Beyond Profit:

THE REAL CLUES THAT YOUR BUSINESS TRULY SUCCEEDED THIS YEAR

Compliments of the season!

In the previous publication, we discussed some indices that signify that your business had a truly successful year. We agreed that although most entrepreneurs judge a good year by the profit margin, in reality, business success is far deeper than profit. It is possible to record high sales, post a reasonable profit on paper, yet still be poorer in real terms because inflation swallowed everything. It is also possible to have a “busy” year that brings no real growth.

In conclusion, we reviewed that a successful business year is measured by a combination of financial strength, operational efficiency, reputation, structure, and resilience.

We looked at eight of the 15 clues that indicate that an organisation had a successful year (please read the article, if you did not see it earlier). In this article, we would review seven other indicators.

As I mentioned earlier, these clues do not just help you score your business performance in a year, they can also help you plan and evaluate your corporate activities in the next year. So, here are the other indicators.

Innovation and Adaptability

Market conditions change; winners evolve. In Africa, markets do not just change — they swing. Currency fluctuations, policy shifts, border closures, fuel price hikes, and sudden competition are normal operating conditions.

Here’s how you determine that your organisation scored high marks on innovation:

• You introduced a new product, service, or feature
• You improved your existing offerings
• You adopted new technology or tools
• You quickly adjusted to inflation, supply issues, or competition.

A Lagos-based fashion retailer once depended solely on walk-in customers. When inflation hit and foot traffic dropped, she didn’t complain — she pivoted. She began catalogue sales on social media, partnered with dispatch riders, and added flexible payment options. Her rent stayed the same, but her revenue channels multiplied. She adopted existing tech tools to adjust to market variations.

Businesses that stand still — offering the same products and services without improvement — eventually disappear. In Africa, adaptability is not optional; it is a survival skill.

Healthy Debt and Financial Discipline

Debt is not the enemy — mismanaged debt is.

Many African businesses collapse not because they borrowed, but because they borrowed emotionally — to impress, to survive, or to maintain appearances.

How do you assess a Healthy Debt?

• You borrowed to expand, not to survive
• Total borrowing is below 20% of annual revenue
• You can repay without crippling cash flow.

A poultry farmer in Ogun State took a loan to build cold storage and expand distribution. Another took a loan to “manage losses” after poor planning. Two years later, one had structured repayment and stable cash flow. The other had stress, penalties, and seized assets.

Debt should fuel growth, not create bondage. If you are drowning in debt, the year was not successful — no matter how impressive the sales numbers look.

Reduction in Entrepreneurial Stress

This index is rarely mentioned — but it is crucial.

The business grows as the owner grows. If you are not growing, the business is likely stagnating or silently bleeding.

As an entrepreneur, ask yourself:

• Are you working more but achieving less?
• Did the business become less chaotic this year?
• Is your decision-making more structured and less emotional?

A fabrics distributor in Aba used to approve every decision personally — from staff leave to price changes. As the business grew, so did chaos. The turning point wasn’t higher sales; it was when he built systems and trusted managers. Stress reduced, profits stabilized.

A business that grows while the owner is burning out is not successful — it is collapsing slowly.

Customer Experience Quality

Products can be copied; customer experience cannot.

In African markets, competition is fierce and switching costs are low – it’s easy and cheap for customers to switch from one product, service or supplier to another. This makes customer loyalty harder for organisations to maintain. Therefore, customer experience is often the real differentiator. It is what makes the customers to stay loyal to your product or service.

Here are good Customer Experience indicators:

• Fast, friendly communication
• Smooth purchase process
• Clear return/refund policy
• Customers feel valued, not exploited

Two phone accessory sellers operate on the same street in Accra. One sells cheaper. The other listens, advises, follows up, and replaces faulty items without drama. Guess who customers recommend?

If the experience is great, the business will grow — even without heavy advertising. People remember how you made them feel, especially in difficult economies.

Business Resilience and Risk Management

African entrepreneurs understand shocks: currency crashes, port delays, strikes, policy changes, power issues. A successful business year is one where you became harder to destroy – one shock does not cripple your company.

Here are the instituted structures that help your company to be more resilient.

• Multiple revenue streams
• Backup suppliers
• Good inventory management
• Insurance or emergency plans

During a supply disruption, a food processing business survived because it had two suppliers — one local, one regional. A competitor with cheaper pricing but no backups shut down for months.

The market rewards businesses that stay standing. Business success is not just about profit — it is about stability.

Scalability Capacity

Can your business grow without breaking?

Many African businesses fail at the point of growth — not because demand reduced, but because systems could not handle success.

Signs of Scalability:

• Processes can easily handle more customers
• You can expand without doubling stress
• The foundation is strong enough for bigger opportunities
• You documented what is repeatable

A catering business landed a large corporate contract but collapsed within six months. Why? No systems, no documentation, no trained backups. Another smaller caterer with processes scaled smoothly and became a preferred vendor.

Scalability is the difference between a small hustle and a future empire.

Personal Growth of the Entrepreneur

Businesses grow only at the pace of their owners. Your balance sheet often reflects your mindset.

Personal Growth Indicators:

• You learned new skills
• You became more strategic
• You made fewer emotional decisions
• You improved delegation, negotiation, or leadership
• You invested time in mentoring, books, or training

An entrepreneur once bragged about never reading business books. He said he had a feel for business. Five years later, he was still battling the same staff issues, pricing mistakes, and cash flow problems. Another business owner who invested in learning scaled far beyond his initial advent into the industry.

A better entrepreneur builds a better business. Growth starts from the top.

Many entrepreneurs end the year asking only one question: “How much profit did I make?”
It is an important question — but it is not the most important one.

True business success is quieter. It shows up in stability, clarity, resilience, and growth — not just in bank alerts. It shows in how quickly you adapt when conditions change, how calmly you make decisions under pressure, how your customers speak about you when you are not in the room, and how well your business can survive without your constant presence.

In African markets especially, where uncertainty is part of the terrain, success is not measured by how fast you grow, but by how long you can stay standing.

If your business became stronger, more adaptable, less chaotic, and more resilient this year — even if profits were modest — you are building something that can last.
And if profit came at the cost of your health, your peace, or your structure, then the numbers may be impressive, but the foundation is weak.

At the end of the year, do not just count money. Count systems. Count resilience. Count growth — in your business and in yourself.

That is what real success looks like.

Fatherhood with Ibe

MY BEST CHRISTMAS EVER

I have lived long enough to understand that joy is not always tied to abundance. Sometimes, the sweetest memories are born from the smallest, simplest gifts — a warm plate of food, a sound you’ve never heard before, the feeling that for once the universe remembered your name.
But if you ask me about the best Christmas I ever had, I can tell you without even blinking.

I was nine or maybe ten years old, skinny, and living in a house where I had everything I needed and almost nothing I wanted.

My parents were middle-class — that quiet, invisible category where survival is guaranteed, comfort is rationed and luxury is an offence. We never lacked shelter, food, or school fees. But luxuries? Those were myths reserved for other families, my dad did not believe in luxury … at least not for anyone in our household.
I always had just one pair of school shoes at a time. When they wore out, my father would sigh, rub the bridge of his nose like he was calculating the national budget, and then buy another pair the following term. My sandals — a simple brown leather pair — were “Sunday best.” If the straps broke, my cousins would call a shoemaker who would stitch them carefully like a surgeon repairing a fragile patient.
Toys were rarities that visited other children. My entertainment was household chores, the neighborhood kids, and whatever my imagination could build. But I didn’t complain; it was life, and life was stable. In fact, we were better off than very many.

Yet, nothing prepared me for the Christmas that would etch itself into my bones forever.

It began the first week of December. My father, still a magistrate then, came home whistling — a strange, upbeat tune we hardly heard from him. He gathered us in the living room and told us that some far relatives from overseas were coming to visit for the holidays.
I didn’t really understand the weight of that, but I understood the sparkle in his eyes. To see my father happy was like watching harmattan rain — rare, confusing, and magical.

For the first time in years, our house began to change.

My stepmothers were like sergeant majors as they assigned and supervised the daily chores. The helps, my cousins and I scrubbed every corner like we were preparing for angelic visitation … maybe we were.
New curtains appeared, new table mats and coasters were set out.
Groceries I had only seen at Christmas markets filled the kitchen.
Turkeys — actual turkeys — were delivered one morning, and I stared at them as though royalty had arrived.

Something was happening, something exciting. Even the air felt different.

The guests came in a large car that gleamed in the afternoon sun. Three of them — Uncle Jude, Uncle Martins, and Aunty Thelma (not real names, please). They were loud, cheerful, and smelt faintly of foreign places. I had never seen grown-ups hug and laugh like that. They shook the house with their energy, teasing my father, lifting me off the floor even though I was much taller than my little siblings, handing me chocolates with wrappers so shiny I kept them long after the sweets were gone.

Within hours, our house transformed into a festival ground. Music filled the air, laughter spilled into the compound, and spices danced with aromas I had never known. My stepmoms, usually very composed, giggled like teenagers as they chatted with Aunty Thelma and the uncles.

I remember hovering around the doorway, watching pots of steaming Jollof rice, fried rice, goat meat pepper soup, grilled chicken, and things I didn’t even know the names of.

“Come here, my boy!” Uncle Jude called. I walked in with cautious steps because my dad didn’t like kids hovering or interrupting while he had guests.
Uncle Jude lifted me again and carried me to the dining table like I weighed nothing.
“Sit,” he said. “Eat with us.”

I stole a cautionary look at my dad. He nodded. I sat down at the table and ate like there was no tomorrow. I ate rice until my stomach stretched like a drum.
I ate chicken — real soft, juicy chicken, not the tough old layers we were used to.
I drank chilled juice from bottles, the kind I had only seen in supermarket fridges.

There was so much food that day that I kept looking around to be sure it was not a dream. It felt like the kind of Christmas children in storybooks talked about.
I could hear the adults laughing, telling stories of school days, of mischief, of adventures abroad. But all I cared about was the taste of everything in front of me — and the feeling that I belonged to a moment that was bigger than my everyday life.

Late in the afternoon, after the plates had been cleared and I was lying like a satisfied cat behind the sofa – I didn’t want to leave the scene of my fantasy and I didn’t want to be too conspicuous.

“Small man,” Uncle Martins said, meeting my eyes and beckoning to me. “We brought something for you too.”

I jumped up immediately.

A Walkman.
Two novels.
Three bright T-shirts with designs I had never seen before.

I held the Walkman like it was made of gold. It gleamed in my hands — a window into a world I had only heard about.
“This is too much!” I squeaked, but the adults only laughed.

“You deserve nice things,” Aunty Thelma said softly, patting my head.

That single sentence did something to me.
It planted a seed — that I mattered, that I wasn’t invisible, that joy could find even a child like me. And I remember thinking, with a heart fuller than my stomach:

“This must be what it feels like to be rich.”

The novels smelled like fresh pages and dreams. The T-shirts were so beautiful I couldn’t choose which one to wear first. But the Walkman, the Walkman changed everything.

That night, after the guests had gone to bed and the house was quiet, I lay under my blanket listening to soft music trickling into my ears. I felt rich — fabulously, impossibly rich.

Time, of course, marched on.

I grew older. Life grew harder. School, work, bills, relationships, the endless chase for stability — all of it arrived like waves on a shoreline.
I gained things I once could never afford. I lost things I thought were permanent.
I bought cars, traveled a bit, furnished my home with much more than the basics I grew up with.
But no Christmas ever came close to that one.

The truth is, it wasn’t just about the gifts.
It wasn’t just the food or the laughter.
It wasn’t even the thrill of the Walkman or the joy of wearing new T-shirts.

It was the feeling of abundance — the feeling that for one shimmering day in my childhood, the universe opened a window and let me breathe a richer, sweeter air.

It was the way my father laughed like a boy. The way my entire household bustled with joy for the first time in a long time. The way strangers treated me like I was special.

I’ve celebrated many Christmases since then — in hotels, in other countries, around many more persons, in parties organized by me, with more money in my pocket than my father ever dreamt of.
But that Christmas, the Christmas of the Walkman, is the one that glows in my memory like a candle flame that refuses to go out.

Looking back now, I understand why it mattered so much.

When you grow up getting only what you need, the first time you receive what you want becomes a lifelong memory.

That Christmas taught me joy.
It taught me generosity.
It taught me that sometimes, giving a child something small can shape the story he tells himself for decades.

Every Christmas since then, I try to recreate that magic — not for myself, but for people around me — I surprise them with gifts, with treats, with moments that might someday become their own “best Christmas ever.”

Because, I remember how it felt.

Merry Christmas!!!