From the turbulence of 1980s Nigeria to the structured corridors of international finance, Ayodeji Olaifa has built a life that moves between numbers and narratives. In this conversation with Edgar R. Batte, the banker, author, and self-described Pan-Africanist reflects on migration, identity, faith, and the quiet human stories that sit behind the systems shaping Africa’s future.
Growing up in Nigeria, what shaped your early sense of ambition, or even possibility?
Nigeria itself was the motivation. I guess it’s easier now, in hindsight, to see how all the challenges I faced as a young adult growing up in Nigeria in the 80s and 90s-a period some describe as one of the most difficult in the country’s history-shaped me.
It was a time of incessant military coups, severe economic hardship, civic unrest, long university closures, and failed liberalisation policies. It was bleak. If you were not from a privileged background, you wanted to leave.
But in spite of it all, the average Nigerian youth learnt resilience. You learnt to look upwards-to a higher power. The state had failed us, so religion and spirituality filled the gap. Faith kept us going. Faith gave us vision.
Ambition came naturally in that environment. Education was the only legacy we felt we had. I knew that if I was ever going to escape the ‘Nigeria trap,’ it would be through education. That has been my path ever since.
Before the titles and roles, who was Ayodeji Olaifa as a young man trying to find his place?
A curious mind. Highly driven. Resilient. Someone who saw beauty in everything.
Your book Unjani Mfwethu? explores the migrant experience in South Africa. What parts of that story are drawn from your own life?
It is my story. The book is autobiographical. It captures a part of my life-leaving Nigeria in my late twenties for South Africa, and everything that came with that journey.
Migration often looks like opportunity from the outside. What does it feel like from within?
That’s one of the reasons I wrote the book. Migration is a deeply layered experience. From the outside, it looks like opportunity. From within, it’s something else entirely. We live in a time when anti-immigrant sentiment is rising. But I believe part of the problem is that we’ve stopped talking to each other.
Certain forces benefit from division-xenophobia is often a tool. The only way forward is to create safe spaces where people can talk without fear. At the core of it all, we just want to be seen.
Migration is not just about economic benefit or refuge. It’s about discovery. Sometimes, you travel far only to realise that what you were searching for was always within you. As we say in Yoruba, what you are looking for in Sokoto may already be in your sokoto.
Did writing that book change how you see yourself, as a professional, or as a person?
Absolutely. It grounded me. It made me realise how blessed I am, and also how much work is still left to do.
You work in international project and export finance-spaces that shape economies. Do you ever pause to think about the human stories behind the numbers?
All the time. In fact, my current book is about that very thing. It’s called Not Just a Ride: A story of money, memories, and the potholes that shook me. It reflects on my travels across the region as a ‘money man,’ and the people I meet along the way-drivers, traders, everyday citizens. Writing it has helped me understand my dual role-as both observer and participant in Africa’s development story.
What does impact mean to you in a role that is largely financial but deeply structural?
Impact means freedom. When the work we do liberates people rather than confines them further.
Have there been projects you’ve worked on that stayed with you beyond the spreadsheets?
Yes. Sometimes you question the motives behind projects, but most times, it’s the people that stay with you. When I board a train we helped finance, or meet someone whose life changed because of financial advice I gave years ago-it makes it worthwhile.
You describe yourself as a Pan-Africanist. What does that mean in practical terms, not just ideology?
For me, it’s about identity. I am African, and that is the lens through which I see the world. I want to tell African stories-about our people, culture, and heritage. Even when I address difficult issues like corruption or trafficking, it is not to shame but to provoke action. Being a Pan-Africanist is about living consciously and advancing that identity. It is not about defining ourselves in opposition to others.
Having worked and studied across different countries, what do you think Africa misunderstands about itself?
I can only speak from my own journey. I’ve had to confront the contradictions within myself-Western education, Western values, but also a deep desire to remain authentically African. The work is in reconciling those contradictions. Africa must do the same. Radicalism is not always the answer. Conscious living is.
And what does the world still get wrong about Africa?
Almost everything. The world does not know our history, our cultures, our values, our heroes. Yet we are taught theirs. Africa is often understood through narratives created by those who once exploited it.
You’ve written The Helper’s Son, Unjani Mfwethu?, and Nuns at the Gate. Where does the need to write come from?
From a desire to document experience. Storytelling helps us understand social realities more deeply.
Do your stories begin with observation, memory, or emotion?
All of the above. They are stories I feel deeply connected to.
How do you balance the precision of finance with the vulnerability required for storytelling?
It’s not easy. But finance, at its core, is also about stories-how people relate to money, how they make sense of it.
What inspired Nuns at the Gate-and why this story now?
It is fiction, but inspired by real events and real people. It’s a story I carried for a long time. With the rise of human trafficking, especially involving women, it felt urgent to tell it now.
How does it feel knowing your work is now part of Uganda’s secondary school curriculum?
It’s exhilarating. The journey, the people who supported me, the work of the Uganda National Curriculum Development Centre-it all feels like a collective victory. To know that students will read my work is deeply fulfilling.
What do you hope a 16-year-old student takes away from that book?
That young people are vulnerable. That danger often hides in unexpected places. But also, that it’s never too late to find your way back.
Your academic journey spans Lagos, UNISA, Stellenbosch, and Nelson Mandela University. How did each environment shape how you think?
In different ways. Each came at a different stage of my life. Stellenbosch exposed me to questions of race and identity. Nelson Mandela University deepened my appreciation of culture and development. Each environment shaped how I see the world.
What did you learn outside the classroom that no degree could offer?
That growth is not linear. Sometimes, you have to improvise.
Do you think African education systems are preparing young people for the realities you’ve experienced?
Yes. There is beauty in our imperfections. The challenges within our systems often create drive, ambition, and resilience.
What has success cost you?
Perspective. You stop taking things at face value. You question intentions more.
What keeps you grounded in spaces that are often high-pressure and high-stakes?
The understanding that everything is temporary. We are all just actors in a short film called life.
If everything you’ve built disappeared today, what part of you would remain unchanged?
My core-love for God, for self, for family, for people.
What stories are you still trying to tell, through your work or your writing?
That we all matter. And that failure is part of the journey.
What does the next chapter of your life look like?
I don’t know yet. But it will be driven more by service and teaching.
What would you like your legacy to feel like, not just look like?
If I had a wish, it would be to be remembered for championing love-love for God, for self, for family, and for society above everything else.