The Formidable Life And Death Of Tribert Rujugiro Ayabatwa, The Charitable Tycoon
The story of the Rwandan industrialist who died on Tuesday at 83 is a textbook example of success against all odds, but like any such story it comes with its own wisps of shadow.
He never made it onto the very select Forbes’ list of Africa’s richest men, but with a fortune estimated at $200-280 million, Tribert Rujugiro Ayabatwa was rich enough to come under the radar of the American business magazine.
Understandably, unlike the Nigerian cement magnate, Aliko Dangote whose name rings with a great deal of familiarity across the continent, Tribert—except to his business and political rivals—was a tycoon of a relatively quieter reputation.
But who exactly was this Rwandan businessman who died on Tuesday at the age of 83? How did he acquire his wealth, and why is it that he died in exile, far from his beloved Rwanda?
A Rather Tough Start
In Rwanda’s Southern Province at a 100 km from the capital Kigali, the traveller heading to neighbouring Burundi comes upon a town of about 400 thousands inhabitants. Nyanza is the name of this small town.
In the Country of the Thousand Hills, with its stunning sceneries of volcanoes, mountains, and lush greenery, one might expect there to be no dearth of natural beauty in Nyanza. But the indisputable charm of the town is more cultural and historical than dramatic.
Nyanza was once the heart of the Rwandan Kingdom. The visitor would still find there the reconstructed traditional residence of the king. The palace is a throwback to the country's past, and to one man’s childhood: Yes, Nyanza is where Tribert Rujugiro Ayabatwa was born in 1941.
In Tribert’s own account, his family lived in the vicinity of the king’s Palace. The monarch—King Mutara III Rudahigwa—loved children. And Tribert was among the swarm of urchins he would invite to the palace for his own entertainment.
And it was at the King’s Palace that the young man at the time would be introduced to the cultural importance of the cow in Rwandan society.
As he later mused, in the Rwanda of his childhood, cows were not reared for their meat or as a commodity. “Cattle in our society were part of our lives symbolising gratitude, beauty, happiness and blessing.”
Several decades later, Tribert would honour tradition by taking up cattle farming, a return to the roots that represented a lot more than what had kept him busy most of his active life: building and running a successful business conglomerate.
Back in Nyanza, Tribert's parents dwelled in close proximity to royalty, yet their own existence was far from comfortable. Sure, they were not destitute. But poverty was a constant shadow. And whatever the actual circumstances of young Rujugiro, they were contributing factors to why he had but little formal education.
With only an eighth-grade level, the future tycoon grasped a crucial truth: social mobility through fancy degrees was a path forever out of reach.
Embracing practicality, Tribert launched his professional life early in Burundi, taking a clerk and typist position at the Post Office.
His strong work ethic quickly earned him the admiration of his managers, who entrusted him with training new recruits. This, along with the discipline of learning French as a second language, honed the skills that would later prove invaluable to him as a business leader.
Three years at the Post Office equipped him with discipline and a foundation in French. His next move, a petroleum storage company, marked the beginning of his journey towards independence. Here, he began saving for his future ventures.
Success as his own boss in the transportation industry soon followed. But his entrepreneurial spirit wasn't without its stumbles. Forays into bakery and gold trading exposed Tribert's lack of experience, proving to be his first significant setbacks. But what he learned from these setbacks would set him up for his next chapter.
“When I took the first step, I was driven by getting out of poverty and building up something which will not only help me and my family, but also the communities around me.”
—Tribert Rujugiro
The Philanthropic Industrialist
In January 2013, Tribert Rujugiro was obviously a very different man from the post office clerk who once dazzled his supervisors at the start of his uncertain journey into active life.
He was now 72 and had dedicated 52 years of his life to the pursuit of his passion, and had something to show for it—the Pan African Tobacco Group (PTG).
“I am very proud of what I’ve accomplished over the last five decades,” he said in a statement released by the PTG, announcing his son Paul Nkwaya as his successor in the day-to-day running of his business empire.
“I worked extremely hard to create jobs and opportunities for Africa, and have no doubt that my sons and son-in-law will lead my companies successfully into the future.”
This sure sounded like a brag, but as Paul Nkwaya and his younger brother Richard Rujugiro knew it, it was in fact an understatement.
The PTG, by 2013, already operated in 10 countries and traded in 27 others in Africa and the Middle East, generating annual revenues of more than $250 million. Altogether with his six other companies, Rujugiro provided jobs for over 26,000 people.
And as he was proud to clarify, his direct employees support at least 182,000 family members, assuming that in Sub-Saharan Africa, a salary is the source of income for at least seven dependents.
“When I took the first step,” Rujugiro wrote, “I was driven by getting out of poverty and building up something which will not only help me and my family, but also the communities around me.”
And he did create something.
Beyond those many jobs, Tribert could be proud of the sheer scale of his business operations. His companies manufacture cement, tea, plastic shoes, beer, snack foods and cigarettes. And they do so from South Africa and the United Arab Emirates to Angola and Tanzania.
In these countries, Rujugiro was deliberate about playing the role of key stakeholder in wealth-creation “through agro-production, manufacturing, local sales and exports”, which generated an inflow of foreign currency for the host countries.
That, of course, is a remarkable legacy for one man. But Rujugiro's vision and business acumen also made him a formidable competitor to international tobacco giants like Altria and British American Tobacco—a rare feat for an African entrepreneur.
Rujugiro’s story was no mere rags-to-riches story. As Forbes noted, he was a multi-millionaire who built Africa's largest tobacco company. Yet, despite his success, he maintained a relatively low-profile reputation.
Now, what would a man, who accomplished so much in business, do when he decides to retire?
“One thing is for sure,” the businessman wrote at the time of the corporate hand-over. “I will not sit on the couch bored and wondering what to do in my retirement. There are plenty of options out there.”
Sure, there are.
From Rockefeller to Gates, there has been something of a reliable playbook for wealthy entrepreneurs who are stepping away from the day-to-day operations of their commercial ventures—and that’s the business of giving back, the charitable playbook.
Plans were already well advanced for setting up the Tribert Rujugiro Ayabatwa Foundation (TRA) when he stepped down, and the organisation has now been fully operational for the last 14 years.
Now, what problem does it solve?
The businessman envisioned a charity that would focus on helping those closest to his heart: African youth with drive and determination, seeking opportunities to gain skills for improved employability.
Since its launch, the TRA Foundation has carried out philanthropic work in the countries where Rujugiro's companies operate.
In Uganda, for example, it funded internships to provide young people with practical skills to enhance their employability. These internships are administered through a dozen educational institutions, including the country's leading university, Makerere.
To some extent, the foundation was Rujugiro's indirect way of addressing his own limited educational opportunities—he (as we know) was unable to continue his studies past the 8th grade. Now, he wanted to ensure better prospects for African students with great potential but limited resources.
Beyond the internship programme, the foundation also awarded scholarships to high-achieving students who lacked the means to continue their education.
Meanwhile, the tycoon (as mentioned earlier) found another way to reconnect with his rural roots: a fascination with cattle farming, a pursuit that puzzled some of his corporate-minded friends, prompting him to explain his motivations.
So, is that all there is to the story of Tribert Rujugiro Ayabatwa, who died on Tuesday at the age of 83?
Unfortunately, no. Despite his immense success building a business empire across Africa, the tycoon was barred from setting foot in the country of his birth.
And perhaps one of the biggest unresolved chapters of his life is that he had to die in exile, far from his native Nyanza—far from that reconstructed palace of the King.
So, what happened?
From Friend To Foe
There is a timeless truth about success—it often attracts criticism, much of it legitimate.
Take the example of John D. Rockefeller, whose rivals would have loved to “hang him from a sour apple tree.” Rockefeller understood that his monopolistic tactics, predatory pricing, and railroad rebates were harming competitors and consumers alike.
The same principle applies, whether one is as ruthless as Rockefeller or not—criticism and scrutiny come with the territory when one has found a way to amass great wealth. Tribert Rujugiro Ayabatwa was no exception.
To some extent, criticism of the tobacco industry is a low-hanging fruit. As the mandatory warning labels state, "smoking kills."
Ironically, however, the adversity targeted at Rujugiro had little to do with the primary product of his trade. And more than anywhere else, this adversity was coming from his own home country—Rwanda.
A leading Rwandan newspaper once accused their fellow countryman of being anything but the philanthropist he was made out to be. The columnist alleged that Rujugiro had amassed his fortune by cozying up to corrupt political elites in Burundi, profiting from stifling competition while evading taxes.
Rujugiro was certainly alluding to this type of scathing criticism when he lamented that his family, his businesses, and his very person had been subjected to "relentless defamation and harassment" over the years, much of it emanating from state-controlled media in Rwanda, the country of his birth.
“Having endured for many years this proliferation of false information about me," Rujugiro announced at one point, "I was eventually forced to take action."
Regardless of the merits of these accusations, one thing is clear: Rwandan columnists seemed to take issue with Rujugiro's business practices only after he had left the country and gone into exile in 2010. But what led to his exile in the first place?
There is no simple answer, but Rujugiro's exile fits a clear pattern—that of Rwandan VIPs, both political and corporate, who have fallen out of favour with President Paul Kagame after years of close proximity to the leader who rose to power in the wake of the 1994 Tutsi genocide.
Rujugiro had served as an economic advisor to Kagame and was once a financier of the ruling Rwandan Patriotic Front party. But the two men eventually had their disagreements, prompting Rujugiro's departure for South Africa.
Like other prominent Rwandan exiles, the businessman would soon be accused of plotting to overthrow Kagame's regime by financing rebel groups. But the allegations didn't stop there. Rwandan authorities also charged Rujugiro with tax evasion and other economic crimes, which he consistently denied.
And as if exile itself was not punishment enough, Rwanda's Commissions of Abandoned Properties moved to seize the properties Tribert had left behind when he fled the country, prompting a legal battle that would involve regional jurisdictions.
The confiscation of his assets inevitably led some critics of the Kagame regime to wonder whether that was the endgame all along.
In a country where such Commissions of Abandoned Properties operate in full force, could there be any other outcome for a long-term political exile like Rujugiro besides expropriation?
Regardless, Tribert Rujugiro Ayabatwa is now gone, his troubles with the authorities of his homeland finally over. What remains is his legacy. So, on balance—when all is said and done—would he be remembered as a saint or a villain?
“I am not a saint,” the great Nelson Mandela once said, “unless you think of a saint as a sinner who keeps on trying.”
To operate a business on any grand scale is to risk doing wrong from time to time. And considering the long list of prominent Rwandans who have only become “villains” after falling out of favour with Kagame, it's tempting to view Tribert Rujugiro Ayabatwa as a mere “sinner who kept on trying.”
However, the many young people in Uganda and elsewhere who were uplifted by the work of his TRA Foundation would likely remember him quite differently—in fact, with a great deal of fondness.