ABEBI IBEH: The Nigerian Tech Goddess Redefining Power, Legacy, and What It Means to Belong
- Tashana Washington
- Jun 10
- 5 min read
She walks into the Ritz Carlton in Shenzhen like she owns the place — not because she wants to be noticed, but because ownership was always the goal. In a silk-trimmed jumpsuit and minimalist diamond studs, Abebi Ibeh, founder and global CEO of Alke Tech — Nigeria’s first trillion-naira AI and fintech firm — isn’t here to impress anyone. She’s here to deliver a keynote.
ABEBI IBEH: The Nigerian Tech Goddess Redefining Power, Legacy
The company’s name, Alke, is drawn from African mythology: a goddess of war and courage. Fitting, for a woman who has made a career out of defying the expected, rewriting rules, and disrupting every industry she touches.
And yet, what the room really wants to know is: What did you serve your husband for breakfast?
Abebi throws her head back in laughter — the kind that starts in the diaphragm and ends with a slow eye-roll.
“Imagine someone asking Bill Gates or Mark Zuckerberg what they served their wives for dinner,” she says. “It’s absurd. No one questions a man’s right to greatness. But somehow, a woman’s ambition must still be framed as either rebellion or sacrifice.”
Abebi Ibeh Discusses What It Means to Belong
Born in Lagos to a university professor father and a tailor mother, Abebi's name, derived from the Yoruba words abẹ (“we prayed for”) and bi (“to be born”), is more than symbolic. She was destined. The oldest of seven children, she was sharp-tongued and sharp-minded from the start.
“My mother would call me to the kitchen, and I’d say, ‘Daddy needs help preparing his lecture,’” she recalls. “My sisters were furious. But I knew — even then — that my life wasn’t meant to revolve around domesticity.”
Her instincts were prophetic.
With no Andela, no formal coding programs for African girls, Abebi taught herself to code by sneaking into computer science labs and absorbing knowledge from her mostly white male peers in college. She was often the only Black woman in the room — and the only one who could debug complex Java strings while prepping for an advanced macroeconomics exam.
Still, her rise was far from romantic.
“I stayed up all night in dorms with boys, building scripts, crashing systems, teaching myself how to break firewalls. Ibekwe never blinked.”
Her husband, Ibekwe Ibeh, a legal prodigy turned telecommunications giant, knew who he was marrying.
“She doesn’t need permission,” he says. “She needs bandwidth.”
The couple met during inter-house sports competitions in senior secondary school. She was president of the Science Club. He led the Debate Team. “There was no dating,” Abebi says. “You either made your intentions known to my father, or you had no access. Ibekwe was bold.”
He proposed days before she left for Cambridge — and she said yes.
“I was a coveted commodity,” she quips. “But sincerity is rare. And Ibekwe is sincere. He’s also confident enough to never fear my shine.”
That confidence has served them well.
Today, Abebi sits on the boards of the African Union Digital Strategy Council, World Economic Forum’s Tech Futures Committee, and Apple’s Global Ethics Panel. Alke Tech recently became the first African-led company to provide blockchain-integrated microloans across 38 African nations. She’s been dubbed the Sheryl Sandberg of the South, though her business model is arguably more daring.
“When I read Lean In, I admired it,” Abebi says. “But in Nigeria, you don’t lean in. You break in.”
Still, the questions about her womb persist. The obsession with legacy — male legacy — is a constant echo.
“Is it not expected,” I ask gingerly, “for a Nigerian woman to give her husband... legacy?”
She smiles without flinching.
“I am his legacy,” she answers coolly, “and he is mine.”
Legacy, in the world of Abebi Ibeh, is not just biological. It is ideological. It is about the systems you dismantle, the companies you build, the minds you free.
Her upcoming project? A coding institute for displaced African girls in Sudan, Ghana, and Mozambique.
“We talk about innovation as if it only lives in the West,” she says. “But African girls have been innovating with duct tape and candlelight for decades. I just want to give them the tools — and the Wi-Fi.”
She leans back, thoughtful now.
“I was never trying to revolutionize my husband’s ego. I was trying to revolutionize the world he and I would one day inherit together.”
And she is.
At just 38, Abebi Ibeh isn’t just a tech CEO—she’s a symbol. Of what it means to be fiercely feminine in an industry engineered to underestimate you. Of what it means to be African in a digital age that still tries to gatekeep success behind Western borders. Of what it means to be loved deeply—and not diminished—by the man who stands beside you.
And yet, for all her global acclaim, there remains something deeply grounded about her. She quotes her father often. She prays. She still wears coral beads to major speaking engagements as a nod to her Yoruba lineage. And when asked what advice she gives young girls who want to follow in her footsteps, her answer is both practical and poetic:
“Stop asking for seats at tables that weren’t built for you. Build your own table. Then decide who gets to eat.”
Her words feel less like ambition and more like prophecy—sharp-edged, unapologetic, and ringing with the clarity of someone who has made peace with both power and purpose.
As our time draws to a close, the team at the Ritz Carlton prepares for another keynote. The room swells with anticipation. A translator waits in the wings. A Chinese venture capitalist whispers to his assistant, points her out discreetly to an assistant.
Abebi isn’t fazed. She takes a slow sip of water, casually checking her phone. A message from Ibekwe appears:
“I’m watching. Always.”
She smiles—subtle, assured.
Then, just before she stands, I ask her about the bombshell announcement that sent the industry spinning just weeks ago: her decision to invest 35 million of her personal fortune into BlackBerry Talent Agency, joining forces with founder Beula Johnson in what’s now being called the most powerful black-women-led acquisition in entertainment history.
Abebi shrugs, almost playfully.
“I did it as a favor for a friend. It’s that simple.” She pauses. Then, the smirk creeps in. “But what I got in return? Co-ownership of a powerhouse in global Black talent.”
She sets the glass down and leans forward just slightly, the weight of her words landing without effort.
“From the daughter of a seamstress in Lagos to co-owning one of the most iconic symbols of Black glamour, ambition, and status? It just confirms what I’ve always known—”
She stands, the room beginning to stir behind her.
“I was made to shine.”
And just like that, she exits.
Not to prove anything. Not to explain herself. But because the world is already waiting for her next move.
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