Until 1990, there was a tendency to patronize African football. But then, in the opening game of the World Cup in Italy, Cameroon beat Argentina, going on to reach the quarter final, where they were only seven minutes from eliminating England. From then on, the perspective changed and African football began to be taken seriously.
At the next two World Cups, Nigeria took on the baton, reaching the last 16 in 1994 and the quarter final in 1998. It won a gold medal at the 1996 Olympic Games football tournament. It was assumed that Nigeria’s Super Eagles would become the great force of the African game—and perhaps even the world game.
But since then, they haven’t made it out of the group stages. In 2006, they failed to even qualify for the World Cup.
The story of Nigerian football is, in a sense, the story of Africa: full of promise, but at the same time, it suffers from catastrophic mismanagement, bad luck and a legacy of conflict. It’s a country with immense natural resources, a steadily growing economy and the continent’s largest population—currently around 70 million, which means about one in every six Africans is a Nigerian. It should in many ways be one of Africa’s big success stories. But ethnic and religious divides have increasingly hindered progress, as has the fact that, for the most part, the traditional powers in Europe have benefitted most from the country’s abundant natural resources.
Its love of football is obvious. And yet, after winning the Cup of Nations in 1994, it would be another 19 years before it won another senior title, when Stephen Keshi led a functional but unspectacular side to the Cup of Nations in South Africa.
Nigeria should have been able to defend its Cup of Nations crown in South Africa in 1996, and the venue certainly felt appropriate. But Nigeria’s president at the time, the military dictator Sani Abacha, withdrew the side the last moment, after the South African government criticized him for the execution of the dissident writer and activist Ken Saro-Wiwa. Annoyed by their late withdrawal, which meant that the 1996 Cup of Nations went ahead with 15 rather than 16 teams, the Confederation of African Football banned Nigeria from the 1998 competition. The great Nigeria side of Sunday Oliseh, Jay-Jay Okocha and Daniel Amokachi missed out on two tournaments for which it would have been hot favorites. Politics remained a hindrance.
Bad Luck, Impatience and Tribal Loyalties
In 2000, it was bad luck that undid Nigeria—bad luck and the pressure of one of the most demanding publics in the world game. They co-hosted that Cup of Nations with Ghana and reached the final, played on home soil in Lagos. There they came back from 2-0 to draw with Cameroon, only to lose in the penalty shoot-out. Even worse,
television replays clearly showed that Victor Ikpeba’s kick, which hit the bar and was deemed not to have gone in by the Tunisian referee Mourad Daami, had actually crossed the line (in fairness to Daami, it should be noted that Ikpeba’s reaction indicated that he didn’t think the ball had gone in). Fans responded by rioting, with players trapped in the stadium for hours after the game. This showed that playing football for Nigeria means working under intense pressure with the constant threat of violence.
In 2002, Nigeria finished third at the Cup of Nations, having lost the semi-final in extra time to the Senegal team of El-Hadji Diouf, Salif Diao and Khalilou Fadiga. The coach, Shaibu Amodu, who had led Nigeria to World Cup qualification, was promptly sacked. This is another persistent problem for Nigeria. Football is not a sport noted for long-term planning, but Nigeria always seems far more impatient than most. Again, the trait seems reflective of deeper issues within Nigerian society.
The Nigerian press in action is an extraordinary sight: the expectation of victory that many national sides have is, for Nigeria, fueled by tribal loyalties, with some journalists overtly promoting what they see as “their” players. Nowhere was that more damaging than at the Cup of Nations in Egypt in 2006. Kanu, not quite 30 but playing like a man far older, had been highly effective when brought off the bench late in games. A number of journalists felt he should have been started and, as the pressure mounted, the coach, Augustine Eguavoen, eventually cracked, and fielded him from the start against Ivory Coast in the semi-final. Kanu found himself up against two holding midfielders in Yaya Toure and Didier Zokora and barely got a kick, his inclusion a tactical error forced by the media.
Eguavoen was replaced by the former Germany coach Berti Vogts, a man who demonstrated no obvious understanding of Nigeria or Nigerian football and little inclination to learn. There was little on his CV to recommend him for the job, but he was appointed largely, it seemed, because he was European. The tendency to turn to Europeans is common in west Africa, less because of the legacy of colonialism than for the economic opportunities it affords officials in the football federation. “A European demands a higher salary,” a former functionary at the Cameroonian football federation once explained to me, “and expects to be paid on time. So there is more money flowing through the system and more that can be siphoned off. Everybody benefits.” Apart from, of course, whoever is providing the funds and the national football team. Under Vogts, Nigeria was awful and lost to Ghana in the quarter final of the 2008 Cup of Nations with barely a whimper. The Swede Lars Lagerback didn’t fare much better after being parachuted in for the World Cup in 2010, at which Nigeria were eliminated at the group stage.
Keshi’s Struggle
The Cameroonian official’s words hint at another issue: money, and officialdom in general. After winning the Cup of Nations and breaking the 19-year drought, you might expect Keshi to be feted, but instead he has suffered months of politicking behind the scenes. He even offered his resignation after victory in the final, calling the Nigerian Football Federation’s bluff. That kept him in the job, but he went seven months last year without being paid, with the NFF insisting it had run out of money. When a settlement was reached, it was only thanks to government intervention.
The influence of the sports ministry, though, is of dubious benefit. After the 2010 World Cup exit, the Nigerian president, Goodluck Jonathan, suspended the national team from all official competitions pending an investigation into what had gone wrong, ham-fisted political meddling that almost earned a ban from FIFA, and only increased the already barely tolerable pressure on the national team. In 2012, they failed even to qualify for the Cup of Nations, a staggering humiliation.
Success in South Africa had done little to clear Keshi’s path. Nigeria performed moderately well at the Confederations Cup last year, hammering Tahiti and losing narrowly to Uruguay and Spain. Realistically, given this squad of players—which is far less talented than the generation of the 1990s—played well and in many ways lived up to expectations. But Keshi was heavily criticized, with rumors that the NFF has attempted to influence squad selection. Keshi has resistedso far, but the fact he has had to face such interference despite his considerable success demonstrates just how endemic these kinds of power struggles are for Nigerian football.
Why is it that so many people want a say? It may be benign, of course, and many may feel they genuinely can help. But it could also be, given the value of a player selected for a World Cup squad will increase, that there are financial motives. Historically at least, Nigerian football has been undermined by the number of people who have exploited it for personal profit.
Nigerian football has underachieved for reasons that are all too familiar. It has suffered at the hands of corrupt and meddling politicians and officials. It has suffered because too many have acted through self-interest. And it has suffered because the desperation for achievement has undermined any attempt at long-term planning. Keshi, magnificently thick-skinned, was able to end the 19 years of failure in South Africa last year, but it would be a mistake to assume Nigeria’s problems are over. If African football has developed since the 1990s, it has been because it has broadened the base of talent. But those near the top of the pyramid, Nigeria foremost among them, seem no nearer to winning a World Cup now than they did 20 years ago.
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