By Obiaruko Christie Ndukwe

‎We can’t be acting like nothing is happening. The US orders its Embassy Staff and family in the US to leave Nigeria immediately based on security concerns.

‎Same yesterday, President Donald J. Trump posted on his Truth Social that Nigeria was behind the fake news on his comments on Iran.

‎Some people believe it was the same way the Obama Government came against President Goodluck Jonathan before he lost out in the election that removed him from Aso Rock. They say it’s about the same thing for President Asiwaju Bola Ahmed Tinubu.

‎But I wonder if the real voting is done by external forces or the Nigerian electorate. Or could it be that the external influence swings the voting pattern?

‎In the middle of escalating security issues, the opposition is gaining more prominence in the media, occasioned by the ‘controversial’ action of the INEC Chairman in delisting the names of the leaders of ADC, the new ‘organised’ opposition party.

‎But the Federal Government seems undeterred by the flurry of crises, viewing it as an era that will soon fizzle out. Those on the side of the Tinubu Government believe that the President is smarter than Jonathan and would navigate the crisis as well as Trump’s perceived opposition.

‎Recall that in the heat of the CPC designation and the allegations of a Christian Genocide by the POTUS, the FG was able to send a delegation led by the NSA, Mallam Nuhu Ribadu, to interface with the US Government and some level of calm was restored.

‎With the renewed call by the US Government for its people to leave Nigeria, with 23 states classified as “dangerous”, where does this place the government?

‎Can Tinubu manoeuvre what many say is history about to repeat itself, especially with the renewed call for Jonathan to throw his hat into the ring?

‎Let’s wait and see how it goes.

‎Chief Christie Obiaruko Ndukwe is a Public Affairs Analyst, Investigative Journalist and the National President of Citizens Quest for Truth Initiative

By Abiodun Alade

As Aliko Dangote turns 69, his story demands to be read not as a biography of wealth, but as a case study in Africa’s unfinished industrial argument.

For decades, the continent has lived with a structural contradiction. It exports raw materials and imports finished goods. It produces crude oil but imports refined fuel. It grows cotton but imports textiles. It produces cocoa but imports chocolate. It harvests timber yet imports something as basic as toothpicks. This imbalance has not merely defined Africa’s trade patterns; it has shaped its vulnerability.

Dangote’s career can be viewed as a sustained attempt to break that cycle.

What began as a trading enterprise has evolved into one of the most ambitious industrial platforms ever built on African soil. Cement, fertiliser, petrochemicals and now oil refining are not random ventures. They are deliberate interventions in sectors where Africa has historically ceded value to others.

This is what many entrepreneurs overlook. Not the opportunity to trade, but treading the harder, riskier path of building production capacity where none exists.

Recent analyses, including those from global business commentators, have framed Dangote’s model as a “billion-dollar path” hidden in plain sight: solving structural inefficiencies at scale rather than chasing fragmented market gains. It is a strategy that requires patience, capital and an unusual tolerance for long gestation periods.

Nowhere is this more evident than in the $20 billion Dangote Petroleum Refinery in Nigeria, a project that signals a shift not just for one country, but for an entire continent. With Africa importing the majority of its refined petroleum products, the refinery represents an attempt to anchor energy security within the continent.

Its timing is not incidental.

The global energy market has become increasingly volatile, particularly during geopolitical disruptions such as the recent crises in the Middle East. For African economies, which rely heavily on imported refined fuel, such shocks translate immediately into inflation, currency pressure, fiscal strain and higher poverty.

In those moments, domestic capacity ceases to be a matter of convenience and becomes one of sovereignty.

Dangote Petroleum refinery has already begun to play that role. By supplying refined products at scale, it reduces Africa’s exposure to external supply shocks and dampens the transmission of global price volatility into local economies. It is, in effect, a buffer against instability in a world where supply chains are no longer predictable. The refinery is not infrastructure. It is insurance against global instability.

But the ambition does not end there.

Dangote has articulated a vision to grow his business empire to $100 billion in value by 2030. This is not simply a statement of scale. It is a signal of intent to build globally competitive African industrial capacity.

When realised, such a platform would place an African conglomerate in a category historically dominated by firms from China, the United States and India—economies that have long leveraged industrial champions to drive national development.

The implications for Africa are significant.

Industrial scale matters. It lowers costs, improves competitiveness and attracts ecosystems of suppliers, logistics networks and skilled labour. Dangote’s cement operations across more than ten African countries have already demonstrated this multiplier effect, reducing import dependence while stabilising prices in local markets.

The same logic now extends to fertiliser, where Africa’s largest urea complex is helping to address agricultural productivity, and to refining, where fuel supply stability underpins virtually every sector of the economy.

Yet perhaps the most interesting shift in Dangote’s trajectory is philosophical.

In recent years, Dangote’s interventions have moved beyond industry into social infrastructure. A N1 trillion education commitment aimed at supporting over a million Nigerian students suggests an understanding that industrialisation without human capital is incomplete.

Factories can produce goods. Only education produces capability.

This dual focus—on both production and people—mirrors the development pathways of countries that successfully transitioned from low-income to industrial economies. In South Korea, for instance, industrial expansion was matched by aggressive investment in education and skills. The result was not just growth, but transformation.

Africa’s challenge has been the absence of such an alignment.

Dangote’s model, while privately driven, gestures toward that possibility: an ecosystem where energy, manufacturing and human capital evolve together.

Still, there are limits to what just one industrialist can achieve.

No matter how large, private capital cannot substitute for coherent policy, regulatory clarity and institutional strength. Industrialisation at scale requires coordination between state and market, not tension between them. This remains Africa’s unresolved question.

Beyond scale and industry, Aliko Dangote’s journey is anchored in faith—a belief that success is not merely achieved, but granted by God, and that wealth is a trust, not an end. His philanthropy reflects that conviction: that prosperity must serve a higher purpose. History suggests that, by divine providence, such figures appear sparingly—once in a generation—reminding societies that impact, at its highest level, is both economic and spiritual.

Dangote’s career offers both inspiration and caution. It shows that African industrialisation is possible, that scale can be achieved and that global competitiveness is within reach. But it also highlights how much of that progress still depends on singular vision rather than systemic design.

At 69, Dangote stands at a pivotal moment, not just personally, but historically.

He has built assets that did not previously exist. He has challenged economic assumptions that persisted for decades. And he has demonstrated that Africa can do more than export potential; it can manufacture reality. But the deeper test lies ahead.

Whether Africa transforms these isolated successes into a broader industrial awakening will determine whether Dangote’s legacy is remembered as exceptional—or foundational.

In a fragmented global economy, where supply chains are shifting and nations are turning inward, Africa has a unique opportunity to redefine its place.

Africa must now make a deliberate choice. For too long, its development path has been shaped by external prescriptions that prioritise consumption over production, imports over industry and short-term stability over long-term capacity. International institutions often speak the language of efficiency, yet the outcome has too frequently been a continent positioned as a market rather than a manufacturer—a destination for surplus goods rather than a source of value creation. This model has delivered dependency, not resilience. Industrialisation is not optional; it is the foundation of economic sovereignty. Africa cannot outsource its future. It must build it—by refining what it produces, manufacturing what it consumes and resisting the quiet drift towards becoming a permanent dumping ground in the global economy.

At 69, Aliko Dangote stands not at the end of a journey, but on the cusp of a larger question.  His factories, refineries and investments are more than monuments of capital; they are proof that Africa can build, can produce and can compete. But no single individual can carry a continent across the threshold of industrialisation. The deeper test lies beyond him.

Whether Africa chooses to scale this vision or retreat into the familiar comfort of imports will define the decades ahead. Dangote has shown what is possible when ambition meets execution. The question now is whether others—governments, institutions, and investors—will match that courage with corresponding action.

History is rarely shaped by what is imagined. It is shaped by what is built.

Abiodun, a communications specialist, writes from Lagos

By Professor Myriam Sidíbe

Awards season this year was a celebration of Black creativity and cinema. Sinners directed by Ryan Coogler, garnered a historic 16 nominations, ultimately winning four Oscars. This is a film critics said would never land, which narrates an episode of Black history that had previously been diminished and, at some points, erased.

Watching the celebration of this film, following a legacy of storytelling dominated by the global north and leading to protests like #OscarsSoWhite, I felt a shift. A movement, growing louder each day and nowhere more evident than on the African continent. Here, an energetic youth—representing one-quarter of the world’s population—are using creativity to renegotiate their relationship with the rest of the world and challenge the social norms affecting their communities.

The Academy Awards held last month saw African cinema represented in the International Feature Film category by entries including South Africa’s The Heart Is a Muscle, Morocco’s Calle Málaga, Egypt’s Happy Birthday, Senegal’s Demba, and Tunisia’s The Voice of Hind Rajab.

Despite its subject matter, Wanuri Kahiu’s Rafiki, broke the silence and secrecy around LGBTQ love stories. In Kenya, where same sex relationships are illegal and loudly abhorred, Rafiki played to sold-out cinemas in the country’s capital, Nairobi, showing an appetite for home-grown creative content that challenges the status quo.

This was well exemplified at this year’s World Economic Forum in Davos when alcoholic beverages firm, AB InBev convened a group of creative changemakers and unlikely allies from the private sector to explore new ways to collaborate and apply creativity to issues of social justice and the environment.

In South Africa, AB inBev promotes moderation and addresses alcohol-related gender-based violence by partnering with filmmakers to create content depicting positive behaviours around alcohol. This strategy is revolutionising the way brands create social value and serve society.

For brands, the African creative economy represents a significant opportunity. By 2030, 10 per cent of global creative goods are predicted to come from Africa. By 2050, one in four people globally will be African, and one in three of the world’s youth will be from the continent.

Valued at over USD4 trillion globally (with significant growth in Africa), these industries—spanning music, film, fashion, and digital arts—offer vital opportunities for youth, surpassing traditional sectors in youth engagement.

Already, cultural and creative industries employ more 19–29-year-olds than any other sector globally. This collection of allies in Davos understood that “business as usual” is not enough to succeed in Africa; it must be on terms set by young African creatives with societal and economic benefits.

The key question for brands is: how do we work together to harness and support this potential? The answer is simple. Brands need courage to invest in possibilities where others see risk; wisdom to partner with those others overlook; and finally, tenacity – to match an African youth that is not waiting but forging its own path.

As the energy of the creative sector continues to gain momentum, I am left wondering: which brands will be smart enough to get involved in our movement, and who has what it takes to thrive in this new world?

Professor Sidíbe, who lives in Nairobi, is the Chief Mission Officer of Brands on a Mission and Author of Brands on a Mission: How to Achieve Social Impact and Business Growth Through Purpose.