In the wake of recent attacks on tycoon entrepreneur Femi Otedola’s “Making It Big” book, social media exploded with vitriolic criticism that brings ancient issues of privilege, power, and authenticity to the fore among Nigeria’s new business elite.
The backlash began with a single tweet from user @UnkleAyo that has since gone viral:
“Femi Otedola is the son of Lagos’ 9th Governor, Micheal Otedola. His father was a governor during the Nigerian Third Republic. He’s the real “old money”. There’s nothing he wants to write in a book that appeals to people like me. “making it big” una. “
This sparked a digital backlash – dozens of Nigerians questioning whether our so-called success stories are real inspirational stuff or make-believe stories of men of privilege strolling on a red carpet to prosperity.
Otedola, Dangote, Davido—the faces most commonly referred to when Nigerian success is mentioned. But behind the inspirational news reports are stories of levels of inherited wealth, political privilege, and elite networks. Otedola’s, streamed recently via the corporate timeline as a courtesy of Proshare, is a cold one: the establishment in 1999 of Zenon Petroleum, blue-chip investments, and the development of an energy, finance, and hospitality business empire. But let us not forget the launch pad: his dad was a governor, and doors had long been ajar before he knocked.
Aliko Dangote, classically booted out in triumph as Africa’s richest man, started on a N500,000 loan from his uncle in the 1970s—a fortune today in the millions. His parents were a long way set in Kano’s merchant class for generations. Not a stain on his hustle, but a game-changer.
Davido, Nigeria’s biggest music mogul, possesses the work ethic to accompany the talent. Without, however, his billionaire dad Adedeji Adeleke’s advantage—recording studio access, funding, and networking—would it have come so soon and far-reaching? Again, not on your life. And that is what most struggling young people are griping about: talent is ubiquitous, opportunity ain’t.
In his enterprise, Jubril Abdulahi, alias ”J Money”, a serial businessman and lecturer of Computer Science in the College of Agriculture, Science and Technology, Lafia, fueled the drama on a recent trip to Abuja for the procurement of materials for his printing business, JA Digital Colours.
“Let’s not sugarcoat it. Having a rich parent is like starting a football match with a 3-goal lead. But when you come from nothing, it’s like life is already leading you 5–0. You’re fighting both the system and your own limitations just to equalize, let alone win,” he told The News Chronicle.
To J Money, who established his own enterprise from the ground up in Nasarawa State without the advantage of family capital, elite discourse about successful businessmen can ring hollow in a nation where most small business owners fight for start-up capital, collapsing infrastructure, and even a daily electricity supply.
The anger is not jealousy; it is a representation. When the elites write grass-to-grace stories, they leave out the safety nets, the soft landing, and the unseen hand that most Nigerians will never have. The true grass-to-grace stories are in the market stalls, the Yaba tech huts, the kerbside repairs by the mechanic, and the young artists painting their art on the World Wide Web with nothing, hoping for one big miracle.
This is not to belittle the work of the well-off. But to say: let us not pretend the field is level. Let us not be peddling “anyone can do it” without recognizing that for a lot of people, the actual obstruction is not sloth or bad decisions—it’s lack of enormous access.
So while Otedola is soon to tell us “Making It Big,” Nigeria’s populace doesn’t wish to leave behind platitudes but is hungry for the real deal. The world that they will have as their inheritance doesn’t require fairy tales—fairy tales will not succeed in their world—what it requires is truth, justice, and root change.
Until such a time, then, the history of Nigeria’s business elite has to be retold not grass to grace, but grace on grass.
This piece speaks volumes. It’s not about tearing down success—it’s about telling the whole story. Privilege is real, and while hard work matters, access matters just as much. For many young Nigerians, the struggle isn’t from laziness but from lack of opportunity. Let’s value every journey, but let’s also be honest about where the road starts for each person. We need more truth, more transparency, and a system where talent can truly thrive—regardless of background.