the employers fear Amcu,” says a former member of the NUM negotiating team.
The rest of the unions, NUM, UASA and Solidarity, stayed at the negotiating table but are equally disgruntled.
How the gold employers are going to close the gap, with pay demands that go up to 80% from NUM to 100% from Amcu, is anyone’s guess.
The employers plead poverty. Figures released by the Chamber of Mines show the demands would load R16.5 billion ($1.32 billion) onto the wage bill of South African gold mines. The wage bill, in 2014, was R23.5 billion ($1.88 billion), making up 55% of gold mining costs.
“If all of the wage demands are granted, nearly all of the mines in South Africa would be under water. It could be the end of the gold mining industry,” warned Elize Strydom, the chief negotiator for the employers.
The employers also set great store by what it calls social compact – a package of pensions and welfare benefits to complement the pay. Like the opening offer, this too fell on stony ground.
“We don’t want packages, we want pay,” says David Sipunzi, the general secretary of NUM.
The employers also tried to link a pay deal to profit share if the gold price goes up. They promise there will be bonuses if profit margins, after costs have been deducted, stay above 6%. Clearly, there will be talk about retrenchments and pay cuts if profits turn to losses.
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“Will the bosses take a pay cut?” asks one of the more cynical officials at the talks.
The unions’ argument is simple. They want to use these talks to close the pay gap between the boardroom and the bottom of the damp shafts, miles underground where the gold is.
You could argue that a secretary answering a telephone in an air-conditioned office in Johannesburg earns twice as much as a miner who spits and sweats in the clammy heat, more than four kilometers underground for as little as $600 a month.
Amcu and NUM also want to close what they call the “apartheid gap” in pay – a legacy from the old days when the cheap labor of black miners made vast profits for both the mines and the state.
“We don’t fear the threat of retrenchments made by the employers, they are retrenching at Doornkop (a Harmony Gold mine) as we speak,” says Sipunzi.
Analysts have warned rising costs and falling productivity in the gold mines could cost the industry 20,000 jobs before the end of the year. The number of workers in the gold mines has fallen from 180,000, 10 years ago, to a mere 120,000, an alarming decline in a nation that has mined nearly half of all of the gold in the world.
The only jab in the eye for Amcu so far is its dismal attempt to boost its numbers represented at the talks. It claimed an extra 6,500 members, but independent auditors say 6,000 of those could not be verified. A source among the employers says of the 1,000 members claimed at AngloGold Ashanti, a mere seven turned out to be true.
What is clear is that whichever of the two main unions, Amcu and NUM, is seen to get the best deal in these talks will attract a legion of new members to their corner. Seconds out.

Gloves Off In Gold

Many educated Zimbabweans are scattered around the world in search of greener pastures. Walk by factories in Bulawayo, a city once known as &#8216;KoNtuthu ziyathunqa&#8217; (the place that exudes smoke), you will see deserted sites. According to Godfrey Kanyenze, an economist, 4,610 companies closed down in Zimbabwe between 2011 and 2014, and 55,000 jobs were lost.
But, according to the Zimbabwean government, look closer and you will see investment opportunities.
At the Zimbabwe Trade and Investment Forum at the Hyatt Regency in Johannesburg, in July, ministers campaigned for foreign direct investment (FDI), which they believe is on its way.
“Zimbabwe urgently needs a significant amount of FDI to create employment, enhance technology, improve productivity, add value and beneficiate raw materials,” says Zimbabwe’s Minister of Industry and Commerce, Michael Bimha.
According to Bimha, Zimbabwe will review its legal framework to attract foreign investment. Government has a Bilateral Investment Promotion Protection Agreement (BIPA) which protects future investors from expropriation. He cites power generation, water and sewerage, transport, dam construction and ICT as areas of need.
One good sign is that huge African investor, PPC Cement, is ploughing in money.
“PPC Zimbabwe is a key player in all the big projects underway, and we are working hard to be involved in those still at the planning stage,” says Njombo Lekula, Managing Director of PPC Zimbabwe.
He says the country’s future growth will be centered on Harare and Northern Zimbabwe through housing driven by urbanization.
“It’s an expression of our confidence that the economy is on the up, and also in the growing amount of intra-regional trade, with South Africa, Mozambique, Malawi and Zambia particularly. Our total investment is $200 million in the country over the coming years,” he says.
On the flip side, the Zimbabwean government will soon be exporting skilled labor as the ruling party, Zanu-PF, lags on its 2013 election promise to create 2.2 million jobs in five years, with its economic blueprint; the Zimbabwe Agenda for Sustainable Socio-Economic Transformation (Zim Asset).
Zimbabwe has signed job agreements with South Sudan, Namibia, Angola and Botswana. The government will be paid for recruiting. Zimbabwe’s Higher and Tertiary Education, Science and Technology Development Minister, Godfrey Gandawa, says a database of graduates is being set up.
“We are coming up with a policy as a ministry to help our skilled manpower to get jobs because there are countries with vacancies in various fields, but our people do not have access to those vacancies out there,” Gandawa told the state-controlled Herald.
Obert Gutu, the opposition MDC-T spokesperson, says the policy was an open admission that Zim Asset has failed.
“When a country begins to actively encourage its qualified personnel to get jobs in other countries, you can then appreciate that the wheels are surely coming off. Instead of creating jobs under the much talked about Zim Asset policy framework, the Zanu-PF regime has actually become an employment agent; eagerly recruiting young and highly qualified Zimbabweans to go and work in other countries. Under normal circumstances, this government would simply resign. They have totally failed the people of Zimbabwe,” says Gutu.
Maxwell Saungweme, an independent development economist, says it is unfortunate that Zimbabweans educated with state coffers will be working for the coffers of another state.
“Policies on education and human capital development should be demand driven and not just to supply labor and investing in education and skills you don&#8217;t need,” he says.
Political analyst, Rashweat Mukundu, claims this is a policy of desperation.
“If Zimbabweans have to move, it must be voluntary, but right now labor or economic migration is a desperate move by many who see no hope in Zimbabwe.”
The last word at the investment forum comes from a South African rail entrepreneur, Thabo Molamu.
“Investors should strongly consider investing in Zimbabwe, regardless of a wrongfully portrayed political situation in Zimbabwe, especially by some sections of the media,” he says.
“The policies put in place by the government of Zimbabwe, like the indigenization policy, will be understood by the targeted beneficiaries very late. The truth is, people want answers now; they want poverty eradicated now, and they don&#8217;t understand why redressing the past is central to the plan of African leaders. They misinterpret this to be meaning being self-centred when in reality it means putting Africa and the people of Africa first.”
So, where there is a will, there is always an investor and entrepreneur.

Money In, Skills Out

June 3, 2015 is a day etched into the memory of Ghanaians. It is a day that floods swept through Accra in hours, claiming more than 200 lives, gutting buildings, destroying cars and setting off a devastating explosion at a petrol station.
Similar to the previous days, it started raining at dawn. On this particular day, I remember stepping out of my flat and saw rainfall heavier than usual. I rushed to the car ready to face the day with my designated driver, my manager. We were running late for our meetings and decided on a route that would save time, the Kwame Nkrumah Circle. The already eroded roads had started forming pools and the rain made it impossible to see clearly. Through my impaired vision, I could see the heavy wind blow billboards over and informal traders scurry to nearby shelters to escape the incessant thrashing of the downfall.
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The police officers who normally stood on the roadside to do the job of the faulty traffic lights had chosen to neglect their post. This created a massive jam.
As we battled through the sluggish traffic, chaos erupted and a mass of people ran towards us in panic. Amid the confusion, we decided to follow suit and turn the car around but the congestion made it impossible. Up ahead, I saw cars floating in the murky water that was overflowing from the poorly built drainage systems. Across the road, a woman running towards shelter with her baby, lost her footing in the thigh-high water and disappeared. Two men dived in to try and save them.
Panic set in and I realized all the cars around us had suddenly become floatation devices. We decided to make a dash for it but the doors were jammed. My manager was yelling for help but gave up. As the cold water rushed in the car, my manager frantically tried to break the window. Our fear rose with the water.
On my left, I saw two women vanish under the water as they were hit by a floating car. I thought to myself, “this is it Peace, get ready to die.” As the water reached waist level, the welcome sound of shattering glass came. Three young men had smashed the back window and were yelling for us to climb out. The air was heavy with trepidation. People on the rooftops were screaming out directions to people on the street turned rescuers. We dragged our feet through the gushing water and howling wind to reach safety. Some were standing on the roofs of their cars, trying to use them as lifeboats.
As we continued moving away from the car, I lost my footing, on what was once a sturdy pavement, into what felt like a bottomless pit. I had dropped into an open gutter and felt a sharp pain in my back. The brown water turned red as everything faded to black.
I woke up in a hospital bed. My manager, who helped save me, told me that I fell in a ditch, was suspended by barbed wire and impaled by a floating car part. A couple of stitches, several staples and two blood transfusions later, I am lucky to be able to recount the event.
The next day, a stone’s throw from where we almost died, many others did. A petrol station was engulfed in flames following an explosion. It is thought that petrol seeped into the flood water and was ignited by a spark from a generator. It resulted in the deaths of more than 200 people sheltering from torrential rain. I wondered if it had been any of the women I saw the day before, the women who believed they had made it to safety.
I will never forget these days. I know how close I came to joining the hundreds that lost their lives. I am both angry and sad. I’m angry because there is no reason that proper drainage systems could not have been built in an area which has a history of flooding. I’m sad because I know the problem will not be solved soon.
I am also proud to be a Ghanaian. I witnessed heroism from strangers who risked their lives to save people they did not know. I saw a community pull together to fight for the most fundamental human right, the right to life. The media might forget these tragedies, I won’t. To those unsung heroes, Ghana is forever indebted to you.

Suspended By Barbed Wire AND Impaled On A Car Part

In Nigeria, citizens, businesses and investors are struggling to come to terms with the absence of a cabinet to run Africa’s largest economy. When President Muhammadu Buhari took office, from Goodluck Jonathan on May 29, few would have imagined that there wouldn’t be a cabinet in place, or awaiting parliamentary approval, by the end of June.
Buhari himself hasn’t said much, leaving the explaining to his aides. At the beginning of July, Spokesman Femi Adesina said that “at the fullness of time, the ministers will be appointed.”
There has been speculation that there won’t be a cabinet in place until September. If that is true, it will mean that the new ministers will spend the last quarter of the year coming up to speed with their new assignments, and real work will not start until 2016.
The only presidential staff appointments made by the second week of July were three spokespersons (two for the president; one for the vice president), a State Chief of Protocol, and his principal security aides – one of which was replaced weeks later, for undisclosed reasons.
On July 13, six weeks after the inauguration, the President replaced all the military chiefs and the National Security Adviser (NSA). The key positions of presidential Chief of Staff and a Secretary to the Federal Government, who serves as Secretary to the Cabinet, as well as a liaison between the presidency and the sprawling government bureaucracy, however, remain unfilled.
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Team Austerity
Amid the uncertainty about the president’s team, there are, however, things one can bet on. One is that it will be a smaller cabinet than his predecessor’s, which had 42 ministers. But, the degree to which it will be smaller is constrained by a constitutional provision that says there must be at least one minister from each of Nigeria’s 36 states.
The Transition Committee that Buhari set up in May, to liaise with the outgoing government and prepare a smooth handover for the new government, recommended a reduction in the number of ministries from 28 to 19. Going by that proposal, only nine of the existing ministries will not be merged or scrapped: Defence, Federal Capital Territory, Education, Trade and Investment, Finance, National Planning, Labour, Justice, and Foreign Affairs.
Ambitious as the plan might seem, it’s not unfamiliar territory for Buhari. As Head of State 30 years ago, he presided over a wide-ranging regime of cuts: laying off thousands of civil servants and freezing wages, abolishing hundreds of local government areas, and rolling out an austerity budget that slashed government spending by 15%.
Considering that the economy he is inheriting is in straits just as dire as then, chances of another austerity-inflected outing are high. Indeed there’s a cost-saving element to a delay in the appointment of a cabinet and advisers, who will have to be paid generously in housing and travel allowances, and armored convoys.
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Speculation, Inc.
In the weeks following Buhari’s unprecedented electoral victory, the rumour mills were running with news of expected appointments. Documents regularly circulated on social media, purporting to list the persons who had been nominated for appointments. All of them turned out to be false. Early into the new administration, it was reported that Chief Ogbonnaya Onu had been named Secretary to the Government of the Federation, Nigeria’s designation for Cabinet Secretary. Weeks later, the speculations shifted to the still-vacant position of Chief of Staff. News filtered out that retired Colonel Hammed Ali, Buhari’s long-time personal Chief of Staff, had been appointed. Again, it turned out to be false.
The two men have been close to the president since he joined partisan politics in the early 2000s and are still very likely to bag important roles in his government. Other long-time associates tipped for important positions include Tam David-West, who served under Buhari as the petroleum minister when he was military head of state in 1984-85, and Abdulrahman Dambazau, a former army chief and head of security for the presidential campaign. Dambazau, widely expected to be named National Security Adviser, may now be in the running for Defence Minister.
Former state governors, Kayode Fayemi (Ekiti), Babatunde Fashola (Lagos) and Rotimi Amaechi (Rivers) are also expected to be named to cabinet or presidential staff positions. The trio played prominent roles in the Buhari presidential campaign – Amaechi as campaign director-general, Fayemi policy director, while Fashola oversaw fundraising.
Party leaders, like former Governor of Lagos State, Bola Ahmed Tinubu, and former Vice President Atiku Abubakar, are also expected to nominate candidates for presidential consideration, but there is no doubt where the final decisions lie.
Policy Direction
Apart from the 800-page report of the Transition Committee, the new government can also count on another 73-page one; the outcome of a two-day summit that the ruling party’s policy directorate, under Fayemi, convened in May; bringing together technocrats, politicians and public officials.
With the support of the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) and management consulting firm, Bain &amp; Company Nigeria, the summit produced detailed recommendations on several sectors of the government: oil and gas, education, healthcare, security, agriculture and foreign affairs, among others. The reports outlined specific plans for the incoming ministers to implement in the short term, medium term  and long term. As things stand, it’ll be more than 100 days from May 29 before a cabinet is in place, and the incoming ministers will have some recalibrating to do.
For business executives and investors, the reassessing will be an unending obligation. As soon as the cabinet is named, the next round of tea-leaf reading – this time for policy direction – begins.

2016? NO!

It’s the 90th annual Comrades Marathon; it is a cold dawn. Legs limber up; stretches are done. Eyes betray the fear – people have died in this race. Before them is a 90-kilometer run stretching between the South African cities of Durban and Pietermaritzburg, in KwaZulu-Natal. Standing shivering beside some 13,000 runners, in the dawn over Durban, is Themba Baloyi, a Johannesburg entrepreneur and runner. He has a green number on his chest – a badge of honor for runners with more than 10 Comrades Marathon finishes.
Away from the marathon it has been a busy year for Baloyi, the founder and executive director of Discovery Insure, a position he has held since he was 25. This year, he was appointed a Young Global Leader by the World Economic Forum (WEF), a recognition given to distinguished leaders under the age of 40. He will hold the post for five years, influencing youth around the world.
Despite his 18 years of road running, and 14 Comrades Marathons with 11 finishes, Baloyi was anxious on this May morning. As Chariots of Fire played before the starter pistol, Baloyi was overwhelmed by emotion. Tears ran down his face. This was because he remembered after every race it was a ritual to telephone his mother and tell her about it. But she died in December 2013.
“With all the good things I am doing, I know my mother would have been proud. She would have celebrated my WEF appointment. These are some of the things that ran through my mind as I anticipated the start,” says Baloyi.
For 18 years, Baloyi has taken this risk on the road. This is because in every race he is taking his life in his hands – many doctors would tell him not to – he has type one diabetes, a chronic condition he has lived with for 11 years.
“One of the key reasons and driving forces for me is to demonstrate that when you have a chronic condition, it doesn’t mean you cannot do challenging things. I still have a wish of doing Mount Everest one day but my wife wants me to wait for our kids to grow up… A lot of people still think about limitations relating to whatever [health] conditions you are dealing with. I see possibilities,” says Baloyi.
In the marathon, Baloyi took caution.
“I have seen runners lying on the side of the road. Six years ago, as I was going for the finish line, running a 21-kilometer race in (Irene) Centurion, I passed a guy on the side of the road. I later learned he eventually died. That left a huge impression in my mind until today. Now, when I see a runner struggling on the side of the road, I become cautious and intervene,” he says.
Baloyi says, since that day, he always helps in incidents in a race because it could be him one day.
“If we all pass, like other runners do, no one might notice that I am in desperate need for help. So, I always ensure I am not one of the statistics. That is one of the key things in my mind when running. As much as I don’t want to traumatize other runners, I also don’t want to traumatize their families. You don’t want to create an impression that running is a bad thing, that people die,” says Baloyi.
Death at the side of the road haunts him. He says you should always listen to your body. That’s the oldest rule in the book. But there’s that element of heroism that kicks in time and again. That’s not right, it’s foolish, he says.
“I have run with people with heart disease. In one of my races, there’s this guy who ran with his daughter. I admired his courage and the care he took ensuring that he was not a statistic. He was going for his 16th Comrades’ medal – a guy with heart disease. My sense is that people always create barriers and limitations for whatever condition or scenario they are dealing with. But, with due care and consideration, you should be able to complete a race successfully without killing yourself or putting other people at risk,” says Baloyi.
For Baloyi, who runs to keep fit and for enjoyment, each race comes with a checklist: cellphone for emergency calls; glucometer, to check his blood sugar levels; protein supply and a lot of liquids. He does his own check-ups on the road.
“That’s why in some of the races, like the one last year, as much as I was still on track and running on time, I pulled out because my sugar [levels were] sitting at three. I didn’t know what the distance is between three and a coma – hypoglycaemia,” he says.
This year’s Comrades was no different. Baloyi stopped a few times to monitor his blood sugar level and to eat food.
“I continued to the halfway mark, looking good and feeling strong, but I had lost a lot time because I stopped in Hillcrest and the Valley of a Thousand Hills,” says Baloyi.
Towards the second-last cut-off, Baloyi and other runners were 10 minutes behind the time when they met a stranger who told them they won’t make it.
“This guy said ‘whoever gets through this cut-off will be the guy with a big heart’, I looked at this guy and I said trust me I am the guy with the big heart. I then blasted off and beat the cut-off [time],” says Baloyi.
At the last cut-off – at the top of Polly Shortts, 82 kilometers into the race – Baloyi was faced with the impossible; he had to run a kilometer in two minutes.
“I was playing it out in my mind that I was not going to make it. But I am going to negotiate with the race referee, I am going to finish the race,” says Baloyi.
Alas, his negotiation skills didn’t work with the race referee this time. Baloyi was told his race was over. He was ordered to wait for a rescue bus beside the road.
“There comes this lady, Denise Johansson. She was upset. She was chasing her 15th medal. Whatever happened to her along the race, it happens to all of us with all the experience we have in the world. She said, ‘I am going to the finish’. I saw Marthinus doing the same thing. I said ‘okay, everybody is going. Bye-bye referee,’” he says.
From there, Baloyi sprinted past the referee and made a commitment to finish the race with Johannsson and Marthinus.
“As much as I was late, I think I could have still finished in 12:10 but I crossed the line in 12:37. I had made a commitment that I was not going to leave Denise behind. Although I was feeling strong in the last three kilometers, I had to keep the commitment. We were the last two runners to the finish. Unfortunately, Marthinus fell off the wagon,” says Baloyi.
Baloyi and Johansson didn’t know each before the race but were bound by the running and the will to finish.
“Denise made a commitment and she remained true to it. I honored her for that because, as a runners’ code, if you agree on something, you do it,” he says.
Baloyi says long distance running like the Comrades Marathon is an equalizer.
“It doesn’t matter whether you are an elite professional athlete, a CEO, somebody sweeping the street or a miner. We are all equal in the race,” he says.
Baloyi says people should understand your bad day in the office because everyone goes through it. He witnessed the top seeded runners walking in the race and some couldn’t even finish.
“Any runner who’s never had a bad day in the office, his level of maturity has not yet manifested. The level of maturity manifests the moment when things don’t go according to the plan,” he says.
On that day, drenched in sweat just outside Pietermaritzburg, the plan was in pieces, but the will to go on rescued one of the many worst days for those who suffer to run.

Courage Comrade

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.

Tag: August 2015

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