Joining the tribe

Crowning foreigners as chieftains is not unheard of in West Africa, and as more Chinese join the elite club, Post Magazine investigates whether such titles wield any real influence.

By the age of 50, former English teacher Hu Jieguo had moved to Nigeria and built a multimillion-dollar Chinese-style hotel, at a time when East Asian faces were uncommon there. Now in his 70s, Hu lives in Lagos surrounded by government-funded, submachine-gun-toting guards.
Such protection came as Hu was granted a chieftain title in 2001, a rare honour for a non-African. Hu remarked at the time that there was nothing extraordinary about the title, except that he could now “see the governor and president whenever he wanted”.
Seventeen years later, wearing a golden robe and rounded skullcap of the Yoruba tribe in southwest Nigeria, Hu made an appearance on China Central Television, to talk about his life as “the first Chinese chief in Africa”.
In this capacity, Hu advises the local government on China-related matters, and helps Chinese citizens when they have issues in Nigeria. Even Chinese ambassadors to Nigeria consult Hu. In At Home & Overseas, a magazine published by the All-China Federation of Returned Overseas Chinese, one ambassador was quoted as saying, “Hu Jieguo is as rare as a panda, and we need to protect him well.”
*
Born in 1948, Hu grew up with his mother and siblings in Shanghai. His father had left for amid the volatile international situation after World War II plus the Communist victory in China, Hong Kong’s economy had become sluggish. And so, following a friend who had relocated his businesses to a fellow British colony, Nigeria, Hu’s father moved there as well.
Over the years, Hu Snr built textile factories in Lagos, befriended politicians including Olusegun Obasanjo – who served as Nigeria’s president from 1999 to 2007 – and became a local leader among overseas Chinese. As he grew older, he dreamed of handing down the family business to his son, but the younger Hu was more interested in keeping his hard-won teaching career back home.
Hu Jnr was among the first “worker-peasant-soldier” students who entered college during the latter part of the Cultural Revolution (1966-1976). The political movement had put a halt to the National College Entrance Examination, or gaokao, snatching educational opportunities from youngsters who were sent to the countryside to learn from peasants and work as farm labourers. Between 1970 and 1976, a lucky few workers, peasants and soldiers were selected to attend college, based not on academic merit but on their work experience. Among them was Hu, who chose English as his major and, in 1972, graduated to be an English teacher. Once in class, he wrote on the blackboard, “We must study English hard for the revolution.”
China was largely closed to the outside world during the Cultural Revolution, and Hu feared political persecution if he showed any intention of moving abroad but that changed around 1977, when Feng Yujiu, the then Chinese ambassador to Nigeria and a friend of Hu’s father, visited Hu in Shanghai. “Teacher Hu,” Feng told him, “the leader of overseas Chinese also needs a successor.”
Finally, in 1978, the year of China’s reform and opening up, Hu arrived in Lagos, his initial reluctance – owing to a fear of uncertain politics at home as well as the unknown African continent – having been overcome with Feng’s persistence. Hu, however, believed that the textile industry that had so benefited his father was already saturated. He wanted to do his own thing, so he started working in a hotel restaurant, and soon made it to manager. He then went to Canada to study hotel management. Upon his return to Lagos, he invested US$8 million to build the Golden Gate Restaurant and hotel in 1997. The building was designed in the Chinese style, with two white guardian lions at the entrance. Politicians and businessmen flocked in, expanding the Hu family’s network even further. While his father socialised with President Obasanjo, Hu Jnr became friends with Bola Tinubu, then governor of Lagos and Nigeria’s current president.
Even before Hu became a tribal chief, he moved easily between the Nigerian and Chinese governments, and the chieftain title only added to his influence. Since 1998, Hu has helped Chinese companies invest in Nigeria. The China Civil Engineering Construction Corporation (CCECC), which landed a US$560 million project for the renovation and maintenance of a 3,000km railroad, is an example. Hu also received a delegation from the China National Petroleum Corporation and introduced them to Nigeria’s Minister of Petroleum Resources. He has worked with Chinese provinces to organise commodity fairs, and open industrial estates in Nigeria, thus attracting private Chinese companies. In 2004, Obasanjo appointed Hu as the presidential consultant in charge of the development of small- and medium-sized corporations. A year later, he accompanied Obasanjo to China. During the trip the Nigerian president visited large projects such as the Three Gorges Dam, and signed multiple economic and trade deals.
In 1999, when Obasanjo became president and Tinubu the governor of Lagos, Hu wanted to do something to show his support on behalf of the overseas Chinese, so he decided to build schools. Hu had always attached great importance to education, so he helped build four schools, large enough for 3,000 students each, and equipped – unlike many other schools in the country – with lights and fans. Tinubu laid the foundation stones, accompanied by another former Chinese ambassador to Nigeria, Liang Yinzhu.
In 2001, acknowledging Hu’s contributions, the head chief of the Yoruba in Lagos awarded him a chieftain title, approved by the governor. At the ceremony, which Hu attended in the traditional attire of the Yoruba, the head chief offered him several titles to choose from. Hu picked Baba Ase, meaning “service chief”, saying he wanted to “serve the people in Africa”.
*
China’s presence in Africa has been conspicuous since the 1980s, as state-owned enterprises of Chinese living in African countries had exceeded a million by the end of 2012, and according to China’s Ministry of Commerce in 2019, the private sector now accounts for more than half of the country’s direct investment across the continent. According to Xu Liang, an assistant professor in African studies at Peking University, at least 22 Chinese have received the title after Hu, about half of whom were state company employees with the rest coming from private firms.
“Awarding chieftaincies to the Chinese might be a trend but it’s not just because more Chinese are doing business [in Africa] and their influence has grown,” says Xu. “We need to understand that West African countries are in the midst of transformation, and they are more motivated to attract those who can help them develop – be it locals or foreigners.”
Xu, who recently published the paper “Chinese Chiefs in Africa: An Analysis from the Perspective of China- Africa People-to-People Exchange”, estimates that there are hundreds of foreign chiefs in Nigeria alone, with the Chinese accounting for only a small part of the total.
Xu is familiar with Hu through reportage on Chinese chiefs by Chinese state media, and via social media. He categorises Hu as a “community leader chief”, which refers to private businessmen working in trade, services and manufacturing who were given their titles mostly for their influence among the Chinese.
Xu differentiates them from the “infrastructure chiefs”, most of whom worked in Chinese state-owned companies. At least four general managers of CCECC Nigeria were given chieftain titles, as were two employees at CGCOC, both Chinese state-owned construction companies.
At some state-owned enterprises, the acceptance of chieftaincy needs to be approved by the company. Oftentimes, the managers get the titles. In 2007, in Papalanto, in Ogun state, manager Fang Yibo of Sepco III was given the title of Baamole, meaning “the bright messenger in the dark”, after the Chinese electric power construction company built power stations. CCECC Nigeria’s manager, Li Qingyong, was crowned Bobasona (“royal road builder”) in Lagos in 2015 while manager Kong Tao received the title of WakilinAyyuka (“engineering chief”) in Abuja in 2019.
Unlike Hu, most Chinese chiefs, especially those at state-owned enterprises, haven’t been particularly active – some have even been criticised for not fulfilling their roles. Once, the local head chief called Kong, asking if he was aware that a Chinese national was planning to buy some land nearby. When Kong replied in the negative, the head chief said, “You are engineering chief. You have to pay attention to everything around you. The land is about to be sold, and you don’t know!”
Kong later looked into it, but generally it wasn’t easy for Chinese chiefs to participate in local affairs. Many cited language barriers and a lack of understanding of the local culture, plus they were already too busy with their own work.
In a sense, the aloofness of these Chinese chiefs resembled China’s “non-intervention policy”, which, at a macro level, meant that Beijing’s investment came with little or no political strings attached. According to China’s Ministry of Commerce, as of the end of 2020, the country’s direct investment to Africa had exceeded US$47.4 billion. The West, however, has traditionally conditioned their loans on initiatives such as democracy promotion and corruption reduction. Neither side has had satisfying results. China has been accused of being a “rogue donor” that would damage Africa in the long run while the West’s approach has led to development failures as it stopped cooperation if recipients couldn’t meet their strict conditions.
Hu generally supports non-intervention, but he has doubts about the so-called aid given gratis, and hopes that the Chinese government could also help combat corruption.
“With the Nigerian government, getting anything done requires money,” he says. “Neither state companies nor private companies can change this. Only the government can make a difference […] In my opinion, we can’t just provide aid. We need to put forward requirements.”
Xu also points out that China’s and the West’s approaches to Africa aren’t necessarily against each other. “They can complement one another,” he says. “The difference is that we believe many problems are solved slowly in development, and we won’t sever ties just because they have problems. Meanwhile, we also want Africa to grow stronger in the indicators set by Western countries. The West is good in this area. They have experience in requiring transparency, efficiency, or a better legal system […] We expect that through development, African countries can figure out solutions and meet those indicators.”
*
When Li Manhu, a CGCOC employee, was awarded a title in late 2018, at the age of 27, he was baffled. Media attributed the honour to the company, as CGCOC was building the cross-border bridge connecting Nigeria and Cameroon, but some also pointed out that Li was close with the locals since he was in charge of public relations, and, perhaps more importantly, he dispersed the salaries.
On a recent phone call, Li tells me he still isn’t sure why he was awarded the title. “Maybe it’s because I have maintained a good relationship with the head chief,” he says, mentioning that he often visited the 80-year-old and gave him gifts.
After being crowned in the southeastern Cross River State, Li started an account called “Chinese Chief Li Manhu” on Douyin, China’s TikTok. He posted his coronation video, where a host wearing a grey robe with red and white stripes announced: “In pursuant to the provisions of traditional rulers’ council edict, the paramount ruler of Etung Local Government Area and the member of Etung Traditional Rulers’ Council in Cross River, Nigeria, hereby accord official recognition of chieftaincy title to Mr. Adam [Li Manhu] as Ntui Ofa I of Etung Kingdom.” The locals burst into applause. The video has attracted more than 20,000 likes.
Though he says he was confused by the award, Li believes the chieftaincy could be an important networking tool. Unlike Hu, whose father had well- established connections in the country, other Chinese often had difficulty fitting in. Li remembers that when he first arrived in Cross River, in 2017, locals often found excuses to wangle money out of the company. When Chinese employees drove on the streets, police might waylay them until they offered baksheesh (a tip or bribe). Once when they planned to build a bridge, locals claimed that they needed to pay to worship the river gods. Request refused, they unplugged the company’s electric generator to stop the work. But things changed after Li received the title. There were no river gods to appease. Policemen, on seeing his golden licence plate – reserved only for chiefs – waved his car through checkpoints. Li even encouraged Chinese tourists in Nigeria to download the coronation video and say that they are friends with him to avoid difficulties.
But Li’s personal expenses rose. He was invited to local festivals, where he wore traditional clothes. His Douyin recorded these joyful activities: the tribal dances; the rhythmic songs. Sometimes he danced. Sometimes locals asked him to blow air into their hands, a kind of blessing. Of course, he needed to give them money, just like all the other chiefs did. Soon Li was invited to graduation ceremonies, weddings and funerals. “It doesn’t matter if I actually go or not,” he jokes, “as long as the money arrives.”
In early 2019, Li was awarded “Ntufam Ofa I of Ekok Chiefdom” by the local Cameroonian chief just across the border, with whom Li also maintained a good relationship. For his second coronation, Li wore a white top, a red robe and a floppy pointed red hat. He rode across the border with the 80-year-old Nigerian head chief – a close friend of his Cameroonian counterpart of the same ethnicity – and arrived in Manyu, the English-speaking region of the francophone country. The host was the governor of Manyu, who wore a white suit and a peaked cap. Li says that in Cameroon the coronation required governmental permission, which made it even more precious. After the announcement, a traditional dancer wearing a rainbow-coloured net that covered his face started jumping and stretching his hands, asking for air-blowing blessings from the two traditional rulers, the governor and the newly enthroned.
While Li attracted wide Chinese coverage as a young man receiving two chieftain titles in different countries – his Cameroonian coronation video gained 300,000 likes on Douyin – there was no trace of him on Cameroonian francophone websites. It seemed that awarding foreigners chieftain titles had always been controversial in Cameroon. Of the 24 Chinese awarded chieftaincy in West Africa, 21 received Nigerian titles but only two were given Cameroonian ones, which weren’t recognised by the locals. Last year, a Mr Long from a private Chinese company was reported on a Cameroonian francophone site as the first-ever third-grade chief in the country. Images of him wearing a golden-rimmed white robe and a turban – like the ruler of the area – went viral on Facebook. A local netizen was quoted as saying, “A Chinese will one day become the President of Cameroon. We wait for a quick cancellation of this imposture.”
*
Scholars often talk about “indirect rule” in colonial Africa. British Africanist Terence Ranger explained in his 1983 article “The Invention of Tradition” that since the British and African systems were so different, British administrators started to invent African traditions based on what they took to be traditional. “They set about to codify and promulgate these traditions,” Ranger wrote, “thereby transforming flexible custom into hard prescription.” The invented traditions were also used to redefine the stratified society in which Europeans commanded, and Africans acquiesced.
During Africa’s independence movements in the 1960s, leaders and intellectuals often believed chieftaincy was a distortion of traditional kinship by colonial governments and a remnant of colonial rule. Many countries, including Guinea and Tanzania, banned the traditional system. Those that kept it didn’t give it many functions. This might be partly why some Cameroonians raged against a foreign chief.
“Historical memories make them very sensitive when a foreigner gains a chieftain title,” Xu writes in the paper about Chinese chiefs. “It’s easy to cause worries about ‘neocolonialism’.”
But Xu believes Chinese chiefs don’t belong to the colonial narrative. “For one thing,” he writes, “the conferment decision is made by African chiefs instead of Chinese, which is fundamentally different from the chiefs appointed by the European colonialists. For another, the scrutiny from African people could influence the appointment and removal of foreign chiefs, holding them accountable.”
Despite being wary of foreign chiefs, since the 1990s, most Western African countries have witnessed a comeback of the chieftain system. According to Kate Baldwin, a Yale University professor who wrote The Paradox of Traditional Chiefs in Democratic Africa (2015), about 15 per cent of African countries protected chieftaincy in their constitutions when they gained independence. The figure rose to 24 per cent in 2010.
Nigeria was a case that stood out. The country might have been the most important testing ground for the British invention: using the emirs of ethnic Hausa-Fulani to dominate the Muslims in the northern states and creating “warrant chiefs” for the ethnic Igbo in southeastern states, who had no chieftaincy tradition. According to Xu, the colonial creation has often been deemed to be the root of political turbulence in Nigeria, but chieftaincy has thrived, playing a vital role in local development during the economic crises of the 1970s and 80s. Decades after independence, while Nigeria didn’t give any real power to the chiefs in the amended 1999 constitution, it also didn’t impose an outright ban on the system. Nowadays, chiefs are common in Igbo culture. Foreign chiefs are welcomed, though their titles often mean honour instead of power.
“In Awka town, there are two levels of chiefs,” says an ethnic Igbo chief, conferred by merit in the Awka community of the southeastern Anambra state. “There is a council of advisers. These are chiefs who represent each of the 33 villages in the Awka community. And honorary chiefs, conferred to those in Awka town who have contributed to the development of the town […] Foreign chiefs usually belong to the honorary chiefs’ class.”
For this reason, Nigerians didn’t care too much about the conferment. “It’s like getting an honorary degree,” says Vivian Chisom from Anambra, who works for CCECC in Lagos. “I don’t really care if Chinese people are getting titles. It’s ceremonial.”
Chisom doesn’t know any Chinese chiefs personally, but she has read about Li Manhu on social media. “He definitely does not have any power to decide anything in the community,” she says, adding that, as has not been unheard of, Li may have even bought the title.
Cheng Cheng, a Chinese factory owner in Nigeria, says it is easy to buy honorary titles, but whether the holders can settle problems depends on their abilities, regardless of the title. Li clarifies that he did not buy the title, while Hu shrugs off the suggestion, saying Chinese chiefs “offer contributions and receive thanks. The more thanks, the merrier”.
The Igbo chief doesn’t know of any Chinese buying titles and claims that the titles aren’t for sale to either citizens or foreigners, at least not in Awka. On the other hand, Samson Fashola, a Nigerian based in China, says, “This is an existing game not unique to Chinese. Our citizens also buy the titles.”
Back in 2007, the BBC reported how “Nigerians go crazy for a title”, and locals worried about the debasement of the honour.
“The granting of chieftaincy titles to foreign investors can trigger competition between different ethnic groups for state power and external development resources,” Xu writes in his paper. When the head chief decided to grant chieftaincy to Li, a local chief in the council refused. “He always found excuses to take good projects from our company,” Li says. “He was afraid he wouldn’t be able do it any more if I became a chief.” In the end, as the head chief was so determined, the local chief gave up arguing. Li started getting good projects.
Li returned to China in late 2020 during the Covid-19 pandemic. By that time he had been away from his family for three years and had contracted malaria multiple times. He also felt his potential was limited at a state company. He left CGCOC in 2021 and started looking for business opportunities in China.
Yet, Africa kept coming to mind. In July last year, he went to Cameroon to start a trading business. Then in late March, he returned to Nigeria. Though he didn’t live in the Cross River State, his chief status was still recognised. When he introduced himself to potential business partners and government officials, he would offer his ID card – which says Chief Li Manhu – and he says locals would show their respect.
“Goodbye,” he posted from Beijing Capital International Airport to his nearly 490,000 Douyin followers. “Although there are so many things I can’t let go here, I feel that my tribe needs me more.”