I remember watching the footage from the commissioning of the Lekki Deep Sea Port access road some days ago. The cameras panned to President Bola Tinubu, standing tall, presidential, almost biblical in posture. Around him, four men—Dangote, Otedola, Rabiu, and Ovia—stood like apostles of enterprise. Titans, yes. Icons, no doubt. And then came that line that now echoes like scripture: “I landed here with four wise men.”
It was a moment. A curated tableau of Nigeria’s capitalist nobility standing in holy reverence to a renewed Nigeria. I should’ve smiled, and I did, but not without a pause. Because while everyone else applauded the four, I found myself whispering two names into the silence: Tony Elumelu and Mike Adenuga. Where were they?
Why weren’t they standing beside Mr President, beneath the Lekki sun, in what felt like the Sistine Chapel of Nigerian capitalism? They were absent, yes, but not missing. And certainly, not irrelevant.
You see, in this country of ours, presence is often mistaken for power. We like our heroes visible. We like them loud. But in truth, some architects of destiny, at times, choose to stay in the shadows, building silently while the rest of us are watching the stage.
Elumelu and Adenuga weren’t at Lekki, but make no mistake, the road, the port, the entire theatre of industrial rebirth unfolding before our eyes, also bear the fingerprints of their legacy. That is why I am writing this. Yes!
Because in my view, and I say this without blinking, these two men, Elumelu the banker-philosopher and Adenuga the telecoms ghost-king, deserve to be called what they truly are: the fifth and sixth wise men of Tinubu’s economic revolution. Quiet, enduring, indispensable.
Even though President Tinubu arrived at the Lekki Deep Sea Port with “four wise men”—Dangote, Otedola, Ovia, and Rabiu—then surely, the fifth and sixth were smiling in the wings, cloaked in their quiet might and imperial silence: Tony Elumelu and Mike Adenuga.
I watched the fanfare at the commissioning of the access road to the Lekki Deep Sea Port with keen interest, and like any self-respecting chronicler of Nigeria’s economic aristocracy, I marvelled at the optics: The President flanked by Nigeria’s richest and most revered titans of commerce. It was a parade of national intent, a photo-op steeped in symbolism and promise. Yet, even in the gleaming grandeur of it all, I couldn’t help but feel the ghostly absence of two men whose contributions to Nigeria’s economic spine are simply inescapable. They were not there, but they didn’t have to be.
This, for me, is the crux: you don’t need to stand in the sun to cast a shadow.
Tony Elumelu, Chairman of United Bank for Africa (UBA) and founder of the Tony Elumelu Foundation, and Mike Adenuga, the reclusive, enigmatic billionaire behind Globacom and Conoil, may not have stood shoulder-to-shoulder with their peers that day, but if Nigeria is indeed a cathedral being rebuilt brick by economic brick, then these two men are its silent masons. Their impact on Tinubu’s economic calculus is undeniable, their loyalty to Nigeria’s resurrection under the Renewed Hope Agenda both profound and practical.
Yes, the President invoked biblical metaphor when he called his quartet “Four Wise Men.” But I believe, and I reiterate without flippancy or exaggeration, that Elumelu and Adenuga are the fifth and sixth wise men, respectively. Their wisdom lies not just in boardroom brilliance or balance sheet dexterity but in a larger-than-life commitment to the Nigerian state. Theirs is a wisdom rooted in vision, manifested in action, and rendered with humility.
Let’s start with Tony Elumelu, the banker-philosopher whose gospel is preached in naira and impact. There’s a certain poetic defiance to his success. Elumelu didn’t just rise—he reimagined what African capitalism could be. Under his leadership, UBA morphed from a Nigerian bank into a Pan-African financial colossus with presence in 20 African countries and beyond. He’s not merely running a bank; he’s architecting economic enablement across the continent. And with the Tony Elumelu Foundation, he’s created an entire ecosystem of empowered African youth, micro-entrepreneurs, and small business visionaries. Elumelu’s name remains written in the quiet ink of enduring relevance. As others posture in ceremonial robes, he tailors destiny in the quiet halls of cross-border diplomacy. His relationship with President Tinubu stands as testament to a man who understands that true legacy transcends titles, regions, and even recognition.
In every sense, Elumelu is not a Nigerian figurehead alone. He is an African currency—valuable, versatile, and enduring. His brand, both as a businessman and statesman of industry, is spent across the world like a trusted tender of development.
Yes, his model of Africapitalism, a philosophy that insists that the private sector must play a central role in Africa’s development, aligns seamlessly with the Tinubu doctrine of economic transformation through bold private sector partnerships. Elumelu doesn’t wait to be called; he leads where others hesitate. In the past year alone, UBA under his stewardship has facilitated multibillion-naira funding for national infrastructure and strategic industries. Even when politics grows muddy, Elumelu remains clinical in his economic convictions.
That is why I was not perturbed by his absence at the Lekki ceremony. Some men are not made for ceremonial ribbon-cutting; they are the architects of the infrastructure the ribbon celebrates. Elumelu is one of them.
Now to Mike Adenuga, the big kahuna. The shy colossus. The billionaire who almost never speaks in public but whose presence thunders through Nigeria’s corporate corridors. You don’t summon Adenuga to the limelight; he is the limelight—only that he prefers to shine it where it’s needed, not where it’s seen.
Yes, I find Adenuga’s silence louder than a thousand press releases. In Globacom, he created a wholly Nigerian alternative to foreign telecoms hegemony. While others courted foreign capital, Adenuga built indigenous enterprise. In fact, without Glo’s aggressive pricing, broad coverage and patriotic stubbornness, millions of Nigerians might still be shouting “Hello?” into static voids.
Interestingly, however, Adenuga, Chairman of Conoil and Africa’s inscrutable lion, was not in Lagos. His footsteps echoed through Accra, not as a withdrawal, but as a declaration, a visit to his longstanding friend, Ghanaian President John Dramani Mahama.
While many mused at his absence from the national gathering of moguls, conjecturing decline or political estrangement, digital trails told a different tale. Images from social media showed Adenuga in Accra, exchanging warmth with Ghana’s first citizen. The visit, informal in tone but powerful in symbolism, was testament to enduring transcontinental ties and a quiet rebuke to every whisper that sought to place Adenuga outside the frame of influence.
Adenuga’s journey to Ghana was no diversion. It was alignment. In every age, power finds its own axis, and for Africa’s silent billionaire, that axis ran westward. The occasion was not swaddled in press releases or adorned with choreographed fanfare. It unfolded with the elegance of old friendships and the diplomacy of private empire.
To presume exclusion is to misunderstand Adenuga’s rhythm. His greatness does not gather where the spotlight shines brightest. It moves by instinct, not calendar. While his peers exchanged gestures of fraternity on Nigeria’s southern coast, he chose Ghana’s diplomatic embrace. This choice was not retreat but rotation, the pivot of a man whose influence has never been confined to one nation, one room, or one spectacle.
Indeed, Adenuga is not one for public ceremony. He is the architect of an empire whose blueprints were drawn in solitude, whose foundations were laid in silence. Globacom did not rise with applause but with audacity. His oil interests, telecommunications triumphs, and philanthropic reach echo across Africa like silent thunder.
Where others host press conferences, he makes moves. Where others publish headlines, he becomes one. This is the Adenuga way: presence without parade. So, when Lagos pulsed and he journeyed instead to Accra, it was not an absence of duty but the enactment of goodwill. He reaffirmed, with every step on Ghanaian soil, that influence is not a matter of appearances but of alignment and he was exactly where he needed to be.
His journey to Ghana, documented subtly across social media, was no covert maneuver. It was public enough for those with eyes wide enough to see.
The digital footprints were light but deliberate. Photographs of his meeting with John Dramani Mahama. made their way into the internet bloodstream—not viral, not ostentatious, but evident. They told a story that needs no validation: the lion does not need to roar to be felt.
While the world turns its gaze to the loudest voices and the brightest rooms, Mike Adenuga builds legacies in the corridors of shadows. His Ghanaian visit is another stone in the mosaic of a life marked by vision without vanity. He does not orbit power. He creates it. Not by volume, but by value.
Curiously, however, from the Lekki shoreline to the Accra breeze, the continent was alive with the movement of its titans. And while some stood in photographs beside the president of Nigeria, one stood with the president of Ghana—sovereign and smiling.
So why weren’t these two men, Elumelu and Adenuga, at that symbolic Lekki photo-op?
I do not know, and frankly, it does not matter.
In the opaque realm of high society and presidential politics, absence often says more than presence. Elumelu and Adenuga may not have been photographed with the President that day, but I assure you their fingerprints are all over the blueprint of Tinubu’s economic vision.
In my view, it is this unapplauded continuity that makes them Tinubu’s secret wisemen. Every administration needs its public-facing champions, yes. But equally important are those who, far from the klieg lights, are helping turn policy into practice. These two gentlemen are not just figureheadsthey are economic tacticians. They understand that nation-building is not about press coverage; it is about consistency.
And let’s not forget the interpersonal alchemy both men share with Tinubu. The President, a veteran of political pragmatism, is not blind to the worth of these men. Tinubu’s Lagos legacy, from his days as Governor to his rebirth as President, was built on networks of silent collaboration. He has always known how to spot value and elevate it. He knows what Elumelu has built. He understands Adenuga’s national loyalty. Their omission from the Lekki “wise men” lineup may have been logistical, symbolic, or simply strategic. But I suspect, deep within the presidential inner circle, both men already have reserved seats at the table.
Nigeria today is an economy in transition. From subsidy shocks to currency reform, from infrastructure ambition to industrial recalibration, the road ahead is steep. But men like Elumelu and Adenuga have proven that they don’t just survive turbulence, they innovate through it. As Tinubu builds his economic war council, he’ll need the quiet assurance of Adenuga and the generational vision of Elumelu to balance the industrial firepower of Dangote, the pan-African audacity of Rabiu, the capital wizardry of Otedola, and the business foresight of Ovia.
So while the cameras focused on the Lekki four, I see a larger tableau.
Six wise men. Four visible. Two sublime.
