In Nigeria, business is not just business. It is oxygen, religion, and theatre. From the street hawker balancing Gala and La Casera on his head in traffic, to the oil magnate flying private jets to close a deal in Dubai, every Nigerian is, in one way or another, a businessman. Even the baby who cries in the middle of the night knows the power of negotiation and will not stop until the terms (milk) are delivered. This book is not about balance sheets and boring boardroom minutes. It is about the Nigerian business spirit: restless, inventive, occasionally outrageous, and always ready to turn any situation into a transaction. Here, business can mean selling tomatoes, managing a billion-dollar contract, or helping a cousin secure a government appointment with a finders fee, of course. I have seen Nigerias business world from its street corners to its skyscrapers. I have shared smoky suya stands with hustlers who would one day become landlords, and I have sipped coffee in air-conditioned offices with men who could buy an entire neighbourhood before lunch. The line between genius and trickster is sometimes thinner than a ₦50 note. Our history is full of remarkable figures: the cocoa barons of the West, the groundnut kings of the North, the palm oil traders of the East, the shipping merchants of the Niger Delta. And then came the oil boom which turned some into billionaires overnight and others into cautionary tales told in whispers. We have also produced market queens who could humble an entire state governor with one phone call. In Nigeria, influence is often traded like pepper in the open market, measured in handfuls, not teaspoons. But this is also a book about the crossroads where business meets politics, culture, and survival. Because in Nigeria, the man who owns the contract often owns the conversation. And while the rest of the world talks about business ethics, we have perfected the art of business logistics, which can mean anything from clearing goods at the port to clearing the path to approval. You will find humour here, because Nigerian business stories without humour are like jollof rice without pepper: possible, but tasteless. You will find history, because we cannot know where our next deal is going without knowing where the first one came from. And you will find honesty, because sugar-coating Nigeria's business culture would be like trying to sell sand in the Sahara. Pointless and unconvincing.