The Medal Mirage: A Nigerian Olympic Odyssey, By Favour Nneji Amako

In the aftermath of the Paris 2024 Olympics, a quiet despair settled over Nigeria as the athletes prepared to return home with empty hands and heavy hearts. The silence of disappointment hung in the air, waiting to be broken by the inevitable discussions that would follow. And so it began, not with anger or sadness, but with a laugh—a laugh that masked the deep-seated frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

‘’Have you heard the latest?” the conversation started, a tone of mock seriousness barely disguising the underlying sarcasm. “Nigeria is coming back with… wait for it… absolutely nothing! Not even a bronze to show for all the jollof rice we ate in anticipation!” The absurdity of it all was almost too much to bear, so it had to be turned into a joke, because what else could be done when the reality was too bitter to swallow?

The question was rhetorical, of course. No one was surprised. It was as if Nigeria had sent its athletes on a sightseeing tour of Paris rather than a competitive journey to the Olympics. Eight times—eight long, painful times—Nigeria had returned from the grand stage with nothing but souvenirs and selfies. It was as if the country had mistaken the Olympics for Paris Fashion Week, strutting about without a single medal to show for it.

“Honestly, 88 athletes across 12 sports, and not even one small medal? Even a plastic one would’ve been better than this. Poor Hannah Reuben, our last hope, wrestled down by a Mongolian—5-2! At this point, we should just compete in ‘Most Creative Ways to Lose’ and collect our gold in that.”

The absurdity of the situation only deepened as the conversation continued, each comment more biting than the last. “Nigeria’s strategy was impeccable—they managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory in the final seconds! A true art form!” The humor was cutting, but it was the only way to cope with a history that read like a sad comedy.

From Helsinki in 1952, Nigeria’s Olympic story had been one of heartbreak, with only a few glimmers of hope along the way. There was Tokyo in 1964, where Nojeem Mayegun won Nigeria’s first Olympic medal, a moment that seemed more like a fluke than a turning point. The medal drought continued unabated, flowing from Mexico City to Moscow to Seoul, and now, Paris had added another chapter to this never-ending saga of Olympic blues.

But even in the midst of defeat, there were those who clung to the idea of “positives” to build on for LA 2028. “You know, Favour Ofili didn’t even run in the 100m, but she still made history in the 200m final. Can you imagine the headline? ‘Nigerian Athlete Makes History by Not Competing!’” The laughter was bitter, a coping mechanism for a nation that seemed to be grasping at straws.

“And Samuel Ogazi, bless his heart, making it to the 400m final at just 18 years old. It’s like he was racing against time and history, but didn’t know Nigeria’s history isn’t exactly a sprint to the podium.”

The conversation drifted to the Long Jump trio—Ese Brume, Ruth Usoro, and Prestina Ochonogor—who had jumped into history as the first three Nigerians to reach a final in one event. Too bad they couldn’t jump into the medal standings. And then there was Chukwuebuka Enekwechi, finishing sixth in the Shot Put final. A notable achievement, yes, but for Nigeria, it was just another small win to celebrate in a long line of disappointments.

“Small wins,” the words were almost spat out. “But let’s be honest, all this ‘positivity’ is just us grasping at straws. LA 2028 is the new hope, but if we don’t step up, it’ll just be another trip where we come back with nothing but dashed dreams and well-traveled athletes.”

The bitter reality was softened only by the absurdity of it all. “Maybe we should start training now. I mean, we’ve got four years to figure out how to win at least one medal. Or we could just send them all to culinary school—at least they’ll bring back something useful!”

“Or maybe,” the tone shifted to one of playful conspiracy, “we should enter the Olympics with some new sports—like ‘Who Can Stretch the Truth the Farthest’ or ‘100m Excuses Relay.’ I’m sure we’d bring home the gold in those!”

The conversation took a turn toward the fantastical, imagining Nigeria’s politicians in “Blame Game Boxing,” ready to knock each other out over who was at fault for the medal drought. “Instant gold!” came the conclusion, followed by a round of laughter that was more tragic than comedic.

“And don’t forget ‘Bureaucracy Hurdles.’ Just watch our officials try to clear the obstacles of red tape. It’ll be a photo finish every time—mostly because the paperwork never gets done!”

But beneath the humor lay a sharper truth. “If all else fails, at least we’ll have some good comedy material. After all, laughter is the best medicine—especially when your medal cabinet is empty.”

It was then that the conversation turned to the political implications of Nigeria’s Olympic failure. “You know, if we had actually won some medals, the APC government would have plastered their faces all over the news, claiming it was their ‘strategic planning’ that led to victory.”

“Absolutely!” The response was quick, knowing. “We’d be hearing how their ‘innovative policies’ inspired the athletes to greatness. They’d be handing out medals to themselves before the athletes even stepped off the plane!”

“But now that the athletes are coming back empty-handed, what’s the government going to say? ‘We provided the best environment for losing with dignity’?”

The mock seriousness returned. “Or maybe they’ll just blame it on the global economy or the opposition party. ‘The lack of medals is a result of past administrations’ failures to invest in sports infrastructure!’”

The final laugh was tinged with a mix of frustration and resignation. “Who knows, maybe by LA 2028, they’ll have a whole new set of excuses ready. Or better yet, they’ll just set up a Ministry of Medals—dedicated to winning gold in excuses!”

And with that, the conversation ended, leaving behind the echoes of laughter and the lingering sense that, once again, Nigeria had come so close, yet remained so far from Olympic glory. The countdown to LA 2028 had already begun, but the shadows of Paris 2024 still loomed large, a reminder of the long road ahead.

@ Favour Nneji Amako, a Youth Pastor, Journalist and Communication Consultant/ Scholar