Aliko Dangote, Africa’s richest man, has long positioned himself as more than a businessman. In speeches at economic summits and business forums, he has repeatedly pledged to diversify Nigeria’s economy, build industries that generate jobs locally, and reduce the country’s dependence on imports. From constructing a refinery larger than the combined capacity of Nigeria’s state-owned plants, to reviving agriculture and boosting fertilizer output, Dangote has outlined ambitions that often sound like government policy statements.
But critics argue that Nigeria’s economic management has become dangerously tied to one individual. Government officials have publicly hinged promises—such as ending fuel importation—on the timely completion of Dangote’s refinery. Even international organisations like Oxfam have called on him and a handful of other billionaires to tackle poverty, a task usually reserved for state institutions.
Meanwhile, resentment simmers in different quarters. Some state governments complain about the toll of Dangote’s trucks on local roads, while communities accuse his companies of monopolistic practices and unfair advantages, from tax waivers to foreign exchange allocations. His disputes with rivals like Femi Otedola, Ibeto, and BUA have further fueled perceptions of dominance.
The bigger question, however, is what happens if Dangote falters. His businesses are so intertwined with Nigeria’s economy that the stock market reacts to the performance of his listed companies. Past closures of his tomato plant in Kano and a cement factory in Tanzania underscore the risks of concentrating too much economic weight in one conglomerate.
For now, the federal government continues to benefit from the “Dangote effect” without cultivating similar players to share the burden of industrialization, diversification, and job creation. Observers warn that until Nigeria develops a broader base of entrepreneurs and industries, the country will remain overly dependent on a single figure—its “only rich man in the village.”
