
Cheers to 2025
Every New Year holds promise, as though it is any different from the turn of
“What makes Connectologists different is not noise, status, or outward performance. In fact, many of them look completely ordinary. They are not always the loudest in the room, the richest at the table, or the most decorated on paper. Yet they carry an invisible force.”
In over twenty years of corporate life, I have knowingly met only a handful of people I would call Connectologists. Looking back, I realise I stumbled upon them long before I had a name for what they were. At the time, I did not fully understand the influence they wielded or the scale of the networks they were quietly building. I only knew that certain people had an unusual gift: doors seemed to open around them, people trusted them, opportunities moved through them, and value flowed wherever they showed up.
After some research, I have come to think of a Connectologist as a person who instinctively builds meaningful, value-creating relationships across people, institutions, and opportunities. It is not yet a formal dictionary term, but it sits naturally beside established ideas such as the connector, the superconnector, and the builder of bridging social capital—the rare person who links people across circles, industries, and interests in ways that create trust, recognition, and development. In simple language, a Connectologist is a regular human being with a social superpower.

What makes Connectologists different is not noise, status, or outward performance. In fact, many of them look completely ordinary. They are not always the loudest in the room, the richest at the table, or the most decorated on paper. Yet they carry an invisible force. They bring people together with uncommon ease. They connect people to value. They build goodwill without keeping score. Many times, they do this without asking for anything in return, and certainly without calculating every connection in monetary terms. Their worth is often measured by the strength, reach, and trustworthiness of the network they build almost effortlessly.
This is why they matter to everyone. If you can identify a true Connectologist in your life, you are looking at someone who can shorten your learning curve, expand your field of possibility, and quietly introduce you to people, ideas, and institutions that would otherwise remain outside your reach. In a world where many people network transactionally, Connectologists operate relationally. They are bridges. They transfer value. They preserve contact across years. They are remembered warmly by the people they help. More than that, they remind us that influence is not always domination; often, it is generous connection.

That is also why they are so difficult to imitate. One may copy their visible habits—replying to messages, checking in, remembering names, making introductions, following through—but still fail to reproduce their results. There is something deeper at work: instinct, emotional intelligence, generosity, timing, credibility, memory, empathy, and the rare ability to hold many human threads without dropping them. A Connectologist is not merely performing networking rituals; he is embodying a way of being. That is why imitation usually produces technique, while the real person produces transformation.
The first Connectologist I encountered was Lanre Olufowobi, now Kamil Olufowobi.

I met him when I was a teenager and we were colleagues at Mayflower Secondary School, Ikenne, where, without knowing it, many of us were already sharpening our social instincts. Even then, Kamil stood out. He had strong social ease, a hearty laugh—the kind that makes you laugh along whether or not you planned to—and the rare ability to gather people into a room almost as naturally as rain drives those outside indoors. Some people have presence; he had pull.
When I met him again more than a decade later, that natural gift had evolved into something larger and more deliberate. Publicly available information now presents Kamil Olufowobi as the founder and CEO behind the Most Influential 100 Company and as a global-minded network builder with education in Global Affairs from Rutgers University. Through MIPAD—Most Influential People of African Descent—he has helped build a global recognition platform aligned with the United Nations’ International Decade for People of African Descent, whose theme is recognition, justice and development. That is no small achievement. It means the instinct of a teenage social magnet matured into institution-building: a network not merely of friends, but of influence, visibility, and excellence. MIPAD’s continued role in recognising high achievers of African descent around the world suggests that Kamil has fared well indeed, turning personal connective ability into a project of global significance.
The next Connectologist is Adedayo Aluko.

I met Dayo on the very first day of our SMP 69 Executive Management Programme at Lagos Business School. It was one of those memorable first encounters that stays with you because of how oddly unplanned it felt. We were both dressed almost out of place—in jeans and shirts with the sleeves folded—at a corporate training where many others arrived in beautiful suits and tightly knotted ties. It was a small detail, but it made the moment human. And perhaps that is how genuine connections often begin: not with performance, but with ease.
A short note about Lagos Business School is important here. LBS, the graduate business school of Pan-Atlantic University, has built a strong reputation as one of Africa’s most respected business schools, known for executive education, ethical leadership, and a powerful alumni network. That setting matters, because institutions like LBS often reveal people as much as they refine them.
Dayo is warm, understated, and disarmingly unassuming. Yet with him, the gift is unmistakable. He does not announce influence; he simply exercises it. If you need a door opened, a conversation started, a deal advanced, or an introduction made to an organisation, an industry leader, or even a politician, Dayo often seems to know the human bridge. What makes it remarkable is the ease. He makes connecting people look normal, almost casual, when in truth it is a rare ability. Publicly available information describes him as a Governance, Risk, and Compliance professional with experience across anti-money laundering, sanctions, and financial crime prevention in both Nigeria and the United Kingdom, including work with institutions such as Evelyn Partners, Starling Bank, and Canara Bank UK. He is also the author of Clean Hands, Bright Future: A Youth Guide to Avoiding Financial Crime in Africa, a fitting extension of a life that appears committed not only to professional competence, but to public value.
For me, the most endearing part of Dayo’s gift is that it is carried with empathy. He does his bit with love. That is the contradiction many copycats cannot resolve. They can mimic the form of connection, but not the spirit. Dayo keeps in touch with people in a way that feels sincere, not strategic. He is selfless at it. And that, perhaps, is the clearest sign of a true Connectologist: the person is not merely building a network; he is building people, trust, and possibility.
If Part One has a simple lesson, it is this: when you meet a Connectologist, pay attention. Do not dismiss them as merely sociable. Do not mistake warmth for lightness. Beneath that ease may sit one of the most consequential human gifts in professional life—the ability to join people to value, and to do so with such grace that the world barely notices the architecture being built.
References


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The Whitechapel murders remain unsolved, but their history still teaches us about criminal profiling, media panic, inequality and the stories we choose to remember.

I once spent an entire Saturday preparing to write a business plan. I did not

What the Dancing Plague of 1518 still has to teach a city like Lagos A

There is a particular kind of madness that visits a man stuck in traffic on the Third Mainland Bridge at half past six in the evening. I remember one such evening clearly. The cars were not moving. The okada men had long given up weaving between them and were now just leaning on their bikes, chatting. And somewhere between Adeniji and Oworonshoki, my mind decided to open a courtroom.

I once sat in a gathering of otherwise reasonable, educated Nigerians, the kind of room where everyone has an opinion and every opinion is delivered with total conviction, and listened to a full hour of righteous fury about the state of the country. The politicians were thieves. The system was broken. Nobody in government cared about the common man. Heads nodded. Glasses were raised. It was, by every measure, an excellent vilification session, and I nodded along with the rest of them, because every word of it was true.

I remember scrolling through one of those glossy “Forbes 30 Under 30” style lists one quiet night, the kind of night when you are not really looking for trouble but find it anyway. Photograph after photograph of confident young faces, each caption more impressive than the last. Founded a company at twenty two. Sold it at twenty six. Sat on a panel by twenty eight.

There is a statistic that should discourage any lion from ever hunting again. Three out of every four times a lion charges after prey, it fails. Twenty five percent success. Seventy five percent waste. If a man ran a business on those numbers, his accountant would resign quietly, his investors would call an emergency meeting, and his mother would move from praying for his success to praying for his sense.

There is a woman I know, call her Adaeze, who loves her husband the way a well-tended fire loves the wood it is given: completely, warmly, without……

A message arrives from someone you have not spoken to in years. A parent needs surgery. An account number is attached, and a photograph of a hospital bill that may or may not be real. You have just been paid. Not much is left after rent and the small emergencies that always find a way to arrive before the salary does. You send something anyway. You do not ask why the message found you specifically, out of everyone this person knows.

I ran into a post on social media a few days ago. Someone had turned Animal Farm into a slideshow, cartoon pigs in suits, captions lifted straight from the book, the whole thing dressed up for a scrolling audience. It stopped me mid scroll, the way certain things from your teenage years do when they show up uninvited in your adult timeline.

In Part One, we established something that the available evidence handles quite comfortably: the female is not the weaker version

Her name was Nkechi. She was thirty-one years old, and she was dying — at least, that is what the doctors privately believed.

It was the spring of 1900. A group of Greek sponge divers, blown off course by a fierce Mediterranean storm, dropped anchor near the small island of Antikythera — a barren, wind-battered speck of land sitting between Crete and the Greek mainland. They were looking for shelter. What they found instead would take another century for the world to begin to understand.
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1 thought on “Connectologists, the Quiet Architects of Influence”
From the first time the word “Connectologist” appeared in this write-up, Olufowobi kept coming to mind. By the time his name was.mentioned and seeing his face, a smile did lit up my face. Thanks for this, I really enjoyed it.