By Funke Egbemode
This is a true life story.
Poor Ashabi. She had gone to her place of business that day, like any and every day. It was not a penthouse corner office. Indeed, it was not the kind of office you are thinking of. It was an office built with palm fronds, the kind that rainstorm and April scorching sun like to smirk at and deal with. Makeshift stall by the roadside. You can see it now, right?
You see, life has not been kind to Ashabi but that fateful day tested her faith, her sanity and her belief that God is a God of mercy. She had hardly finished arranging her scanty wares for display when some Federal law enforcement people showed up and announced that Ashabi was guilty of many offences.
‘Woman, you are a front for smugglers.
‘Your stall is not a food canteen. We are sure you have contraband goods under those piles of dirt.’
‘You don’t have a permit to sell here.’
‘You are defacing the street, indeed the whole state.’
‘It is also an offence to cut palm fronds that are supposed to protect palm trees that are producing palm wine.’
‘Because you are guilty of all these offences, we are arresting you and everything you are selling. ‘
Ashabi didn’t know whether she should beg or scream. She chose the latter. Perhaps it was because sales were poor the previous day and she and her children went to bed on empty stomach. Maybe it was because she had begged or bribed these hard-faced officers before. That day, she flipped. Ashabi had had enough. She was just tired.
‘Kin lo de gan?’
‘What exactly is my offence?’
‘Is it a sin to want to make a living, honest living?’
‘Do you want me to steal or become a prostitute?’
Before the uniformed men could rally their thoughts (because they were not expecting that reaction from a roadside sinner), Ashabi ripped off her scarf, removed her wrapper and stood in her birthday suit daring all to see her nakedness. She let out a shrill, long scream that must have shocked angels in heaven. Yeah, the white-winged ones must have stopped singing for a brief moment. Ashabi’s traducers were rooted to the spot. They thought she had gone mad, stark raving mad. While they were trying to decide whether to run or haul her into their van, a sharp Nigerian got it all on record. Everything was captured and posted on someone’s social media page.
Somehow, that colourful event got to Dr Mike Adenuga. He watched it over and over again. His heart melted watching helpless Ashabi ‘s meltdown. He sent his lieutenants, male and female, into the field.
‘Go and find this woman. Don’t come back until you have her.’
His lieutenants, whom he selected carefully over the years, knew what every line of that instruction meant. They had never failed the Bull before and this time around, they didn’t. It took a while, pulling strings, calling in favours until they found her in a hinterland close to Badagry, Lagos State. They did not tell her who wanted to see her. When she saw him, her legs must have collapsed under her. I am sure she must have asked God for forgiveness a million times for ever doubting the long arms of the Almighty. If na you nko?
The bank draft Ashabi was handed that day was proof that the Angels heard her loud desperate scream in heaven. Or why else do you think the story ended up being watched by Adenuga, a channel of blessings when your back is against the wall?
For Ashabi, that traumatic day was a turning point because Adenuga came with divinely ordained help.
Mike Adeniyi Adenuga is the kind of man you don’t hear coming. No sirens. No drums. No desperate need to announce himself. He walks in quietly, sits in the corner, studies the room-and before you know it, he owns the building, the street, and half the city. Where other billionaires want trumpets and outriders, Adenuga wants to do his bit and go quietly back into his lux corner.
Let me retouch a well-known picture.
Years ago, in a country where making a phone call felt like applying for a visa, complete with long queues, high tariffs, voices breaking like tired promises, many Nigerians had accepted that communication was a luxury. Then, like rain after a stubborn drought, something shifted. Lines became cheaper. Access widened. Suddenly, the market woman in Mushin and her son in Nsukka could both afford to say, “Hello.” That quiet revolution carried the imprint of one man-Chairman of Globacom-who decided that Nigerians deserved more than crumbs.
That is the thing about Adenuga: he doesn’t just enter industries; he disrupts their arrogance. There are men who make money, and there are men who make meaning. Mike Adenuga belongs firmly in the second category-a quiet storm whose footprints are not loud, but lasts.
To speak of him is to speak of a Nigeria that refuses to be small.
On his birthday, one is tempted to list achievements: oil magnate, telecoms giant, banking investor, philanthropist. Chairman of Globacom, the man who dared to challenge entrenched monopolies and made the simple act of making a phone call affordable for millions of Nigerians. But to reduce him to titles is to miss the poetry of his journey because Adenuga’s story is not just about wealth. It is about will.
He built in seasons when others fled. He invested when uncertainty hung thick in the air. In an environment where excuses grow like weeds, he chose discipline. Where many sought quick applause, he embraced tranquil excellence. That is perhaps his most defining trait, silence that is not emptiness.
There is something almost mythical about his rise. From the classrooms of his alma mater, Ibadan Grammar School, to the oil fields, and boardrooms, he walked a path that demanded more than intelligence – it demanded audacity. The kind of audacity that looks at a system and says, “Why not me?” The kind that births empires.
And yet, for all his accomplishments, Adenuga remains an enigma. He does not chase the spotlight; the spotlight finds him. In a world obsessed with noise, he has mastered the power of restraint. You will not find him everywhere, but you will feel him everywhere – through businesses that employ thousands, through innovations that connect millions, through a legacy that continues to unfold, and timely gestures like the one that turned Ashabi to a multimillionaire.
Unlike other blessed men, there is a certain patriotism in his choices. He did not build from afar; he built from within. At a time when many of Nigeria’s brightest sought greener pastures, he chose to plant deeper roots in Nigerian soil. His investments speak a language of belief – a stubborn, defiant belief in the possibilities of this country. Perhaps that is why his story resonates so deeply. It mirrors what Nigeria could be: resilient, resourceful, and unyielding.
Beyond the boardrooms and balance sheets lies a man whose life’s work inspires both the young and the old, even the already successful.
To the young Nigerian watching from the sidelines, Adenuga’s life whispers a powerful truth: you do not have to follow the crowd to succeed. You can carve your own lane. You can build your own table. You can redefine the rules.
It’s another April 29, we celebrate not just a businessman, but a builder of possibilities. A man who turned vision into infrastructure, and ambition into access. A reminder that greatness does not always shout; sometimes, it simply works.
His fingers are in every fast-selling, successful pie. He went into oil and gas, went in and struck deep, building Conoil. Producing a formidable force, proving that indigenous companies could play and win on big tables once reserved for foreign giants. In telecommunications, he rewrote the meaning of resilience, broke barriers, slashed costs, and democratised access. Banking, real estate, philanthropy – his fingerprints are everywhere, though his voice is rarely heard.
In a generation that often mistakes visibility for value, Adenuga chose a different path. He built in silence, grew in silence, and let his results do the talking. No daily interviews. No social media theatrics. Just work-steady, deliberate, and undeniable.
And maybe that is why his story feels deeply personal, even to those who have never met him.
In his journey, many Nigerians see a reflection of their own quiet battles. The refusal to give up when the system is stacked. The courage to dream beyond limitation. The stubborn insistence that “it is possible”, even when evidence suggests otherwise.
There is also something profoundly patriotic about him. He did not outsource his faith in Nigeria. He invested it here. In soil that can be harsh, in systems that can frustrate, in moments when others packed their bags and left, he stayed and built. Not perfectly, not without challenges, but persistently.
That kind of commitment is not just business; it is belief, deep belief. On his birthday, it is tempting to count his billions, to list his awards, to call him “The Spirit of Africa”, a title well earned. But beyond the wealth lies something far more enduring: impact. The millions connected, the jobs created, the industries reshaped. The silent confidence he has given to a generation – that you can start here, stay here, and still matter globally – are all the essence of the Bull.
If you listen closely, his life is saying something simple but profound: you don’t have to be loud to be legendary.
Today, we celebrate a man who turned vision into access, silence into strength, and ambition into legacy. A man whose footsteps may be quiet, but whose journey echoes across a nation.
Happy birthday, Dr. Mike Adenuga, the gentle giant still walking softly, still building greatly, still reminding Nigeria what is possible when purpose meets patience.
