NIGERIANS DON’T LOVE SPORTS

 Bode Pedro argues for more investment in sports

When Usain Bolt was just a young boy sprinting down the dusty roads of Sherwood Content, a small village in Jamaica, few could have imagined that he would become the fastest man in history. But for those who knew him, it wasn’t entirely surprising. Bolt had something special—an explosive speed that left his peers in the dust. What he also had, perhaps more importantly, was the unwavering support of his community. His early coaches, neighbors, and schoolteachers recognized his talent and encouraged him to pursue it. As Bolt moved on to William Knibb Memorial High School, his potential was nurtured by a system that, while modest, was rich in passion and dedication. His coach, Pablo McNeil, a former Olympian, saw Bolt’s promise and worked tirelessly to refine his technique, while also keeping him grounded.

Jamaica didn’t have the most advanced facilities or the largest budgets, but it had something more valuable: a culture that valued and celebrated sprinting. It was this environment—a blend of community support, cultural pride, and personal drive—that propelled Bolt to greatness. When he finally emerged on the world stage, shattering records and redefining what we thought possible, it was the culmination of years of quiet, persistent investment from those around him. It wasn’t the government that made Bolt; it was the people who believed in him.

Bolt’s story is not unique to Jamaica. Across the Caribbean and Africa, many athletes have risen from humble beginnings to become world-class competitors. Consider athletes like Eliud Kipchoge from Kenya, David Rudisha from Kenya, Marie-Josée Ta Lou from Ivory Coast, and Shelly-Ann Fraser-Pryce from Jamaica. Each of these athletes emerged from modest backgrounds and relied heavily on community support, local coaches, and a deep cultural connection to their sports. These are regions where economic resources are often scarce, but where cultural and communal investment in sport has produced stars who shine on the global stage. Whether it’s the sprinting dominance of Jamaica, the long-distance prowess of Kenya, or the explosive power of Ivorian sprinters, the common thread is a deep-rooted cultural connection to sport.

So, where does Nigeria fit into this narrative? It’s easy to point fingers at the government for our less-than-stellar performance at the recent Paris Olympics, but that’s only part of the story. We must also look inward and ask ourselves whether we, as a society, truly value and invest in sport the way we do in other sectors.

To be fair, Nigeria has had its share of Olympic successes. Our women’s basketball team, for instance, has made us proud, reaching the quarter-finals with limited resources, showing the world that Nigerian athletes can compete at the highest levels. But many of our standout athletes have benefited from training and resources outside of Nigeria. This is not to downplay their hard work—competing on the global stage is incredibly tough, and our athletes deserve immense credit for striving and competing honorably. But it does beg the question: what could our sports landscape look like if we invested in our athletes the way we invest in other sectors?

There is a well-documented correlation between economic development and Olympic success. Wealthier nations tend to win more medals, thanks in part to their ability to invest in state-of-the-art training facilities, world-class coaching, and comprehensive athlete support systems. But wealth alone does not guarantee success.

Jamaica, a nation with a modest GDP and a population of just under 3 million, won 12 medals at the 2012 London Olympics, including six golds. Compare this to India, a country of over 1.4 billion people and one of the world’s largest economies, which managed only a handful of medals at the 2024 Paris Olympics. The disparity highlights that economic power is just one piece of the puzzle.

A combination of factors—investments, genetics, climate, and population—certainly play significant roles, but the most powerful factor, and the hardest to quantify, is culture. In Jamaica, sprinting is more than a sport; it’s a part of the national identity. Americans celebrate their athletes, inspire courage, and salute the desire to win valiantly as a component of their patriotic ideals. They back it up by integrating sports deeply into their school system.

In Nigeria, indigenous sports like Gidigbo in the South and Dambe, a traditional form of boxing from the North, were integral to community life, teaching not only physical strength but also mental fortitude and resilience. These indigenous sports, deeply rooted in our cultural fabric, remind us that Nigeria has always had a strong connection to physical competition.

Dambe, in particular, is closely connected to and supported by Islamic communities in Northern Nigeria. The sport is often associated with the Hausa people and is traditionally practiced during religious festivals and community events. It is not just a test of physical strength but also of strategy, discipline, and endurance—qualities that are highly valued in both the sport and the broader Islamic teachings that support it. The sport’s strong ties to Islamic culture have ensured its continuity and growth, even as it has gained popularity beyond Nigeria’s borders.

Part of the answer to Nigeria’s struggles lies in our cultural and financial priorities. The wealthy invest heavily in entertainment, movies, music, nightlife, weddings, travel, and dare I say, religion. These are the things we value, and they are where we choose to spend our money. A brand-new Toyota Land Cruiser costing N200 million is a status symbol, yet that same amount could fund the development of 20 athletes over five years. And just imagine if just a fraction of what we spend within our religious communities is directed toward nurturing our sports talent.

This isn’t to diminish the importance of faith or the value of religious communities. The church in Nigeria, for example, has been a beacon of hope, community, and moral guidance. The investments made within the church community have an unquantifiable impact, including in the realm of sports. The two are not mutually exclusive; in fact, both can contribute to building a stronger, more resilient society.

Historically, Christian missionary schools in Nigeria laid a foundation for organized sports in the country. Schools like St. Gregory’s College and King’s College, both established by religious organizations, have produced some of the country’s most notable athletes. These schools often emphasized the importance of physical education alongside academic pursuits, creating a culture that celebrated athletic achievement. Events like the Principals’ Cup and inter-school competitions were rooted in these institutions, highlighting the church’s role in promoting sports.

Similarly, Islamic institutions have also made significant contributions to the development of sports in Nigeria. Ahmadiyya College, founded by the Ahmadiyya Islamic movement, is one such example. This school was not only focused on providing quality education but also placed a strong emphasis on sports, particularly football. Tunde Disu, a notable figure in Nigerian football in the 80s, emerged from Ahmadiyya College, benefiting from the school’s commitment to developing well-rounded individuals through both academic and athletic pursuits. The investments made by the Ahmadiyya Islamic sect in both education and sports played a crucial role in nurturing talents like Disu, demonstrating the powerful impact religious institutions can have on the development of sports in Nigeria.

Today, these historical connections can serve as a blueprint for future investments in youth sports, leveraging the influence of religious institutions to inspire the next generation of athletes.

Investing in an athlete for 10 years is one of the most cost-effective and sustainable investments a community can make. It’s not just about the financials; it’s about giving our youth something to aspire to and a community that stands behind them. Historically, Nigerian sports had a stronger cultural and community foundation. Events like the Principals’ Cup, school sporting rivalries between institutions like King’s College and International School Ibadan (ISI), and national athletics competitions were once hotbeds for discovering and nurturing young talent. These events were not just competitions but cultural events that bound communities together and created legends. Yet, over time, the enthusiasm for these local sporting activities has waned.

Investing in sport isn’t just a matter of national pride; it has the potential to be a lucrative business, offering returns far beyond what many might expect. While the business models for sports may not be as airtight as those for betting or cinema, they are far from unprofitable. The export potential of Nigerian athletic talent is immense, particularly in the context of American universities that offer scholarships to gifted athletes. These scholarships can open doors to sponsorships from global sporting brands like Nike, lucrative contracts with professional sports clubs, and international tours that provide not only exposure but financial stability for the athletes and their families. The ripple effects of such opportunities extend to the communities that nurture these talents, creating a cycle of investment and return that benefits everyone involved.

Historically, Nigerian sports have been bolstered by visionary investors who recognized the potential of sports as both a cultural and economic force. Chief MKO Abiola, for instance, was one of Nigeria’s most prominent sports benefactors. His love for football led him to sponsor the Abiola Babes Football Club in the 1980s, which became one of the most successful teams in the Nigerian league at the time. Abiola’s investments went beyond football; he was a patron of several sports and used his influence to push for the development of sports infrastructure in Nigeria.

Today, new investors are following in Abiola’s footsteps. Shola Akinlade, the co-founder of Paystack, established Sporting Lagos, a football club competing in the Nigerian Professional Football League. Similarly, Kunle Soname, the CEO of Bet9ja, owns Remo Stars Football Club, which has become a significant player in Nigerian football. These modern-day investors are not only creating platforms for young athletes to thrive but are also building sustainable business models that can attract further investment into the sports sector.

But the potential goes beyond these high-profile ventures. Imagine the impact of creating local football leagues for five-a-side teams, generating hype over neighborhood competitions like Lekki FC vs. Ikoyi-Obalende FC or Surulere FC vs. Apapa FC. These grassroots competitions could foster rivalries that energize communities and inspire more significant investments in local talent. Similarly, we could develop competitions centered around the fastest 100m times based on local government areas or states, encouraging community investment and pride in local athletes.

These initiatives could help shift the focus from less productive entertainment avenues, such as Big Brother, to sports competitions that not only entertain but also develop our youth and foster a sense of community. By building these rivalries and competitions, we can create a culture of sports that drives both participation and investment.

If we, as a nation, were to make a concerted effort to invest in our athletes, the results could be astonishing. For instance, if Nigeria wanted to produce a world heavyweight boxing champion within the next five years, it could do so with less than N200 million invested in ten promising boxing talents. This investment would cover training, nutrition, healthcare, and international exposure—everything needed to develop champions. The financial returns from such an investment, through endorsements, fight purses, and global recognition, could far exceed the initial outlay, benefiting not just the athletes but their communities and the nation at large.

Ultimately, what’s missing is the cultural and aspirational context that allows young athletes to see a future in sports and motivates them to put in the necessary effort. It’s about parents who are willing to invest time, money, and effort into their children’s athletic development, believing that their child could be the next world champion. This kind of investment can’t be quantified easily, but its results are visible on the global stage. JOLLOF POWER

Nigerians don’t love sport—not in the way we should. But that can change. Like LeBron and co., it’s time to stop talking and get to work to avenge our nation in 2028

 Pedro is the founder and CEO of Casava, Nigeria’s first 100% digital insurance company