Feature/OPED
Pension for Informal Workers: Bridging the Pension Gap in Nigeria
***The Case for Informal Sector Pensions in Nigeria
***A Crucial National Conversation
By Timi Olubiyi, PhD
In Nigeria today, the phrase “pension” evokes many different mixed reactions. For many civil servants and people in the corporate world, it conjures a bit of hope, but for the majority in the informal sector, who are in the majority in Nigeria, it is bleak. Millions of Nigerians are facing old age without any financial security due to a lack of retirement plans and a stable pension plan. Particularly, the millions who operate in markets, corner shops, transportation, agriculture, and loads of the nano and micro scale enterprises operators are without pension plans or retirement hope.
From the observation of the author and available records, staggering around 90 per cent of Nigeria’s workforce operates in the informal economy. Yet current pension coverage for this group is virtually non-existent. As observed, the absence of meaningful pension participation by this class of worker reinforces the vulnerability, intensifies poverty among older people, and puts pressure on families who are ill-equipped to shoulder the burden.
The significance of having a pension plan for informal workers in Nigeria, given the large number of people in that sector and the high level of unemployment and underemployment, cannot be overstated. As it is deeply connected to sustenance and the level of poverty in the country. Pension for informal workers in Nigeria is not just a technical policy matter; it is a story about dignity, security, and whether a lifetime of hard work ends in rest or in desperation.
Nigeria’s pension system, primarily structured around the Contributory Pension Scheme (CPS) managed by the National Pension Commission (PenCom), has made significant progress for formal sector employees, yet the large portion of the informal workforce which are traders, artisans, okada riders, small-scale farmers, domestic workers, and gig economy participants who drive the real engine of the economy.
Though the Micro Pension Plan (MPP) was launched in 2019, which is intended to provide a voluntary contributory framework for informal workers, its uptake has been underwhelming; after several years, only a fraction of the millions targeted have enrolled, and far fewer contribute actively. One big reason for this is that, unlike formal workers who receive regular salaries and have employers who deduct and remit pension contributions, informal workers face irregular incomes, a lack of documentation, limited financial literacy, and deep mistrust of government institutions, making traditional pension models ill-suited for their realities.
Moreso the informal worker most times live on day-to-day income. For instance, a motorcycle rider in Lagos who earns ₦14,000 on a good day but must pay for fuel, bike maintenance, police “settlements,” and family expenses, how can he realistically commit to a monthly pension contribution when his income fluctuates wildly? So, the Micro Pension Plan for the informal sector participation will remain low due to poor awareness, complex processes, lack of tailored contribution flexibility, and limited trust.
To truly make pensions work for informal workers, Nigeria must rethink the system from the ground up, designing it around the lived realities of its people rather than forcing them into rigid formal-sector structures. First, the government should introduce a co-contributory model where the state matches a percentage of informal workers’ savings, similar to what is practised in some European countries, turning pension contributions into a powerful incentive rather than a burdensome obligation.
Second, digital technology must be leveraged aggressively—mobile-based pension platforms linked to BVN or NIN could allow daily, weekly, or micro-contributions as small as ₦100, integrating seamlessly with fintech apps like OPay, Paga, or bank USSD services so that saving becomes as easy as buying airtime.
Third, automatic enrollment through cooperatives, trade unions, market associations, and transport unions could significantly expand coverage, with opt-out rather than opt-in mechanisms to counter human inertia.
Fourth, financial literacy campaigns in local languages via radio, community leaders, and religious institutions are essential to rebuild trust and demonstrate that pensions are not a “government scam” but a personal safety net.
Fifth, Nigeria should consider a universal social pension for elderly citizens who never participated in formal or informal schemes, modelled after systems in countries like Denmark and the Netherlands, ensuring that no Nigerian dies in poverty simply because they worked outside formal structures.
Sixth, investment strategies for pension funds must prioritise both security and development—allocating a portion to infrastructure projects that create jobs, improve power supply, and stimulate economic growth while maintaining prudent risk management.
Seventh, inflation protection should be built into pension payouts so that retirees’ purchasing power is not eroded by Nigeria’s volatile economy.
Eighth, the system must be inclusive of women, who dominate the informal sector yet often lack property rights or formal identification, by simplifying documentation requirements and providing gender-sensitive outreach.
Ninth, limited emergency withdrawal options could be introduced—strictly regulated—to help contributors handle crises without abandoning the system entirely.
Finally, transparency and accountability are non-negotiable; regular public reporting, independent audits, and user-friendly dashboards would strengthen confidence that contributions are safe and growing. If Nigeria can blend its innovative spirit with lessons from global best practices—combining Denmark’s social security ethos, Singapore’s savings discipline, and Canada’s inclusivity—it could transform the lives of millions of informal workers who currently face retirement with fear rather than hope.
Imagine Aisha, years from now, closing her market stall not in exhaustion and anxiety but in calm assurance that her pension will cover her basic needs; imagine Tunde hanging up his helmet knowing he can afford healthcare and shelter; imagine Ngozi harvesting not just crops but the fruits of a lifetime of secure savings. The suspense that hangs over the future of Nigeria’s informal workers can be resolved, but only if policymakers act boldly, creatively, and compassionately—because a nation that allows its hardest workers to age in poverty is a nation that undermines its own prosperity, while a nation that secures their retirement builds not just pensions, but peace.
Hope comes from innovation. Fintech-powered pension models that allow small, frequent contributions similar to informal savings associations like esusu offer ways to integrate pensions into existing savings cultures. Making pension contributions compatible with mobile money and agent networks could drastically reduce barriers to entry. Hope comes from public education. Building financial literacy campaigns, partnering with community leaders, marketplaces, trade associations, and digital platforms can help shift perceptions. A pension should be understood not as a distant bureaucratic programme, but as future self-insurance and dignity
The significance of having a pension plan for informal workers in Nigeria, given its large informal sector and high level of unemployment and underemployment, cannot be overstated, as it is deeply connected to social stability, economic sustainability, poverty reduction, and national development.
First, from a social protection and human dignity perspective, a pension plan for informal workers is critical because it provides a safety net for old age. Nigeria’s informal sector includes traders, artisans, mechanics, tailors, hairdressers, okada riders, gig workers, domestic workers, small-scale farmers, and street vendors, many of whom work hard throughout their lives but have no formal retirement benefits. Without a pension, these individuals often become completely dependent on their children, relatives, or charity in old age, which can strain families and increase intergenerational poverty. A well-structured pension system ensures that ageing informal workers can maintain a basic standard of living, access healthcare, and avoid extreme deprivation, thereby preserving their dignity and reducing elderly vulnerability.
Second, from an economic stability and poverty reduction standpoint, pensions play a crucial role in reducing old-age poverty. Nigeria already struggles with high poverty levels, and a large proportion of elderly citizens without income support exacerbates this problem. When informal workers lack pension savings, they continue working well into old age, often in physically demanding jobs, which reduces productivity and increases health risks. A pension system allows for smoother retirement transitions, reduces reliance on welfare, and ensures that older citizens remain consumers rather than economic burdens, thereby sustaining economic activity.
Third, pensions for informal workers are significant for financial inclusion and savings culture. Many Nigerians in the informal sector operate primarily in cash and have limited engagement with formal financial institutions. A pension plan tailored to informal workers, especially one integrated with mobile money and digital platforms, can encourage regular saving, improve financial literacy, and bring millions of people into the formal financial system. This, in turn, strengthens Nigeria’s overall financial sector and increases the pool of domestic savings available for investment in infrastructure, businesses, and development projects.
Fourth, the significance is evident in reducing dependence on government emergency support. Currently, the Nigerian government often has to intervene with ad-hoc social assistance programs, especially during crises such as the COVID-19 pandemic, inflation shocks, or economic downturns. If informal workers had functional pension savings, they would be better able to absorb economic shocks in retirement without relying heavily on government aid, reducing fiscal pressure on the state.
Fifth, pensions for informal workers contribute to intergenerational equity and family stability. In Nigeria, many elderly parents depend on their working children for survival, which places financial strain on younger generations who may already be struggling with unemployment, housing costs, and education expenses. A pension system reduces this burden, allowing younger Nigerians to invest in their own futures rather than being trapped in a cycle of supporting ageing relatives without external assistance.
Sixth, from a national development perspective, including informal workers in the pension system strengthens Nigeria’s long-term economic planning. Pension funds represent large pools of capital that can be invested in critical sectors such as housing, energy, transportation, and manufacturing. If millions of informal workers contribute even in small amounts, this could significantly expand Nigeria’s pension fund assets, providing stable, long-term financing for development projects that create jobs and stimulate growth.
Seventh, pensions for informal workers are important for gender equity, because women dominate many informal occupations in Nigeria, such as petty trading, market vending, tailoring, and caregiving roles. These women often have lower lifetime earnings, limited access to formal employment, and fewer assets. A targeted informal sector pension scheme can protect elderly women from destitution and reduce gender-based economic inequality in old age.
Eighth, the significance is also linked to public trust and governance. A transparent, accessible, and reliable pension system for informal workers can strengthen citizens’ trust in government institutions. Many informal workers currently distrust government programs due to past corruption, failed schemes, or poor implementation. A well-functioning pension plan that delivers real benefits would demonstrate that the state values all citizens, not just formal sector employees.
Lastly, given Nigeria’s demographic reality of a large and growing population, failing to integrate informal workers into a pension framework poses serious long-term risks. As life expectancy increases, the number of elderly Nigerians will rise significantly in the coming decades. Without a structured pension system for informal workers, Nigeria could face a severe old-age crisis characterised by mass poverty, social unrest, and increased pressure on healthcare and social services.
In summary, having a pension plan for informal workers in Nigeria is significant because it promotes social security, reduces poverty, enhances financial inclusion, supports economic stability, eases intergenerational burdens, strengthens national development, promotes gender equity, builds public trust, and prepares the country for its ageing population. For a nation where the majority of workers are informal, excluding them from pension coverage is not just an oversight; it is a major structural weakness that must be urgently addressed for Nigeria’s long-term prosperity and social cohesion.
By Blaise Udunze
Could it be said that Nigeria’s true identity today represents a country suffering and grappling with soaring inflation, mass unemployment, failing public infrastructure and multidimensional poverty despite almost three decades of enormous public revenue inflows? With the look of things, one question therefore deserves urgent national attention. Without missing any words, what exactly has government at all levels done with the trillions of naira shared through the Federation Account Allocation Committee (FAAC)?
One obvious fact is that since the return to democratic governance in 1999, Nigeria has witnessed a remarkable expansion in federal revenue sharing since the existence of this country.
Findings based on monthly allocations reported by FAAC and the National Bureau of Statistics (NBS) showed that over the past 27 years, the FAAC has distributed an estimated N160 trillion among the Federal Government, the 36 states and the 774 local governments. The obvious here is that the figure represents one of the largest transfers of public resources in Nigeria’s history.
One would definitely assume that, since the removal of the fuel subsidy in June 2023, government revenues have risen dramatically. Not to miss out on other gains from crude oil earnings, statutory revenue, Value Added Tax (VAT), exchange-rate adjustments, electronic money transfer levies, customs collections and other federally collected revenues, resulting in unprecedented monthly FAAC allocations.
In 10 years alone, FAAC distributed approximately N25.58 trillion to the three tiers of government, with states and the FCT receiving about N13.8 trillion during the period. One would also wonder that since President Bola Tinubu assumed office in May 2023, more than N56 trillion has been distributed through FAAC.
Surprisingly, amidst it all, in just over three years, President Tinubu’s administration has presided over FAAC distributions amounting to approximately 35 per cent of the estimated N160 trillion shared since the return to democracy in 1999. In other words, more than one in every three naira ever distributed through FAAC over 27 years has been shared under the current administration. But this recent figure represents only a fraction of the larger national story.
The more important question is not simply how much money has been shared. The question is what Nigeria has built with more than N160 trillion in public allocations over nearly three decades.
What is of concrete concern is that the sheer size of N160 trillion is difficult to comprehend until placed beside Nigeria’s major economic indicators.
Nigeria’s total public debt stood at approximately N149.39 trillion as of March 31, 2025. This means that the estimated FAAC allocations shared since 1999 are larger than the country’s entire current debt stock. While FAAC funds cannot directly be compared with debt because they serve different fiscal purposes, the comparison highlights a critical reality that shows that Nigeria has generated and distributed enormous financial resources, yet still carries one of Africa’s largest debt burdens.
The comparison with national budgets is equally revealing. Come to think of it, Nigeria’s proposed N58.18 trillion 2026 budget represents one of the largest annual spending plans in the country’s history, whilst the cumulative FAAC allocations since 1999 are equivalent to almost three times the size of Nigeria’s 2026 federal budget.
No doubt, the implication is profound. A country that has shared resources equivalent to several annual national budgets should reasonably demonstrate significant improvements in infrastructure, healthcare, education, electricity, industrialisation and citizens’ welfare. But the reality remains different.
One thing is obvious today and cannot be disputed by the political players, both past and present: Nigeria continues to struggle with poor roads, unreliable electricity, inadequate healthcare facilities, overcrowded classrooms, high unemployment and widespread poverty.
The truth is that the comparison becomes even more striking when looking at specific sectors, as this would provide a clearer picture. Considering that Nigeria’s recent proposed 2026 budget allocates approximately N3.52 trillion for education, N2.48 trillion for health and N3.56 trillion for infrastructure, bringing the combined allocation for these three critical sectors to about N9.56 trillion. The estimated N160 trillion shared through FAAC since 1999 is more than 16 times the combined 2026 federal allocation for education, health and infrastructure.
This raises a fundamental question: if Nigeria has received resources sufficient to finance these strategic sectors multiple times over, why do citizens continue to experience declining social services?
The comparison with capital investment is also significant. Nigeria’s proposed 2026 capital expenditure of N26.08 trillion is only a fraction of the estimated FAAC allocations shared since 1999. Had a substantial portion of these revenues been consistently channelled into productive capital projects, Nigeria could have developed world-class transportation networks, reliable electricity systems, modern healthcare facilities, industrial clusters and globally competitive education infrastructure.
That is the scale of the opportunity Nigeria has had. Instead, millions of Nigerians continue asking a painful question: Where is the evidence?
Economic theory is straightforward. When governments receive large financial resources, citizens expect corresponding improvements in their standard of living. Public revenue exists to create public value, not merely to finance government administration. Imagine what N160 trillion could have achieved if strategically invested over 27 years.
Nigeria has an estimated housing deficit exceeding 28 million units. A sustained investment programme using only a fraction of FAAC resources could have delivered millions of affordable homes while creating massive employment opportunities across construction, cement, steel, furniture and logistics industries.
Strategic agricultural investment could have transformed Nigeria into a food-secure nation through irrigation systems, mechanised farming, storage facilities, rural roads and agro-processing industries.
Investment in healthcare could have ensured that every local government has functional primary healthcare centres equipped with trained personnel, essential medicines and modern facilities.
Education could have been completely transformed through improved teacher training, digital learning infrastructure, modern classrooms, research facilities and expanded access to quality education.
Nigeria’s electricity challenge could have received far greater attention through investments in transmission networks, renewable energy, gas-powered generation and embedded power solutions that would reduce the cost burden on businesses and households.
A significant portion of FAAC resources invested in small and medium-sized enterprises could have created millions of jobs, expanded local production and strengthened Nigeria’s private sector.
None of these ambitions was beyond Nigeria’s financial capacity. The resources existed. The challenge has been utilisation.
Across many states, FAAC has gradually become less of a development catalyst and more of a monthly survival mechanism. Salaries, recurrent expenditure, political appointments, administrative costs and government overheads consume substantial portions of public resources, while capital projects remain insufficient.
The dependence on FAAC has also discouraged many states from aggressively developing sustainable internally generated revenue. Many states still depend heavily on federal allocations, weakening fiscal innovation and reducing accountability. A system where governments wait monthly for federal transfers creates little incentive to build productive economies.
Ironically, decades of increased allocations have coincided with worsening economic realities. Food prices continue rising. Millions remain unemployed or underemployed. Hospitals struggle with inadequate equipment. Schools remain overcrowded. Roads continue deteriorating. Manufacturers battle high energy costs. Businesses continue closing. Families spend more of their income meeting basic needs.
This contradiction raises serious governance questions. In Nigeria’s case, painfully, revenue growth does not automatically create development. Development requires transparency, accountability, strategic planning and effective implementation.
Nigeria must therefore move beyond celebrating monthly FAAC figures and begin measuring the outcomes generated from those resources.
Every month, Nigerians hear announcements of billions and trillions shared among governments. But rarely do they hear: How many hospitals were completed? How many schools were renovated? How many kilometres of roads were delivered? How many jobs were created? How many communities gained access to clean water? How many businesses were supported?
Revenue announcements must never replace performance reports. Every state and local government should publish transparent FAAC utilisation reports showing allocations received, projects funded, costs, locations and measurable outcomes.
Technology makes this possible. Open budgeting platforms, public expenditure dashboards and digital monitoring systems can ensure citizens know how their resources are being deployed.
Transparency should no longer be optional. The Federal Government equally has a responsibility.
Higher revenues must translate into improved national infrastructure, stronger institutions, better security, industrial growth and enhanced social protection.
Nigeria cannot continue borrowing heavily while simultaneously receiving record public revenues without demonstrating corresponding developmental outcomes.
Public finance is not simply about collecting money. It is about creating lasting value. Roads improve commerce. Electricity supports industries. Education increases productivity. Healthcare strengthens human capital. Agriculture reduces dependence on imports. Digital infrastructure enhances competitiveness. These are investments that create future prosperity.
When public revenue is consumed mainly by recurrent obligations, future generations inherit debts without corresponding assets.
Nigeria must strengthen accountability institutions, including auditors-general, public accounts committees, anti-corruption agencies and civil society organisations, to monitor how FAAC resources are utilised.
Citizens also have a responsibility. Public money belongs to the people. Communities must demand evidence of projects funded by government resources.
The tragedy of Nigeria is not simply a shortage of revenue. It is the failure to convert revenue into development. Nigeria has demonstrated remarkable ability to generate public income. What remains lacking is the political discipline and institutional capacity to transform that income into national prosperity.
The estimated N160 trillion shared through FAAC since 1999 represented a historic opportunity to rebuild Nigeria’s economy and improve citizens’ lives.
Millions of jobs could have been created. Infrastructure could have been transformed. Poverty could have been reduced. Investor confidence could have strengthened. Living standards could have improved.
Instead, many Nigerians continue to experience economic hardship despite decades of enormous public revenue distribution.
History will not judge governments by how much FAAC they received. History will judge them by what those allocations built.
The real question is no longer whether Nigeria has enough money. The question is whether Nigeria has the leadership, accountability and political will to convert public wealth into public prosperity. Not to focus on using the FAAC as an electoral tool to weaponise the opposition. Until that happens, N160 trillion in FAAC allocations will remain a symbol of missed opportunity rather than a foundation for national transformation.
Blaise, a journalist and PR professional, writes from Lagos and can be reached via: bl***********@***il.com
By Gleb Tsipursky
Nigeria’s artificial intelligence conversation has moved from whether businesses will use the technology to how they can use it without creating expensive new forms of confusion. Business Post recently examined the practical barriers facing Nigerian SMEs, including infrastructure constraints, digital skills shortages, regulatory gaps, and the need for any new technology to show a visible return. That is the right frame. For a small or mid-sized business, a clever system that creates hidden rework can cost more than it saves.
The timing matters. The Deep Learning Indaba brought Africa’s machine-learning community to Lagos from August 2 to 7 under the theme of sovereign intelligence. Nigeria’s National Centre for Artificial Intelligence and Robotics is also promoting practical adoption, entrepreneurship, and locally grounded systems. The country has talent, ambition, and increasingly accessible tools. What many businesses still lack is a simple management mechanism for learning from the moments when those tools get things wrong.
Every SME adopting AI should keep an exception ledger.
An exception ledger is a short operational record of cases in which an employee had to correct, override, redo, or stop an AI-assisted task. It does not need special software. A spreadsheet can work. Each entry should answer five questions: What was the task? What did the system get wrong or leave uncertain? What did the employee do? What business consequence would have followed if nobody intervened? Does the same problem appear often enough to justify a change in the workflow?
That sounds modest, but it changes how a company measures AI. Most adoption discussions focus on usage, time saved, or the number of employees trained. Those figures reveal activity. They say little about whether the work is becoming more reliable.
Consider a distributor using AI to draft quotations. The system may save ten minutes on most quotes, but twice a week it could mix up a product specification or fail to carry through a delivery condition. If staff silently repair those errors, the company records the time savings while hiding the correction cost. The same pattern can occur in customer service, bookkeeping, marketing, procurement, recruitment, or inventory forecasting.
The ledger turns those invisible corrections into management information. If one mistake appears once, it may require no action. If the same exception appears repeatedly, managers can change the prompt, source data, approval step, software configuration, or division of responsibility between the employee and the system. The business then improves the workflow rather than merely telling staff to “be careful.”
This is particularly important in Nigeria because SMEs operate with little room for waste. Business Post’s recent coverage of responsible AI for African SMEs has emphasised that trust, security, and accountability need to grow alongside adoption. An exception ledger gives those principles an everyday operating form. It lets an owner see whether a tool is producing a manageable stream of minor corrections or creating a pattern that threatens cash, customers, compliance, or reputation.
The ledger also protects employees from a common failure in technology rollouts. When an AI system makes an error, the human reviewer can become the person blamed for failing to catch it. That creates a perverse incentive to hide problems. A formal exception process sends the opposite message: catching a failure is valuable information. Employees become sensors for workflow quality rather than the last invisible line of defence.
Managers should keep the process light. If logging an exception takes ten minutes, staff will avoid it. A useful entry should take less than a minute and use a few fixed categories, such as factual error, missing context, policy conflict, customer sensitivity, data problem, or unclear ownership. The goal is not paperwork. The goal is pattern recognition.
A monthly review can then identify three kinds of decisions. First, some tasks are safe enough for greater automation because exceptions remain rare and low impact. Second, some tasks need a stronger human checkpoint because errors are costly or difficult to detect. Third, some tasks should stay primarily human because the judgment involved cannot be reduced to a reliable rule at the current stage of the technology.
This approach also helps Nigerian SMEs avoid a false choice between moving fast and acting responsibly. Small businesses cannot afford elaborate governance structures modelled on large banks or multinational companies. They can, however, create one feedback loop that connects frontline corrections to management decisions.
That feedback loop matters as Nigeria builds a larger AI ecosystem. A country can train more engineers, expand computing capacity, develop local-language models, and encourage entrepreneurship, but adoption succeeds inside businesses one workflow at a time. The practical test is whether a system helps people complete real work with fewer errors, less rework, and clearer accountability.
Nigeria has good reasons to accelerate AI adoption. The strongest businesses will not be those that accumulate the most tools. They will be those that learn fastest from the exceptions those tools create.
Gleb Tsipursky, PhD, is a behavioural scientist, CEO of Disaster Avoidance Experts, and author of The Psychology of AI Adoption at Work: From Resistance to Results (Georgetown University Press, 2026). https://disasteravoidanceexperts.com/ai********@**********************ts.com
Feature/OPED
GLO@23: How Billionaire Otunba Mike Adenuga Built a Telecom Empire That Refuses to Sell Out
By Bodex Hungbo
In a corporate world where corporate giants regularly swap boardrooms like trading cards and sell off equity at the first sign of volatility, one legendary tycoon continues to prove that absolute control is the ultimate power move. That man is Otunba Mike Adenuga Jr., the visionary billionaire whose dense belief in indigenous enterprise gave birth to Globacom, the telecom powerhouse affectionately known across the continent as Glo.
As Globacom marks a monumental 23-year milestone, the spotlight shines brightly not only on the company’s extraordinary ascent, but on the enduring legacy of its founder. Adenuga stands as the only Nigerian to establish, nurture, and retain 100% sole ownership of a national telecommunications network; one that has evolved into one of Africa’s most recognisable, resilient, and influential brands.
While rival networks scrambled through endless corporate restructuring, foreign buyouts, hostile takeovers, and high-stakes rebrandings, “The Bull” pulled off what many in international finance considered impossible: holding complete control of Nigeria’s proudest homegrown tech giant for over two decades without surrendering a single inch of authority.
From the very beginning, Adenuga refused to follow the standard playbook written by foreign multinationals. When Globacom officially launched in August 2003, the market was heavily dominated by well-funded international operators who insisted that certain consumer-friendly models were economically impossible in Africa. Sceptics openly declared that a wholly indigenous, single-owner startup could never go toe-to-toe with established global giants.
Adenuga didn’t just compete; he single-handedly revolutionised the entire landscape.
At a time when competitors claimed that charging consumers per second rather than per minute was technically unfeasible, Glo introduced per-second billing on day one. By charging 1 kobo per second, Globacom shattered the status quo overnight, forcing the entire telecom industry to follow suit. That single disruptive move democratised mobile access, saved everyday Nigerians billions of Naira, and transformed mobile phones from luxury items for the elite into essential tools for the masses.
Adenuga’s commitment to self-reliance went far beyond marketing strategies; it was backed by monumental capital investments in hard infrastructure. To ensure that Glo would never be beholden to external actors, he funded game-changing projects directly from his own vision and capital.
Chief among these milestones was the construction of Glo-1, a multi-million-dollar, high-capacity submarine fibre-optic cable stretching over 9,800 kilometres directly from the United Kingdom to Nigeria. Single-handedly funded without taking a single dollar in foreign equity, Glo-1 provided West Africa with unprecedented broadband capacity, drastically improving internet speeds, powering corporate enterprises, and anchoring the region’s digital economy.
Alongside this undersea marvel, Globacom built an extensive terrestrial fibre-optic backbone across Nigeria, expanding coverage into underserved rural communities and providing the critical pipeline for modern data services, mobile banking, and digital commerce.
The fierce independence that defines Globacom is a direct reflection of its founder’s personal journey. Adenuga’s rise is the ultimate story of relentless African grit. Long before he was dubbed “The Bull” of African commerce, a young Adenuga drove taxis and worked security jobs in the United States to pay his way through university.
Returning to Nigeria with a sharp mind and an insatiable work ethic, he built his fortune brick by brick. He conquered hard commodities, established a presence in oil and gas with Conoil, mastered corporate banking, and ultimately turned his sight toward telecommunications. Every venture was driven by the same philosophy: absolute dedication, hands-on execution, and a fierce refusal to settle for second best.
Despite commanding a multi-billion-dollar fortune, Adenuga remains famously reclusive. Operating largely away from public cameras and party circuits, he chooses to let his work speak for him. His quiet philanthropy, strategic investments, and relentless job creation have lifted thousands of families and injected vital energy into the broader West African economy.
Beyond cell towers and fibre-optic lines, Globacom transformed itself into an iconic symbol of African pride. Recognising the power of local culture long before global streaming platforms arrived, Adenuga turned Glo into the largest single corporate promoter of African entertainment and sports.
Glo flooded the creative industry with record-breaking sponsorship deals and endorsements, signing Nollywood legends, musical powerhouses, and sports heroes as brand ambassadors. From sponsoring the prestigious CAF African Footballer of the Year Awards and the Nigerian Premier League to funding cultural festivals, comedy tours, and reality shows, Glo actively elevated African talent to global prominence.
Through these cultural investments, the brand cultivated an emotional connection with millions of subscribers, proving that an African brand could stand tall, celebrate its heritage, and deliver world-class service without losing its soul.
Industry analysts frequently cite Globacom as more than just a corporate success; it is an enduring case study in what happens when visionary local leadership is matched with long-term capital and solid determination. Over 23 years, Glo has weathered fierce market competition, rapid technological transitions from 2G to 5G, and volatile macroeconomic shifts, all while maintaining its position at the top tier of African telecommunications.
As customers, industry leaders, and well-wishers celebrate GLO@23, the milestone serves as a powerful tribute to a titan who dared to build on his own terms.
Today, Globacom isn’t merely a telecom network; it stands as living proof of African capability, self-determination, and industrial excellence. As the green network prepares for its next era of digital expansion, artificial intelligence integration, and next-generation connectivity, one truth remains crystal clear across Africa’s business landscape: The Bull is still on the throne, and his legacy is built to last.
