THE NEW CEO
He never looked up. He just polished and returned them."
Her father never knew his name.
But she never forgot his hands.
Until the day the company he once stood outside…
Became the one he walked into — as the boss.
1996. Lagos Island.
Baba Dauda was a cobbler stationed outside the Afolabi & Sons Corporation — a big construction firm where luxury cars pulled up daily, and security guards barely let him near the building.
But every week, a wealthy man — Chief Afolabi — sent his driver with three pairs of Italian leather shoes.
Dauda would shine, stitch, clean, and polish them until they looked brand new.
He was never invited in.
Never tipped.
Never acknowledged.
But someone noticed.
Little Adesewa, Chief’s 9-year-old daughter, used to sit in the back of the car watching him work.
She once asked, “Why does he never come inside?”
Her father replied:
"Because people like that don’t belong in boardrooms."
But Dauda looked up and said:
“Small madam… maybe one day, I’ll fix more than shoes.”
Adesewa smiled.
He winked.
Then life happened.
The Afolabis moved abroad.
Dauda lost his spot outside the building when the area was demolished.
Nobody knew where he went.
Nobody looked for him.
2024. Victoria Island.
The same company — now renamed Afolabi Global — had fallen into crisis.
Stocks plummeted. Leadership changed.
They were awaiting their new CEO — a private appointee brought in by international investors to restructure the entire business.
Boardroom filled. Cameras ready. Staff nervous.
Then the doors opened…
And Mr. Dauda Adekunle walked in — polished suit, grey hair, briefcase in hand.
Silence.
Gasps.
He nodded slowly and said:
“28 years ago, I fixed shoes outside this building.
Today, I’m here to rebuild what was broken inside it.”
The crowd froze.
And from the corner, Adesewa — now head of PR — stood in tears.
She walked over, hugged him, and whispered:
“You didn’t just fix shoes, Baba. You fixed my view of the world.”
He didn’t beg.
He didn’t fight.
He just worked.
And while others built offices…
He built himself.
Now the same hands that once held polish and thread…
Hold contracts, power, and legacy.
Because sometimes, the person outside the gate…
Was just waiting to own the entire building.
He never looked up. He just polished and returned them."
Her father never knew his name.
But she never forgot his hands.
Until the day the company he once stood outside…
Became the one he walked into — as the boss.
1996. Lagos Island.
Baba Dauda was a cobbler stationed outside the Afolabi & Sons Corporation — a big construction firm where luxury cars pulled up daily, and security guards barely let him near the building.
But every week, a wealthy man — Chief Afolabi — sent his driver with three pairs of Italian leather shoes.
Dauda would shine, stitch, clean, and polish them until they looked brand new.
He was never invited in.
Never tipped.
Never acknowledged.
But someone noticed.
Little Adesewa, Chief’s 9-year-old daughter, used to sit in the back of the car watching him work.
She once asked, “Why does he never come inside?”
Her father replied:
"Because people like that don’t belong in boardrooms."
But Dauda looked up and said:
“Small madam… maybe one day, I’ll fix more than shoes.”
Adesewa smiled.
He winked.
Then life happened.
The Afolabis moved abroad.
Dauda lost his spot outside the building when the area was demolished.
Nobody knew where he went.
Nobody looked for him.
2024. Victoria Island.
The same company — now renamed Afolabi Global — had fallen into crisis.
Stocks plummeted. Leadership changed.
They were awaiting their new CEO — a private appointee brought in by international investors to restructure the entire business.
Boardroom filled. Cameras ready. Staff nervous.
Then the doors opened…
And Mr. Dauda Adekunle walked in — polished suit, grey hair, briefcase in hand.
Silence.
Gasps.
He nodded slowly and said:
“28 years ago, I fixed shoes outside this building.
Today, I’m here to rebuild what was broken inside it.”
The crowd froze.
And from the corner, Adesewa — now head of PR — stood in tears.
She walked over, hugged him, and whispered:
“You didn’t just fix shoes, Baba. You fixed my view of the world.”
He didn’t beg.
He didn’t fight.
He just worked.
And while others built offices…
He built himself.
Now the same hands that once held polish and thread…
Hold contracts, power, and legacy.
Because sometimes, the person outside the gate…
Was just waiting to own the entire building.
THE NEW CEO
He never looked up. He just polished and returned them."
Her father never knew his name.
But she never forgot his hands.
Until the day the company he once stood outside…
Became the one he walked into — as the boss.
1996. Lagos Island.
Baba Dauda was a cobbler stationed outside the Afolabi & Sons Corporation — a big construction firm where luxury cars pulled up daily, and security guards barely let him near the building.
But every week, a wealthy man — Chief Afolabi — sent his driver with three pairs of Italian leather shoes.
Dauda would shine, stitch, clean, and polish them until they looked brand new.
He was never invited in.
Never tipped.
Never acknowledged.
But someone noticed.
Little Adesewa, Chief’s 9-year-old daughter, used to sit in the back of the car watching him work.
She once asked, “Why does he never come inside?”
Her father replied:
"Because people like that don’t belong in boardrooms."
But Dauda looked up and said:
“Small madam… maybe one day, I’ll fix more than shoes.”
Adesewa smiled.
He winked.
Then life happened.
The Afolabis moved abroad.
Dauda lost his spot outside the building when the area was demolished.
Nobody knew where he went.
Nobody looked for him.
2024. Victoria Island.
The same company — now renamed Afolabi Global — had fallen into crisis.
Stocks plummeted. Leadership changed.
They were awaiting their new CEO — a private appointee brought in by international investors to restructure the entire business.
Boardroom filled. Cameras ready. Staff nervous.
Then the doors opened…
And Mr. Dauda Adekunle walked in — polished suit, grey hair, briefcase in hand.
Silence.
Gasps.
He nodded slowly and said:
“28 years ago, I fixed shoes outside this building.
Today, I’m here to rebuild what was broken inside it.”
The crowd froze.
And from the corner, Adesewa — now head of PR — stood in tears.
She walked over, hugged him, and whispered:
“You didn’t just fix shoes, Baba. You fixed my view of the world.”
He didn’t beg.
He didn’t fight.
He just worked.
And while others built offices…
He built himself.
Now the same hands that once held polish and thread…
Hold contracts, power, and legacy.
Because sometimes, the person outside the gate…
Was just waiting to own the entire building.
