Africa Archives

The Hourglass and the Altar

3 weeks ago By cumeadi

The game, in its essence, is brutally simple and profoundly old. When a powerful nation needs a resource controlled by a weaker one, it rarely arrives with a purchase order; it arrives with a moral pretext, a security ultimatum, or a promise of salvation. What we are witnessing across West Africa and Venezuela is the Critical Minerals Playbook being executed in real-time, its pages stained by a history of crude oil, rubber, and gold.

The Echo of Extraction and the Venezuelan Precedent

The historian sees the crisis in Venezuela as the perpetual resource curse. For years, the US narrative against Caracas has shifted from socialist threat to authoritarian regime, yet the underlying objective remains constant: to ensure the world’s largest oil reserves and its considerable deposits of gold and coltan are either flowing on favorable terms or, crucially, denied to geopolitical rivals. The pressure is enduring, the crisis is chronic, and the ultimate purpose is strategic leverage.

This relentless pressure now finds a new, more urgent home in Nigeria. The rhetoric against President Tinubu’s government, the explicit threat of military action framed around dealing with “Christian genocide” in the North, is merely the polished diplomatic shield for a strategic, secular truth: Nigeria has what the US desperately needs to win the mineral war against China.

The Ticking Clock and the Underinvestment Abyss

The urgency of this pressure is dictated by The Beijing Clock.

The temporary truce on Rare Earth Elements (REMs) grants the US a mere one-year window to establish certified, non-Chinese supply chains for the materials that define the modern military and clean energy industries. If the US fails, its technological and military supremacy hinges on Beijing’s goodwill.

This geopolitical imperative transforms Nigeria, with its vast, underexplored deposits of REEs, Lithium, and Cobalt, into the core nexus of the diversification strategy. But the true vulnerability lies in Nigeria’s abysmal investment reality.

The Investment Chasm: Despite having an estimated $700 billion in untapped critical minerals, Nigeria’s exploration budget has languished at a pitifully low level, a mere $2.5 million recently. This places it far behind its African peers. The consequence of this underinvestment is clear in the GDP figures: for decades, the solid minerals sector contributed less than 1% of GDP.

The current Tinubu administration has set an ambitious target to raise this contribution to 3% to 10% within the next decade, a goal that requires billions in foreign capital.

The geopolitical scientist notes that this desperate gap between ambition and reality is the exact leverage point the US is exploiting. The military threat and the moralizing rhetoric are not simply about addressing insecurity; they are a forced mechanism to compel stability and create the necessary conditions for the flow of massive American capital that Nigeria’s own paltry budget cannot provide.

The Insecurity Leverage and the Sovereign’s Tightrope

The domestic security crisis in Northern Nigeria (where violence and kidnapping tragically affect all Nigerians) is now seen by Washington less as a humanitarian disaster and more as a direct threat to potential US strategic investment. Instability makes financing new mines and processing plants impossible.

This is the purpose of the pressure:

Forced De-Risking: The US demands stability. The quickest path to achieving it is through forceful, directed intervention or overwhelming, conditional security assistance. The threat of war is the stick, ensuring the Tinubu government understands the gravity of the situation: solve the insecurity, or we will dictate the terms of your future.
Strategic Access: By asserting military and intelligence control over the security environment, the US de-risks the zone for its own companies, securing the mineral access needed to meet its deadline against China. It is a dual-purpose move: counterterrorism and supply chain dominance.

This pressure leaves President Tinubu on a treacherous tightrope before the 2027 election. His political life depends on solving the insecurity that is hemorrhaging his support.

Accepting the Deal means accepting US military tutelage. This buys him security and the investment necessary to hit that crucial 10% GDP target, securing his political base. But it risks sacrificing national sovereignty and the control over the lucrative “value-addition” strategy, potentially reducing Nigeria to a source of raw materials once again.
Rejecting the Deal preserves dignity but leaves him to battle insurgents alone, ensuring that the mineral wealth, the nation’s ticket out of oil dependence, remains locked in the ground, perpetually deemed too “high-risk” for serious investors.

The situation is a terrifying, perfect storm: the pressure of a global power competition, the leverage of a ticking geopolitical clock, and the vulnerability of deep domestic wounds. For President Tinubu, managing the North’s insecurity is no longer a domestic policy issue; it is a geopolitical mandate that holds the keys to Nigeria’s future economic independence and his personal political survival.

The game is old, the resources are new, and the stakes have never been higher.

My Phone Tells a Different Story: A Diaspora Dilemma

2 months ago By cumeadi

This is the article I’m referencing here.

I read a post on LinkedIn the other day from my friend Eche that made my heart beat a little faster. It painted a vivid picture of the Nigerian diaspora wiring $20 billion home, with a staggering $19.5 billion going to consumption…”parties, not products.” It contrasted the empty mansions we build with the fledgling startups our cousins are trying to launch. The argument was sharp, aspirational, and deeply resonant: Why are we choosing dead assets over living companies?

It’s a beautiful, seductive idea. It speaks to our desire to be nation-builders, not just distant relatives. It frames our remittances as a massive, misallocated venture fund waiting to be deployed. The diagnosis feels right…we should be building the future.

But the prescription feels incomplete. Because every week, my phone tells a different story.

It’s the WhatsApp message from an auntie, not asking for party money, but for help with Mama’s malaria medication. It’s the call from my younger cousin, his voice a mix of pride and anxiety, as he tells me he got into university and just needs help covering the first semester’s fees. It’s the picture of a nephew in a new school uniform, paid for by a slice of a paycheck earned in Houston or London.

This isn’t just “consumption.” This is the essential, unglamorous work of holding things together. This is the diaspora acting as a decentralized, hyper-efficient social safety net where the state’s is frayed or non-existent. That $19.5 billion isn’t being frittered away; it’s being invested in the most critical asset of all: our people. It’s a portfolio of thousands of tiny, crucial investments in human capital, in health that keeps a family from financial ruin, and in education that creates a chance at a different future.

The post sets up a false choice between a $500,000 apartment in Lagos and a $50,000 stake in a health-tech startup. For the diaspora doctor who earned that money, this isn’t an ideological choice; it’s a deeply rational one. The apartment is tangible. She can see the bricks. She understands its value as a hedge against inflation, a potential home, a source of rental income. It represents a hard-won security.

The startup, however brilliant, is an abstraction. How does she vet it from thousands of miles away? Who does she trust for due diligence? What accessible, transparent platform exists for her to deploy that $50,000 with any degree of confidence? To criticize her choice is to measure a deeply personal decision about risk and security with the detached ruler of Silicon Valley, a place with financial infrastructure and legal protections that are still nascent back home.

But the deepest irony is that the two sides of this equation are not in opposition; they are intrinsically linked. The “consumption” funded by the diaspora is the very engine that creates the market for the unicorns.

The billions of dollars we send home are what get loaded onto a Moniepoint or Palmpay wallet to pay for groceries. The family that can now afford a data plan is the one that becomes a customer for an e-commerce platform. A large, thriving consumption class isn’t the enemy of a sustainable economy; it is the absolute prerequisite. We are not choosing between watering a seed (the startup) and building a wall (the house). We are using the remittances to create the fertile garden where those seeds can even hope to grow.

The vision of a diaspora-funded innovation boom is the right one. The frustration with another empty mansion in the village is real. But shaming the rational choices of individuals isn’t the path forward.

The real, billion-dollar opportunity isn’t just in the startups themselves, but in building the bridge. We need trusted, diaspora-focused angel syndicates. We need transparent micro-VC funds that allow a software engineer in Atlanta to invest $5,000 with confidence. We need to build the financial pipes that make investing in a portfolio of Nigerian ventures as easy and understandable as buying a plot of land. To build upon this – we need additional technologies to open up the investment opportunities as well. Investing in a sustainable market is not just a risk capital conversation. We need a diverse and democratic approach to provide people with opportunities to invest across different asset classes. This will drive additional value for all. Looking at risk capital as the sole driver is not the way.

Awka doesn’t need another empty mansion. But my family, and millions of others, first need the security of knowing the basics are covered. The challenge isn’t to redirect the money for school fees and medicine. It’s to build a system where the families we support become so secure that they, too, can become the investors of tomorrow as well.

Africa · music

Don’t Give Caesar What Belongs to Odogwu

7 months ago By cumeadi

There’s a line by Burna Boy in the new Shallipopi – Laho remix that hit different:

“No be me go give Caesar wetin belong to Odogwu.”

It sounds like a bar. It is a bar. But it’s also a thesis, a warning, and a battle cry.

Let’s break it down.

In that moment, Burna wasn’t just talking about some abstract biblical Caesar. He was calling out a system—a habit—where we hand over our power, our culture, our genius, our gold… to someone who didn’t earn it. Someone who didn’t even know what to do with it.

Caesar is the West.

Caesar is the colonizer.

Caesar is the gatekeeper who wants your sauce without crediting your kitchen.

But Odogwu?

Odogwu is the name you earn when you stand ten toes down. When you don’t fold. When you carry your people with pride, chest out.

It’s Igbo. It means “the great one,” the warrior, the heavyweight. Odogwu is ours.

So when Burna says he’s not giving Caesar what belongs to Odogwu, he’s not just flexing. He’s protecting something sacred. He’s saying:

I won’t sell out. I won’t water it down. I won’t hand over my worth just to be accepted by a system that doesn’t see me.

And that bar hits even harder when you think about how often we do just that.

Think about how many of our best ideas, our stories, our traditions, our brilliance—get exported, repackaged, and sold back to us.

How often we let someone else define what’s valuable.

How often we call it progress, when it’s really just polishing our diamonds for someone else’s crown.

But the tide is shifting.

You can feel it in the music. You can feel it in the fashion. In the food. In the swagger of the global South. In the way young Africans are building, owning, creating—and refusing to ask for permission.

There’s a new generation of Odogwus rising.

And they’re not waiting for Caesar to clap.

So next time someone tries to gaslight you into giving away what’s already yours—your voice, your story, your culture, your genius—remember the lyric.

Don’t give Caesar what belongs to Odogwu.

Own it. Guard it. Build on it.

Because that thing you’re sitting on?

It’s gold.

And it’s yours.

Africa · Big Ideas · Current Events

Beyond Investment Access: The Deeper Struggles of African Women in Business

9 months ago By cumeadi

This essay could not have been written without honoring the countless women who’ve shared their stories with me. I appreciate and thank you for sharing these stories in the hopes we can all learn from their experiences.

Every International Women’s Day, we see the same headlines: “Invest in women,” “Support women-led businesses,” “Close the gender gap.” And while these messages are important, they barely scratch the surface of what African women entrepreneurs are actually up against.

As a man who has spent years in business across the continent, I want to say something that often goes unsaid on days like this: The biggest obstacle many African women face in business isn’t just a lack of investment — it’s men. Men like me. Men in boardrooms, in funding meetings, on the other side of the negotiation table. Men who hold power and know it — and sometimes abuse it.

If we’re going to be honest this International Women’s Day, we need to talk about how the deeper power dynamics and gender culture in Africa make it almost impossible for women to do business without navigating moral and personal dangers — dangers that go far beyond the usual “empowerment” slogans.

The Reality Beyond the Hashtags

We love to talk about African women as the backbone of our economies — and that’s true. Across agriculture, trade, tech, and creative industries, women are building, innovating, and leading. But what doesn’t get enough attention is what happens when these women enter male-dominated business spaces.

Many women I know — women I’ve worked with, mentored, and watched grow — have had to face a hidden set of rules that men in business don’t talk about but know are there.

They walk into a room prepared to discuss a contract or pitch for funding, only to realize the conversation has terms and conditions that are never spoken out loud — until much later.

“We should talk over dinner.”
“You know, I can make this happen, but…”
“You’re very beautiful. Let’s do business — and more.”

For many women, getting a seat at the table often comes with an unspoken price — a price men never have to pay.

Why “Access to Investment” Isn’t the Full Story

So yes, women need access to funding. But what we don’t talk about is what women have to endure to access that funding in the first place.

How many women have walked away from deals because they refused to “play the game”?
How many women have compromised themselves because they had no other option?
How many brilliant businesses have died before they could grow because a woman chose her dignity over a contract?

These are the questions we aren’t asking on International Women’s Day — but we should be.

It’s not enough to say “invest in women” if we’re not also fixing the corrupt, exploitative systems that make women vulnerable to begin with.

How African Culture Fuels the Problem

This isn’t just about individual bad actors — it’s about a system.

In many African cultures, women are still expected to be “submissive,” to “know their place,” and to defer to men. When a woman is confident, assertive, and driven, she is seen as “too much.” And when she says “no” to inappropriate advances, she is labeled “difficult” or “ungrateful.”

So, even when women get into the room, they are forced to navigate deeply entrenched gender biases that see them as sexual objects before they are seen as entrepreneurs.

And as men, we are often the enforcers of this system, whether we realize it or not.

Why Men Need to Take Responsibility — Especially Now

So on a day like International Women’s Day, it’s not enough for men to post quotes about women’s strength or to say, “we celebrate women today.”

We have to ask ourselves hard questions:

How do we treat women when they walk into a business meeting?
What do we say when other men make inappropriate comments or demands?
Do we make it easier or harder for women to succeed based on merit?
Are we offering opportunities with no strings attached — or are we gatekeeping access to power?

If we want to celebrate women’s economic power, we need to confront the ways we, as men, use our power to limit theirs.

What a Real Commitment to Women in Business Looks Like

A real commitment to women entrepreneurs in Africa means:

Creating safe business spaces where women can operate based on merit, not on navigating sexual politics.
Calling out men who abuse their positions — not just privately, but publicly when necessary.
Funding and supporting women-led ventures without attaching expectations beyond professionalism.
Challenging cultural narratives that limit women to secondary roles and demanding that business spaces reflect equality.

Why This Matters for Africa’s Future

If we want to talk about building “Africa’s future” — the one where we are competitive globally, where innovation drives growth, where businesses create real impact — we cannot do that while excluding or exploiting half of our population.

African women are already building the future. The question is whether we, as men, will get out of their way — or continue to be the reason they cannot succeed.

So this International Women’s Day, let’s move beyond empty words.

Let’s ask: What are we doing — as men — to make business safe, fair, and accessible to women?

Because if we can’t answer that question honestly, then all our talk about empowering women is just that — talk.

Africa · business

5 Reasons Why HNIs Aren’t Investing in the African Tech Space

7 years ago By cumeadi

This is in response to a twitter thread

Nigerian startups are yet to be backed & championed by local high net-worth individuals on a large scale. The result is a tech ecosystem powered mainly by foreign capital.

With thoughts from @TomiDee, @asemota, @OtunbaSho, @oviosu, my @qzafrica latest: https://t.co/5DXBHxMcfv— Yomi Kazeem (@TheYomiKazeem) January 22, 2019

HNIs = High Net-worth Individuals

They’re too old– Average age of an African billionaire is 62ish… They are probably struggling to manage in the current world of emails and text messages. How would they see the value technology can provide to society and even their companies?
If it ain’t broke – If I amassed my wealth by relationships and tangible / assets, why would I take a chance, let alone several chances, in something that only holds paper value? I’ve already established several moats that will keep me rich forever, why do I have to speculate on an industry when I can focus on things I can see.
It doesn’t make financial sense– Alright, maybe I want to invest but the risk start-ups take on in Africa is higher than their counterparts ( I’d love to do research on this but we all know its true). Why would I invest in such a risky proposition when I can just buy government bonds or some land and see better returns?
Not enough 0s- Even a later stage investment in some tech companies don’t make sense. An entry point for investment doesn’t even seem viable in the way some of the HNIs. Scale seems to be a problem
They are afraid of their own death – African tech could be so dangerous, they stand to destroy the companies HNIs built. They are collectively starving out the competition.

Ultimately, the best way for HNIs to engage the tech space are as partners and not competition. I believe working with tech companies to figure out ways applications can solve real business problems and create scalable opportunities is the way forward. Think of further integrating Dangote’s supply chain by leveraging more digital solutions, or improving Otedola’s exploratory efficiency leveraging predictive analytics and drone tech. All thats possible with collaboration.