A Glimpse into the Wild World of Agberos
A Glimpse into the Wild World of Agberos
A close ally of a powerful agbero—one of Lagos’ notorious street tycoons—once confided in me about the bizarre culture of competition that exists among the city’s ultra-wealthy motor park lords. According to him, their love for education is not driven by any belief in its power to enlighten or empower. No. They send their children to the most prestigious private schools in Lagos simply because school choice has become a bragging right—a social currency in their closed circles.
“When we gather,” he said, “either at functions, inside the NURTW secretariat, or chilling at one of our houses, the competition is no longer about cars or houses. That’s old school. Now, we measure status with three things: what school your children attend, which politician personally calls your phone to request ‘help’, and which Nollywood actresses you’ve slept with.”
Yes, you heard that right.
He recounted one particularly wild afternoon at the mansion of one of their senior colleagues—a well-feared and respected godfather in the agbero kingdom. They were lounging in his living room, watching a Yorùbá movie on Africa Magic, and sipping Hennessy, when the usual banter began. Brags flew around like fireworks: one mentioned his son attends the best school in Lekki, another boasted that a senator calls him directly, while someone else claimed he had once dated a popular actress but was turned down by how awful she smelled.
But then the boss, clearly unimpressed and seeking to shut them all up, dropped a bombshell.
He turned to the television, pointed at the screen where the movie was playing, and asked, “How many of these actresses have you slept with?”
The room fell silent.
Out of the five agberos in the room, only one meekly admitted to having been intimate with one actress in the movie. Let’s not mention the actress but she is popular and has tattoo on her body.
However the boss, with a sly grin, counted out five actresses on screen—married, single, older, younger—he had allegedly slept with. His claim wasn’t met with disbelief but awe, because every man there knew at least one of the women from a time she had been involved with him.
They hailed. They called him “Chairman of Chairmen.” From that day on, the other men made it a mission to pursue Nollywood actresses—not for love or lust, but to climb the social ladder of bedroom conquest. It is now characteristic of Agberos, even in Ibadan and other places to watch Yorùbá movies and rather than analyze the movie, they begin to analyze actresses in the movie, how their boss invited her to Ibadan to sleep with her. How she lied to her husband and how she likes it rough.
The confidant who told me the story said he would never forget the words that sealed the moment. The boss, still basking in admiration, turned to the room and declared, “If I, with no education, can achieve all this—wealth, respect, and sleep with any fine woman I want—then I don’t see the value in all that book nonsense my kids are always chasing.”
To him, education was not a means to personal growth or community advancement—it was just another way to win the rat race of egos. The confidant also said he has managed to have intimacy with a Yorùbá actress in Abeokuta when she went to location for movie shoot.
This, ladies and gentlemen, is the hidden decadence behind motor park empire in most south west. What can we call this?