In February 2013, former Governor of Kaduna State, Mallam Nasir El-Rufai, published a memoir, “Accidental Civil Servant”. In the book, he explained that he began to think more about serving in public office when Nigeria happened to him in 1986. He began the year with a healthy bank account, but before the year ended, the government’s decision to devalue the naira reduced everything he had to almost zero. He understood that no matter how well he did in his private business, a single faulty government decision could bring him to penury. It was at that time he knew he must serve in public office one day.
The investigative journalist, David Hundeyin, also revealed that he came into journalism in a similar manner. His father had been an extremely wealthy businessman. The father built a mighty mansion, equipped it with a 24-hour generator set, and life was quite good for him. One day, the man had a heart attack right inside his house. Hundeyin got in touch with the Lagos State ambulance service, and they promised to be at the house. It took them more than two hours to arrive. By that time, the man was dead. Hundeyin said he thought deeply on the matter: here was his father who had secured a dream life for himself, but because the country lacked poor medical emergency system, the man died with his wealth staring at him. I could recount a lot more of these kinds of stories, but let me come quickly to what has inspired this article.
As I drive my children to school each morning, I observe Ibadan elites on the road. There are those who are ensconced in their heavily secured estates. There are those who are sealed up in their air-conditioned vehicles. There are others exercising on the streets of the estate, trying to shed weights that have amassed on their bodies as a result of years of plenty and ease. All these within a country where there is grinding poverty; where the health system is near comatose; where power supply has been limited to the same elites who have the money to pay for “band-A” power supply; where young people graduate from the university, and there are no jobs; and where crime numbers are increasing day after day. I also observe that the moment some of these elites realize that the country is no longer habitable, they pack their bags, grab visas for their children, and abandon the country. They run to countries where the elites there have succeeded in making their country habitable for all. Let me add one more story and then make my point.
Since November, 2025, I have been visiting Chief Obafemi Awolowo’s home in Ikenne. Ambassador Dr Tokunbo Awolowo-Dosunmu, the only surviving scion of the late sage, holds two major annual programs for her parents at the house. On the 6th of March each year, she invites Awoists all over Nigeria to come and celebrate her father’s posthumous birthday and legacy. On 25th November, she invites women and other guests to celebrate her late mother’s birthday and legacy. Ambassador Tokunbo told me that her father built that house sometimes in 1976. That would be after his time in Gowon’s government and before the 1979 elections. Awolowo’s house is the only fenced property in that area of Ikenne. The house is built among “the people” – so to speak. The man lived among his people and died there. I suspect very strongly that Awolowo’s greatness was simply in the fact that although life had promoted him to become a societal elite, he never forgot where he came from, and he sought to do everything to drag his people out of poverty and bring them into the life of elitism he was now enjoying. I am sure by now you understand where I am going with this article, but I will labour now to make the point.
I think that there is a difference between true and false elitism. A false elite would be an individual who has gained an education, acquired a well-paid job, and is living among the upper class of people in society. He is a false elite because he enjoys this status and would not wish to share it with others. In northern Nigeria, this worldview is described as feudalism. While we do not have feudalists here, we have something close to that thinking in some of our elites. They enjoy people kowtowing to them; they enjoy being called “sir” or “ma”. They love the idea that they are the ones driving the latest vehicles in town. They believe that their educational status has lifted them up in society and that others should not share that status with them.
A true elite, on the other hand, sees whatever he has in life as “given” to him. It is given to him by God, and that is why society rightly calls such persons privileged. Now, it is not usually what is given to an individual that distinguishes him; it is what he does with what he has. Whatever education or resources we have should be channeled towards solving societal problems. If every elite endeavors, in the little corner of his life, to support one or two persons who are not privileged, in a space of twenty years, every Nigerian can be dragged out of poverty. Two days ago, I learnt of a man and his wife, both of whom are Pediatricians, who have set up a little home to cater for children with special needs here in Ibadan. I plan to visit that facility soon and report on the good work they are doing. If Nigerian elites are investing whatever resources they have in one or two such laudable ventures, very soon this country will come out of the depressing state in which it has found itself. Instead, we still find Nigerian elites building houses they will never live in, or buying cars they may never drive.
One does not have to have the experience of a Nasir El-Rufai or a David Hundeyin before one realizes how fickle, simple, and ephemeral life is. Basic history records thousands of individuals who were men and women of means and might, but who are largely forgotten today. Death has a way of reducing everyone created to the same level. But there are certain individuals whom posterity always remembers for good. In their lifetime, they were a force for progress; they raised worthy children; they benefited humanity around them. Long after they are gone, their work still speak for them. They used their elitism as a positive force for society, and they have etched their names forever in history.
One day, a generation will rise up and learn of the dire state Nigeria found itself. Then they will read of the sacrifices a few men and women made to turn the story of this country right side up. It is this group of people that I wish to belong to, and I hope that I have succeeded in making the argument that this is the group you should also aspire to join. It is not enough that society regards some of us as elitist; it is important to ask what exactly we are using our elitism for. Nigerian elitism must rise above the crass level of status symbolism alone; we must use our elitism as a positive force for societal development.
*Deji Yesufu is the pastor of Providence Reformed Baptist Church Ibadan. He is the author of HUMANITY. He can be reached at [email protected]