Nigeria went to Rio, Brazil and, as the world looked on, gave a thoroughly embarrassing account of itself.
Don’t get me wrong: this swipe is not targeted at the heroic men and
women who represented us in a variety of events. They, above all, were
the primary victims of their country’s show of shame. No right thinking
person would knock the competitors who represented the rest of us in
Rio. In fact, for agreeing at all to wear Nigeria’s colours and hoist
the country’s flag, these athletes deserve our collective gratitude.
Thank goodness that Nigeria’s exquisite soccer team played a (mostly)
scintillating game against Honduras—and earned a bronze medal in the
Rio Olympics. That bronze—Nigeria’s sole medal in the 2016
Olympics—marked a rare triumph in our country’s otherwise disastrous
outing in Rio.
Those who run Nigeria are notorious for failing at basic tasks, but
easily excelling at those affairs that should demand a whole lot of
work. The Olympics are held every four years; there is no surprise
there. Nigeria’s sports officials had four years to ensure that their
country’s athletes and sports ambassadors received sound training and
the best equipment. They had four years to book flights for these
athletes and to make arrangements for their hotels or other
accommodation.
Guess what? Nigerian officials made a mess of every elementary
expectation. At the opening ceremony, members of the Nigerian contingent
had to wear their tracksuits because their official attire—which was
meant to showcase something of their country’s identity—did not make it
to Brazil in time.
It got worse. Nigeria’s football players were stranded in Atlanta,
back in the US, for more than two days. These gallant players finally
made it into Brazil a few hours before their first game against the
Japanese team. Failed by their country, they nevertheless mustered the
grit and determination to beat their first opponents.
You’d think that one inexcusable mishap would be the last. Not with
Nigerian officials, whose commitment to dereliction is singular. It’s as
if these officials were in a race for a Nobel Prize in Ineptitude. So:
once the football team made it to Rio, they found out—when they were
locked out of their rooms—that their government had not paid their hotel
bills.
Dr. Takasu does not own an oil block in the Niger Delta. He does not collect any security vote… He is, quite simply, a hard working doctor who felt moved—by how Nigerian officials had ridiculed players they should have been out to spoil—to invest in our players’ spirits.
Olympic Games are distinct from other competitive fiestas. They showcase and celebrate the best in a variety of sporting events. Every four years, these games offer countries the platform to gather their top talent and bring them to one venue. Each athlete’s victory or outstanding feat is both a moment of personal triumph and national prestige. The Olympics offer the stage for individuals and the countries they represent to choreograph transcendental performance or—in the case of Nigeria—to exhibit a culture of mediocrity.
Countries that take themselves seriously don’t wait for the curtains
to be drawn on one Olympics before they start to prepare for the next
one. Serious countries are constantly looking for, recruiting and
grooming talent. Too many Nigerian officials constantly look for, steal
and pocket the funds that should be used to vitalise every sector of
their country, including sports.
The BBC reported that a Japanese plastic surgeon was so dismayed by
the Nigerian players’ woes that he pledged to write them a $200,000
cheque. Dr. Katsuya Takasu told the BBC that he was “incredibly
passionate” about the Nigerian players’ plight. “I am deeply determined
to motivate this indomitable and strong Nigerian team. I don’t want to
distract them but to push them further to their target—the gold in
Brazil. I hope to see them win gold. They’ve sacrificed a lot to get to
Brazil and reach the semi-finals. Humans with such a strong spirit
should be encouraged to perform beyond their own imagination.”
Dr. Takasu does not own an oil block in the Niger Delta. He does not
collect any security vote. He does not belong in the rank of those
morally stinky men and women we call “stake/steakholders” or political
“chieftains/thieftains.” He is, quite simply, a hard working doctor who
felt moved—by how Nigerian officials had ridiculed players they should
have been out to spoil—to invest in our players’ spirits.
His largesse should put everybody involved in the mass betrayal of
our best and brightest sportsmen and women to shame. But count on this:
no shame will be felt by anybody in the Federal Ministry of Sports or
the Presidency. Shame is a scarce, often non-existent, commodity in
Nigeria. You only feel shame in Nigeria if you missed an opportunity to
steal public funds on a grand, obscene scale.
Don’t imagine for a moment that the travail that befell Nigeria’s
football players was the end of our country’s chronicle of embarrassment
in Rio. Late last week, a mere three days before the finale of the 2016
Olympics, Nigerian officials finally freighted into Brazil the kits
their sports representatives needed for more than two weeks of
competition. In effect, our sports officials had compelled our athletes
to compete shorthanded—or to fend for themselves.
Of course, the narrative of Nigeria’s lack of seriousness was beamed to the whole world. The BBC, Yahoo News and other international media reported the news of the absurd timing of the kits’ arrival in Rio.
I wager that no Nigerian government official experienced a flight hiccup or got locked out of their hotels. They take care of themselves, down to the last dollar of estacode. I won’t be surprised if some among them secured tickets for their lovers or family members. They’d take care of themselves, even though they’re tangential to the games, but leave the competitors bereft.
Of course, the narrative of Nigeria’s lack of seriousness was beamed
to the whole world. The BBC, Yahoo News and other international media
reported the news of the absurd timing of the kits’ arrival in Rio.
No wonder that some football players mulled walking off the team, a
symbolic act of rejection of the country that had made a mockery of
their sacrifice. Other athletes reportedly swore never to wear Nigeria’s
colours ever again.
I ask: why doesn’t this bumbling, clay-footed giant quit the
Olympics—and spare the world the agony of watching it model failure?
The whole fiasco that was Nigeria’s outing in Rio sparked profound
outrage among Nigerians. On a listserv, one member wrote, “For some
reason, the news almost made me weep. It encapsulates or symbolises all
that is wrong with our country, Nigeria. This kind of inefficiency and
national disgrace leaves me very sad. It is not rocket science to just
do simple things in the name of the country. When will Nigerian
governments (national and state levels) stop embarrassing its citizens,
the whole of the black race, and humankind as a whole? If we cannot show
excellence and hold our heads high in a simple matter of buying
Olympics kits and transporting them to Rio in time, why then are we
pretending that we are running or governing a country? I am sorry, but
this is just too much for me to bear. It is like we are forced to watch a
people destroy themselves and their future, compete in making fools of
themselves, and fart in the faces of all human beings and God. Is
someone going to pay a price for this?”
His question is pertinent, but the answer strikes me as predictable.
Odds are, there won’t be any consequences. Sports officials will
continue to keep their posts, seeking other opportunities to fatten
their bank accounts precisely by exposing their country to global
ridicule.
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