Before anybody rushes to join the queue, it is worth remembering that every Initial Public Offering (IPO) comes wrapped in two things: hope and risk. The hope is what people see. The risk is what people often discover later.
In case you have not seen the video, let me share with you the main gist. Vincent Oche, who is popularly referred to as VeryDarkMan, told the story of one Mr. Sanni Sakariya Abolaji, who reportedly invested heavily during the Dangote Flour era and whose family allegedly suffered when the market crashed, has reopened an old conversation. Whether every detail of the story is accurate or not, the bigger lesson remains valid: stock market investments are not savings accounts. They can create wealth, but they can also destroy it.
The Dangote Refinery IPO is currently being marketed as an opportunity for ordinary Nigerians to own a stake in one of Africa’s biggest industrial projects. According to reports, the offer seeks to raise about ₦2.15 trillion through the sale of 4.1 billion shares at ₦525 per share. The refinery has been valued at roughly $48–50 billion and the IPO is being promoted as an “IPO for the people.”
But history teaches us that “for the people” and “good for the people” are not always the same thing.
Imagine a man called Owolabi.
Owolabi is a civil servant. He has spent twenty years building a modest life. He has some money in a cooperative account. He has children’s school fees to pay. His wife runs a small shop. Inflation is eating away their income.
Then the noise begins. Friends say, “This is the opportunity of a lifetime.” Social media influencers scream, “Don’t miss this chance.” WhatsApp groups are not left out. They are filled with calculations showing how small investments could become millions. Everywhere Owolabi looks, people talk about the refinery. He begins to fear one thing more than losing money: missing out.
That is how bubbles are born. Not necessarily because an investment is bad, but because excitement starts replacing analysis. Many Nigerians are too young to remember the stock market boom before the 2008 crash.
Back then, almost everything looked like a winning ticket. Bank stocks. Insurance stocks. Manufacturing stocks. New public offers. People borrowed money to buy shares. Retirees emptied savings. Parents sold property. Many believed prices would rise forever.
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Then reality arrived.
The Nigerian stock market lost trillions of naira in value. Fortunes vanished. Families that thought they had secured their future found themselves trapped in debt. Some investors never recovered. That is the context behind the stories VDM has been revisiting.
Even Dangote Flour, which attracted enormous investor interest during its public offer in 2007, became a reminder that a heavily subscribed IPO does not automatically translate into permanent wealth creation. The company later went through ownership changes involving Tiger Brands and eventually Olam.
The first risk facing ordinary Nigerians today is herd mentality. People are discussing the refinery as if success is guaranteed. Yet even the official IPO documents repeatedly warn that share prices can rise or fall and that investors may lose part or all of their investment.
Dividends are not guaranteed. That warning is not fine print. It is the most important sentence in the entire offer. The second risk is investing money that cannot be lost. A wealthy businessman can afford market volatility. A middle-class salary earner struggling with rent cannot. A trader whose business capital is only ₦500,000 cannot. A pensioner cannot. The refinery may perform well in the long term. It may even exceed expectations.
But what happens if the share price falls shortly after listing? What happens if there is an economic shock? What happens if global oil prices change dramatically? What happens if investors who bought earlier decide to cash out? Nobody knows. That uncertainty is the essence of investing.
The third risk is emotional investing. The refinery is not just a company. For many Nigerians, it has become a symbol. A symbol of national pride. A symbol of industrial achievement. A symbol of what Africa can build. And to be fair, the refinery has achieved remarkable things. It is operating at large scale and has significantly changed Nigeria’s fuel supply landscape.
But symbols do not remove investment risk. Patriotism is not a financial strategy. Admiration for Aliko Dangote is not due diligence.
The fourth risk is valuation. Some analysts have already raised questions about the refinery’s valuation and the limited percentage of shares being offered to the public. Those concerns do not mean the IPO is bad; they simply highlight that intelligent investors can disagree on what the shares are worth. And when experts disagree, ordinary people should become more cautious, not less.
The poor and middle class should especially be careful because they have less room for mistakes. When a billionaire loses 20 percent of an investment, he remains a billionaire. When a teacher loses 20 percent of her life savings, her children may lose school fees. When a retiree loses 20 percent of his pension money, his healthcare may suffer. The impact is not equal.
This is why the story attributed to Mr. Sanni Sakariya Abolaji resonates with many Nigerians. It speaks to a fear that has existed since the 2008 market crash: the fear of believing the promise of wealth only to wake up to financial ruin.
Whether the Dangote Refinery IPO becomes one of the greatest investment opportunities in Nigerian history or not is something nobody can honestly guarantee today. What can be said is this: Do not invest because everybody is talking about it. Do not invest because social media is excited. Do not invest because you fear being left behind.
Read the prospectus. Understand the risks. Ask hard questions. Invest only money you can afford to leave untouched for years. And most importantly, never allow the noise of the crowd to drown out the voice of caution.
Because in every investment frenzy, there are always two groups of people. Those who are counting potential profits. And those who are counting risks. History suggests that the second group usually sleeps better at night.
