EXCLUSIVE FOR TOP ENTREPRENEURS:

Choosing the Right CEO from Your Top Officers (1)

One of the most critical decisions you will ever make in the course of your business is selecting who leads it. If you are the founder or majority shareholder, there may come a time when you need to step aside from day-to-day operations and appoint someone else to serve as Chief Executive Officer (CEO). This is not just about delegation; it is about entrusting the vision, the reputation, and the future of your enterprise into another person’s hands.

Many businesses fail or stagnate not because the idea was weak, or because the market was hostile, but because the wrong leader was put at the helm. When your business has matured to the point where it has several capable top officers — perhaps a CFO, COO, Head of Strategy, Director of Business Development or Director of Operations — the question becomes: which of them has what it takes to wear the hat of CEO?

I want us to walk through the essential characteristics that you as an entrepreneur must look out for when choosing a CEO from among this very effective and important officers. Think of this as a guide not just for selection, but also for grooming and leadership succession planning.

1. Vision Alignment and Strategic Thinking

The first thing you must consider is whether the candidate truly understands and aligns with the founder’s vision (for this article, I will interchange ‘founder’ and ‘entrepreneur’). A CEO is not just a manager; he or she is the chief steward of the company’s mission.

Having built the company with sweat, sacrifices, and sometimes against the odds, the entrepreneur must find the officer who not only respects his vision but is also able to translate it into strategies for growth.

Look for an officer who demonstrates long-term thinking. In meetings, who asks the “what if” questions? Who connects today’s operations to tomorrow’s opportunities? That is the right fit for the position of CEO.

Note that a CEO without vision alignment may steer the company into profitable ventures that are inconsistent with the core identity of the business, leading to brand dilution or strategic drift.

2. Leadership Maturity and Emotional Intelligence

Leadership is not about titles; it is about vision, knowledge and influence. The CEO must be someone who does not get easily cowed. He knows his onions, listens to advice but does not get diverted from the vision. He commands respect naturally and has the maturity to handle both internal and external pressures.

A CEO candidate among your officers should be emotionally intelligent. Ask yourself, which of them can manage conflicts without escalating them? Which one can read the room before speaking? Who knows how to motivate diverse personalities without favoritism?

Emotional intelligence is often more important than raw intelligence because it builds trust.

Watch how your top officers treat junior staff, not just how they relate with you. A CEO who cannot inspire loyalty from his/her subordinates is a liability waiting to happen.

3. Proven Track Record of Execution

Ideas are cheap. Execution is where true leadership shows. When assessing which officer might be the right fit for CEO, review their track record within the company.

• Did they meet or exceed targets in their department?
• How did they handle failure; did they learn from it or deflect blame?
• Do they drive results consistently or only under supervision?

The future CEO must be someone who knows how to translate plans into measurable outcomes. Remember, you can train people in vision, but you cannot fake execution ability for long.

4. Integrity and Ethical Strength

As an entrepreneur, your name is tied to your company. The CEO you appoint will represent your values to investors, customers, regulators, and the public. A single ethical scandal can destroy years of hard work.

Look for honesty, transparency, and courage in your potential CEO. Who among your officers speaks up when something feels wrong, even if it is unpopular? Who is consistent in word and deed?

Integrity is not tested in board meetings but in small decisions — procurement approvals, handling confidential information, or treating suppliers fairly. Your CEO must be above reproach, because their character will either anchor or sink the entire enterprise.

5. Communication Ability

A CEO becomes the custodian of the story of the company. They must be able to rally employees, persuade investors, calm regulators, and attract customers — all with words.

The question you must ask is: who communicates with clarity and conviction? A CEO must simplify complex ideas and present them with confidence. It is not about who talks the most, but who communicates with impact.

If your company ever faces a crisis, the CEO will be the face of the response. His /her ability to reassure, clarify, and inspire will make the difference between panic and resilience.

6. Financial Acumen

Even if your candidate is not the CFO, the CEO must a good grasp of numbers. Running a company requires decisions that balance risk and reward, growth and sustainability.

A CEO without financial literacy may approve projects that are impressive but financially disastrous. They do not need to be accountants, but they must understand cash flow, margins, capital structure, and return on investment.

As an entrepreneur, watch how your officers interpret financial reports. Do they glaze over when numbers are discussed, or do they probe intelligently? This is a critical differentiator.

7. Adaptability and Innovation Mindset

The business world is not static; technology, regulations, customer behavior, and competition evolve constantly. Your future CEO must be someone who adapts quickly without losing focus.

Among your top officers, who embraces change rather than resists it? Who is curious about industry trends, new technologies, or customer insights? A CEO that clings to old methods will choke the company’s growth.

Innovation is not about chasing every shiny idea. It is about cultivating a culture where new ideas are entertained and reviewed, experimentation and learning are encouraged.

Next publication, I will give a few more distinctive qualities to look out for when choosing a CEO. If you are indeed an entrepreneur, you will know how important this single decision is. Get it right, and your business will flourish even beyond your active involvement. Get it wrong, and the very empire you built with grit and sacrifice may crumble before your eyes.

Part 2 will also include my personal tips for founders not just in choosing the right person but in easing the person seamlessly into that position.

Cheers!

Fatherhood with Ibe

The Lamentations of a Father Who Gave All

Experience is the best teacher but it is even better when that experience is another person’s own. It is smarter and safer to make decisions based on knowledge gathered from other people’s experiences. This is why we share people’s stories – to remind us that we are not alone in what we are going through, that if someone else could then we can, that all that glitters is not gold and that there are thorns on that beautiful rose. Sometimes we share these experiences just to entertain, but mostly to educate.

In this publication and for the next two, I will be sharing Chike’s story. Someone told me about Chike and I asked him to write his story, the lamentations of a father. There are always exceptions to every rule. What is generally common is that what you sow is what you reap and that if you tear your back to provide for your children, they will rally around you in the evening of your life and take care of you. It wasn’t so for Chike.

Please read his story and follow it through the next publications when we analyse and review what he could have done differently.

My name is Chike. I am sixty-eight years old, and I am a father. That should mean something, shouldn’t it? But these days, when I whisper that word to myself, it feels like an empty title—an echo of something I used to hold dear but which has slipped through my fingers like dry sand.

I have three children — my pride, my joy, my sacrifice. At least, they used to be. They were my whole world and I was ready to catch the moon in my hands if it would make life easier and better for them. I gave my all. I thought I was building empires in their names. I thought my back-breaking sacrifices were paving a highway for them to walk freely into futures I could only dream of. I thought they would look back one day, see my grey hair, my bent shoulders, and remember that it was their father who fought lions for them. But now, I wonder if they even remember my name.

I lost my wife when the children were still very young. A ghastly road accident snatched her away and left me staring at three pairs of terrified eyes—two boys and a girl—all looking at me as though I was the last branch keeping them from drowning.

Everyone advised me to remarry. “Children need a woman’s touch,” they said. Some said, “No man can raise children alone.” But I had seen too many homes destroyed by the cruelty of stepmothers. I could not bear the thought of another woman’s hand raised against my children in anger. So I made a vow — right there at my wife’s graveside — that I would raise the children myself. No strange woman would walk into our home to mistreat them. I kept that promise.

It was not easy. I was father, mother, cook, counsellor and disciplinarian. I learned to braid my daughter’s hair. I sat through nights of fevers and nightmares. I worked an office job and still did some trading and transport business just to keep us afloat. My own needs always came last. If my shoes tore, I patched them and kept walking, but my children always had new pairs at the start of every school term.

When the time came for university, I wanted more for them than Nigeria could give. I wanted them to soar in places where opportunities were not stifled by corruption and hopelessness. It cost me everything. I sold my house. I sold my land. I liquidated the small transport business I had spent years building. Friends called me foolish. “Chike,” they said, “what will be left for you?” But I didn’t care. I wanted my children to have what I never had.

I still remember the day I dropped each of them off at the airport. I pressed envelopes containing foreign currencies into their hands, hugged them tightly, and whispered, “Make me proud.” My chest swelled with hope as I waved goodbye. That was all I wanted: for them to succeed, and to never forget that their father made it possible.

At first, things seemed fine. They called once in a while, sent emails, shared stories about their courses and the cold winters. I would sit by the phone at night, waiting for their voices. Those calls were my lifeline. But as time went on and their conditions improved, the calls became fewer. My texts went unanswered. When I called, they would sound distracted. “Daddy, I’m busy right now.” “Daddy, can I call you later?” “Daddy, you don’t understand how things work here.” Later never came. Years dragged past. I was alone, I was hurt yet unwilling to admit my fears or voice my frustrations.

I remember one December, I sat on the wooden bench outside my rented apartment, waiting, hoping. I thought surely, at least one of them would fly home to spend Christmas with me. I cooked and decorated the little space. But none of them came. They didn’t even call on Christmas Day. I ate alone.

The silence grew into a wall. Their lives went on. My first son got married and had a son, my daughter got engaged to a white man, all without my knowledge. When I asked for pictures, they promised to send them but never did. When I begged for video calls, they complained of my poor internet connection. When I pleaded for visits, they said tickets were too expensive. But I knew—oh, I knew—they were living large, posting pictures with their new families, friends, vacations, and parties on social media. Yes, I saw them. My neighbours showed me. The children I sold my life to build up were now too ashamed to show their friends the man who had nothing left.

There were times I needed them, truly needed them. My health began to fail. Diabetes crept into my body like an uninvited guest. The doctor prescribed drugs I could barely afford. I sent messages to my children. I wrote long letters, swallowing my pride, asking for financial help, just enough to cover the hospital bills.

The replies came slowly, coldly:

“Daddy, I don’t have any money right now.”

“Daddy, things are tough here too.”

Or worst of all, silence.

One night, after my blood sugar dropped dangerously low, I lay on the floor, clutching my chest, thinking I would die there, alone. I whispered their names in the darkness. None of them heard me.

Even when I tried just to hear their voices—just to remind myself I still had children somewhere in this vast world—they dismissed me. “Daddy, why do you keep calling all the time? I’ll call when I can.” Their tone cut me deeper than knives. I became a burden to the very people I broke myself to uplift.

I tried to visit once. I borrowed money, got my passport, and told them I was coming. My eldest son replied, “Daddy, it’s not a good time. You will disrupt things. Maybe later.” Disrupt things? Me? Their father?

My daughter—the one whose hair I braided every Sunday before church—once told me on the phone, “Daddy, you don’t understand. Life here is different. You wouldn’t fit in.” She said it as though I was some relic, a shameful embarrassment to be hidden.

And so I stayed. Alone. Waiting. Hoping.

I spend my evenings watching families stroll by, listening to children laugh as they run into their fathers’ arms. I wonder if my children ever think of me. I wonder if they tell their friends about the man who gave up everything for them. Or do they erase me from their stories, ashamed that their father is now poor, old, and forgotten?

I sit sometimes with the old photo album. I trace my fingers over their childhood pictures: birthdays, graduations, Christmas celebrations. Their faces are frozen in time, smiling at me, oblivious of the man I would become or the disappointment they would become.

Do they even remember that once, I was their hero?

I wrote letters, long letters, begging them just to remember me, just to call. I sent them through WhatsApp, through email. Some they didn’t open. Some they replied with one line: “We’re fine, Daddy. Take care.”

Take care? How do I take care when I have nothing left? When the same hands that lifted them are now trembling, empty, waiting?

The last time my daughter, my little girl spoke with me was to reprimand me for always asking for help. I had asked for help with my rent.

“Daddy, I have my own life here, you know.” She had concluded and that was the last time she spoke to me and the last request I made to her.

Now, I sit alone in my empty apartment. My health worsens, my strength dwindles. I do not fear death —it is the loneliness that chokes me – the silence of my children…their betrayal.

I sacrificed my life for them. And now, I ask myself: Was it worth it? Was my love wasted? Was my sacrifice in vain?

This is Chike’s story. Next publication, we will review what he could have done differently.

Till then!