Here’s a question for every Nigerian football fan. What’s the most remarkable thing about last Sunday’s AFCON final match between Nigeria’s Super Eagles and the Ivorian Elephants?
A good number, I suspect, would say the fact that the Nigerian team appeared lackluster, as if oblivious of the fact they were starring in the tournament’s grand finale.
I, on the other hand, have a simple, if quirky, answer: I escaped with my life. It was no easy feat.
After all, we can’t forget that at least five Nigerians died whilst watching the semi-final game between the Eagles and South Africa’s Bafana Bafana. Among the casualties were a former member of the National Assembly, Cairo Ojougboh, an Abidjan-based businessman, Osondu Nwoye, and a senior administrative staff at Kwara State University. And that’s the confirmed toll. I won’t be surprised if there were other deaths, likely of fans too faceless to make it into news headlines.
For me, death occasioned by (Nigerian) football hits close to home. An uncle—my father’s youngest brother—died some twenty years ago during another Eagles game. There are eerie parallels between last week’s game and the one that claimed my uncle’s life. In that other game, Nigeria scored first. Then their opponents equalized. In the dying minutes, the other team netted a winning goal. My uncle’s heart proved too fragile to withstand the anguish of the Eagles’ collapse. His wife found him slumped on a couch, his heart irrevocably broken by a team he adored. On the TV, indifferent to my uncle’s sudden demise, the victorious players pranced, danced, and punched the air.
Following that dark event, I adopted a defensive strategy whenever I watch a football game or any other competitive sports. The instant my heart begins to pound, my head aches, or I sense myself unsettled, I walk away. Simple as that.
That’s exactly what I did last Sunday. As I sat down to watch the Nigeria vs. Cote d’Ivoire match, I was convinced that the Elephants would dominate the Eagles. After all, the Ivorian team had the Cinderella mystique on their side. In the tourney’s qualifying rounds, they had avoided elimination by the proverbial skin of their teeth. Having tasted adversity, they seemed to me more poised to rise to the occasion.
There was more. They were the host team, able to count on a packed stadium of ecstatic fans to fuel them. The same heady fans, with the sheer roar of their pooled voices, could rattle any opposing team.
Having made these sober calculations, I made peace in my head with the idea that Nigeria would be end up as the championship’s second best. When I shared my prediction with a Nigerian friend, he responded with typical (Nigerian) hubris: “Naija no dey carry last.” In a lighthearted riposte, I said, “carrying second no be last!”
While I mentally primed myself to deal with defeat, I expected the Eagles to put up one heck of an effort. I fully expected them to make it a fight, not a surrender. I was willing to bet that they would exude pride in their game, if only to make their opponents and spectators realize that there’s a reason for the word “super” that modifies their species of Eagles.
Was I mistaken! From the outset, the Nigerian side played as if they didn’t know the meaning of the word “team.” They were like a bunch of freelancers doing their individual thing; they just happened to wear the same uniform. They were outhustled, outclassed, outworked by the Ivorians.
The eagle should have the bragging rights when it comes to nimbleness of movement. To my surprise, the elephant had a lock on finesse. You’d expect the elephant to depend on brute force. Instead, the Ivorians orchestrated a spellbinding, symphonic style of play. They owned the better playbook. And it showed in their dominance of the game.
Nigeria is a nation (sorry, country) of talented people who never manage to find a way to synergize greatness. We are allergic to plans. And we make it up—often badly—as we go. Anybody who watched the game saw this Nigerian ethos on display. As Africa and the world watched, our best gave a mediocre account of themselves—and of the rest of us.
Even though the match was decidedly one-sided, I steeled myself to watch the first half of it. When Nigeria scored the first goal, I knew it was something of a fluke. Even so, I dared to hope that they would hold on and run away with victory. Within a few minutes of the second half, it dawned on me that mine was a tall dream. I could not bear watching what appeared destined to be the crushing of my hope. I didn’t want to be a nerve-wracked witness as Nigeria did what Chinua Achebe described as its wont: snatching defeat from the jaws of victory!
The Eagles did not fail Nigerians; they mirrored and mimicked Nigeria. They held up a mirror to our faces, enabling us to see an essential feature of our national character. There’s a perplexing paradox about Nigeria. The country has produced men and women of great accomplishment and global stature in just about every sector: academia, medicine, literature, finance, engineering, music, law, and so on. Yet, we remain woeful failures at solving the most basic problems of nation-building.
Yes, rather than watch the second half of Nigeria’s match against Cote d’Ivoire, I turned off the TV and picked up a book. I was desperate to stay alive. I wanted to live, if only to tell this story, and to fight another day. I couldn’t risk meeting the same fate as my uncle. I didn’t want to die watching Nigeria fall short in a peculiarly desultory, dispiriting, Nigerian sort of way.
Yes, I survived. It’s a miracle that we survived—all of us who managed to stay alive last Sunday.
"....rather than watch the second half of Nigeria’s match against Cote d’Ivoire, I turned off the TV and picked up a book. I was desperate to stay alive".
So sensible of you to switch off the idiot box and find a book to read Prof. This is what separates you from 99.9% other Nigerians. They don't read.
Reading culture struggled to stay alive in the 90s, finally died in the early 2000s and is effectively buried today. Which is just how Nigeria's rulers want it.
Northern Nigeria is the way it is because of stark illiteracy. They only read the Koran if they read anything at all. Now the south, famously known for its writers, artists, scientists, who are making waves around the world, is now becoming a lot like the north: full of youths who can mouth off every line in the lyrics of musicians like Davido, Wizzkid, but when asked who Nigeria's first president is, they exhibit cluelessness. Same stupid youths who do not know Lagos used to be Nigeria's capital. Which is why snake oil salesmen like Tinubu can tell them that he built Lagos and their feeble mind would readily believe him.