Steven Levy - Facebook: The Inside Story

In the Plex

Crypto

The Perfect Thing

Insanely Great

Artificial Life

The Unicorns Secret

Hackers

H I, IM MARK!

The introduction is unnecessary. Mark Zuckerberg is one of the worlds most recognizable faces. Hes the CEO of Facebook, the worlds largest social networkthe worlds largest human network of any kind, everapproaching 2 billion members, more than half of whom log in every day. Its made him, in todays reckoning, the sixth-richest person in the world. And because he founded Facebook at such a tender agenineteen, in his Harvard dorm roomhe has become the go-to thumbnail in charts representing the mind-boggling opportunities that advanced technologies offer to even the young and obscure.

Hes beyond famous. And hes here.

In Lagos, Nigeria.

If there were any doubt who he is, this pleasant, brown-haired young man with a goofy smile and an apparent aversion to blinking is dressed exactly like... Mark Zuckerberg! The signature T-shirt that signifies geek proletariat but is actually a Brunello Cucinelli creation ($325 eachhes got a closet full of them, liberating him from having to make daily decisions on couture). Blue jeans and Nikes. Exactly what youd expect to see if Facebooks founder and CEO were to amble in. What is unusual is that no one expected him to walk into this room, in this city, in this country, on this continent.

The people in the sixth-floor loftlike studio of the Co-Creation Hub (CcHUB)young entrepreneurs striving to buck the enormous odds against building successful tech companies in Lagos, Nigeriahave been told only that an unnamed executive from Facebook would appear today, August 30, 2016, in advance of a Facebook-run boot camp event for tech start-ups. They had anticipated the mystery guest might be one of Zuckerbergs lieutenants, Ime Archibong, a North Carolinaraised son of Nigerian immigrants who had visited his heritage country previously. An appearance by Zuckerberg himself was too earth-shattering to contemplate.

Indeed, Facebook planned the trip with CIA-level stealth, largely because of security concerns, but also with an eye toward milking the surprise and delight his appearance would generate. Zuckerberg had never set foot on this continent, and a visit was overdue. Zuckerberg has flown in from Italy, where he and his wife attended the wedding of his friend Daniel Ek, the CEO of Spotify. After the Lake Como nuptials, he and his retinue spent a few days in Rome, meeting with the prime minister and the pope. Straight from the airport, he headed to the gritty Yaba neighborhood and CcHUB.

The Lagos start-up culture careens between an improbable optimism and a gallows humor regarding the monumental obstacles to success or even survival. But these were the people Zuckerberg wanted to meet: nerds with dreams. In the giant headquarters he built in Menlo Park, California, among the posters festooning the walls like a giant confetti blast of techno-propaganda were dozens that read BE THE NERD . So while other tech magnates devoted their initial African venture to philanthropic themes, Zuckerberg scheduled no time to hug undernourished infants in remote villages. Instead, he would meet the software strivers.

For a moment, the young tech entrepreneurs freeze in place, as if suspicious that they are viewing an apparition, or some sort of hoax. Then, convinced by the evidence of their senses, they cry out in a burst of joy and rush forward as one to converge around their famous visitor, pumping his hand, posing for Zuck selfies, and hurriedly blurting out elevator pitches.

Zuckerberg patiently interacts with them, maintaining his smile, looking each one in the eye, maybe holding the stare a bit too long. Hes clearly happy. These are my people, he says to me as we head down the steps to talk to more entrepreneurs.

Oh yes, I am trailing Mark Zuckerberg on this trip. It is the first reporting I am doing for a book about the rise of Facebook.

On the bottom floor, there is a program called Summer of Code, where youngsters ages five to thirteen are training on computers. He goes up to a pair of boys who are sharing a PC. They look to be around seven or eight years old. Can you tell me what youve built? he asks, bending down to their level so he is, as they are, looking up at a screen showing blinking dots purposefully moving in formation.

A game, says one.

Zuckerbergs eyes, which are wide at cruising level, open even farther, like the plastic oculi of a large stuffed animal: Thats what he was doing at that age!

Can you tell me how you built it? he asks.

After a few more technical consultations with the children (Can you show me the code?), hes off to the next stop on his agenda, a start-up that trains central African engineers to do technical labor for big corporations. Zuckerberg has helped fund the effort through his foundation, which he has designated to ultimately receive 99 percent of his Facebook shares. Business visitors in Lagos rarely travel by foot in neighborhoods like Yaba, but Zuckerberg wants to walk through the streets. The sidewalks are aspirational, the dirt and concrete rutted with potholes and dotted with puddles. Cars and motorbikes buzz by. The pace is quick, to zip by the people in the shanties and storefronts before they realize whats happening. One kid manages to scoot ahead of the group to shoot a selfie. Zuckerberg seems oblivious, chatting with Archibong as he heads his retinue.