Meet the Big Man: More Than Money, It Is a Position

In Nigeria, being a “big man” is rarely just about having money. It is a social position. A big man is the person whose arrival changes the atmosphere in the room; the man with the expensive car, impressive house, designer clothes, political connections and a phone full of people who can make the impossible suddenly look negotiable. His opinion carries weight, his problems are solved quickly, and his name often travels further than he does.

The importance attached to becoming a big man did not emerge from nowhere. In a society where institutions can be unreliable, public services inadequate and access to opportunities uneven, wealth becomes more than comfort. It becomes protection, influence and sometimes survival. Money buys better healthcare, education, security, mobility and access in almost every society. In Nigeria, however, the significance of wealth in this context goes beyond simply accessing better options. The alternatives available to those without financial means can be so inadequate, unreliable and deplorable that wealth becomes a means of securing things that, ideally, should not depend so heavily on an individual’s ability to pay. If the system cannot guarantee you security, you build your own security. If institutions cannot open doors, you acquire the kind of money that allows you to knock on fewer doors.

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When Success Becomes a Display

But somewhere along the way, wealth became a display. Success had to be visible. The house had to be enormous, the car conspicuous, the wedding spectacular and the birthday celebration large enough to require traffic management. A man could be financially comfortable and still feel unsuccessful if nobody knew he was comfortable. In some circles, simply having money is not enough; you must make sure the neighbourhood knows about it.

Then you move to Canada.

Suddenly, your carefully constructed identity as “Chairman” encounters a rather uncomfortable reality: Canada does not particularly care.\

When “Chairman” Becomes “Next, Please”

Your expensive car is still nice, but the cashier at Walmart is not impressed. Your father may know a senator, governor or traditional ruler back home, but the government official wants your documents. Your impressive title may have opened doors in Nigeria, but here you may find yourself standing in a queue behind a retired plumber, a university professor and someone who has spent twenty minutes politely arguing about parking.

This is partly because Canada has stronger institutions and a broad middle class. Wealth certainly creates advantages, but it does not automatically turn someone into a local aristocrat. The millionaire still waits at the traffic light. The executive still books appointments. The landlord still has rules to follow. The government website does not care how important you were back home.

For many Nigerian newcomers, this can be psychologically disorienting. Back home, wealth may have placed you above the crowd. In Canada, wealth often gives you a more comfortable version of ordinary life. You might have a larger house, a newer car and a nicer holiday, but you are still operating within systems that generally do not require you to be a big man before they recognise your rights.

The Big Man in a Society with a Thriving Middle Class

There is something liberating about this. Canada’s sizeable middle class makes ordinary comfort less embarrassing. A good salary, a modest house, a reliable car and an annual holiday can constitute a successful life without requiring a public demonstration of wealth. You do not necessarily have to prove that you have “made it” every time you leave the house.

For someone accustomed to the Nigerian theatre of success, however, the adjustment can be hilarious. Back home, three phone calls could make something happen. In Canada, the website says, “Please allow five to ten business days.” Back home, someone might say, “Leave it for me, I know somebody.” In Canada, someone sends you a link and says, “You can apply online.” Your connections have not necessarily disappeared; they have simply discovered that the system is not particularly interested in them.

The psychological shift can be profound. When nobody is impressed by your car, surname, connections or stories about who you knew back home, you are forced to confront a surprisingly difficult question: Who are you when you no longer need to prove that you are important?

Perhaps that is the real lesson of migration. Back home, being a big man may mean having the power to bend the system. In Canada, the greater privilege may be living in a system that does not require you to bend it.

You may leave behind the extravagance, the self-importance and the endless display of success. But you may gain something better: the freedom to live well without having to prove that you are important.

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