Many Lebanese are as indigenous to the country as other Nigerians, argues
BELLO BALA SHAGARI
Growing up, I was often puzzled by the sight of a fair-skinned, Middle Eastern–looking man speaking fluent Hausa. It was confusing at first, yet deeply fascinating. I wanted to understand how this came to be. My background exposed me early to such encounters. As a child, I spent time at the polo club, and my father himself a polo player had friends and associates who were Lebanese Nigerians. Many of them were also involved in horse racing and breeding, and in places like Sokoto, they were known to own some of the finest horses.
Beyond sports, these communities were and remain prominent in commerce. In cities such as Lagos, Kano, Kaduna, Jos, Ibadan, and Sokoto, Lebanese-owned supermarkets and restaurants are often among the best. I vividly remember the first time I ever ate a burger; it was at Amani Restaurant in Kaduna, owned by a Lebanese family, sometime in the 1990s when I was still a child. It was also there that I first encountered hookah, or shisha, long before it became mainstream.
With time, I gained clarity about this community of people who have fully integrated into Nigerian society—many of whom know no other home but Nigeria. Yet, this reality appears to unsettle some Nigerians. It is increasingly common to hear, especially among young people, complaints that the Lebanese community is “taking over” businesses.
This discomfort is precisely why I felt compelled to write this piece, to provide clarity about what is often misunderstood. The Lebanese in question are largely Nigerians. They may not be indigenous in the ancestral sense, but by legal implication, they are as Nigerian as any indigenous citizen. There is a widespread assumption that they are recent arrivals from Lebanon or elsewhere, but this is largely inaccurate. In fact, many of the older members of the community, those most likely to have migrated were themselves born and raised in Nigeria.
Historically, in the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, the lands that are today Lebanon, Palestine, and Israel formed part of the Ottoman Levant, commonly referred to as Greater Syria (Bilād al-Shām). Economic hardship and political instability during the late Ottoman period, followed by the aftermath of the First World War, triggered waves of migration from this region. Migrants broadly labeled as “Syrians” by colonial administrations arrived in West Africa. While they included people from various parts of the Middle East and North Africa, later estimates, particularly by the 1960s showed that the majority were Lebanese.
Some Lebanese migrants arrived in Lagos unintentionally, having initially hoped to travel onward to the Americas. Stranded and with limited options, they settled, built livelihoods, and gradually integrated into Nigeria’s social and economic fabric from the colonial period onward. Historical accounts suggest that Elias Khoury, from the village of Miziara in present-day Lebanon, was the first Lebanese immigrant to settle in Nigeria, arriving in Lagos in 1890.
Subsequent waves of Lebanese migration followed, driven largely by socioeconomic pressures in Lebanon. Over time, their impact on Nigerian society and the economy became evident. During Nigeria’s independence era, for example, Tinubu Square in Lagos was gifted to the Nigerian people by the Lebanese community. At various points in the country’s history, Lebanese individuals and families have also maintained close relationships with those in positions of power.
The Atrib family, for instance, were close friends of President Shehu Shagari as far back as the 1960s. More recently, many Nigerians unfamiliar with the Chagoury family assume they are outsiders, unaware that members of the family are Nigerians by birth. Ronald & Gilbert Ramez Chagoury, the prominent businessmen,despite their Lebanese heritage, they are Nigerians by every legal and practical definition and have strong ties with the Nigerian establishment for decades. And their relationship with Nigeria’s ruling elite dates back to the early years of Nigeria, it didn’t start under Abacha like people often say.
One particularly telling example of integration and confidence in the Nigerian system was the attempt by Abbas Hajaig, an engineer who contested unsuccessfully for a Senate seat in Jigawa State in 2007. His candidacy spoke volumes—not only about the ambition, discipline, and determination of Lebanese Nigerians, but also about the openness of Nigerian society that made such an attempt conceivable.
Recently, a video went viral of a Nigerian-born former Lebanese national team player, a woman, coaching a group of young footballers in Kano. The moment was striking, not because it was extraordinary, but because it demonstrated how deeply Lebanese Nigerians have become embedded in everyday Nigerian life. Integration, in this sense, is not theoretical; it is lived.
While this piece has focused largely on Lebanese Nigerians, they are not alone. There are Nigerians of other foreign ancestries who are equally rooted in the country. Worthy of mention is my “uncle,” Afaque Hashimi, whose Pakistani father left him in the care of my grandfather after he refused to return to Pakistan, insisting that Nigeria, not anywhere else was his home. Stories like this complicate rigid ideas of origin and belonging and remind us that nationality is often chosen as much as it is inherited.
One such contemporary example is my dear friend Mohammed Jammal, popularly known as one of the “white Nigerian,” who holds only a Nigerian passport. He is among the most enterprising young people in the country and represents a broader category of Nigerians whose belonging is unquestionable, even if their appearance invites curiosity.
Personally, I feel no animosity toward the Lebanese or any other community or their economic advancement. If anything, their success says more about indigenous Nigerians than it does about them. They are hardly competing for government jobs or public office. Instead, they have largely focused on developing the private sector, creating employment for ordinary Nigerians, and stimulating the economy through enterprise and investment.
Today, by most estimates, there are about 100,000 plus Lebanese Nigerians. In a country of over 200 million people, this is an insignificant number, hardly enough for anyone to feel threatened. Their prominence is therefore not a function of numbers, but of enterprise, cohesion, and persistence.
Many Lebanese Nigerians travel abroad for education or business, but Nigeria remains their home. And like every other community, they have their strengths, flaws, and internal contradictions, the good, the bad, and the ugly. The least we can do is acknowledge their contributions to Nigeria’s social and economic development and encourage a sense of comfort and belonging. This is the same courtesy Nigerians expect when they migrate elsewhere. They are entitled to the same opportunities, with all their benefits and burdens, just as they are equally subject to the laws.
Previous generations of Nigerians were notably generous and hospitable. Preserving that legacy is not only decent, it is honorable.
Shagari writes from Abuja
Belshagy@gmail.com
