In a time when the air in Nigeria is thick with hardship and survival has become an extreme sport, any form of excellence, especially on the global stage, becomes a welcome relief. It was in this spirit that President Bola Ahmed Tinubu recently honoured the Nigerian women’s football team, the Super Falcons, with national awards (OON), monetary rewards, and real estate gifts.
Their achievement and consistency over the years cannot be denied. The Falcons have long been one of Nigeria’s most reliable sporting exports, often carrying the country’s image with grace and strength.
Their tenacity on the pitch, even when poorly funded or underappreciated, is commendable. But while it is right to reward excellence and encourage patriotism, it is also important to reflect soberly, logically, and fairly particularly in a country hanging by a thread economically and emotionally. We must ask, without malice or sentiment: what of other silent heroes?
Celebrating the Falcons is not the problem. In fact, their recognition is long overdue. For far too long, female athletes in Nigeria have been relegated to the margins of national attention, even when their accomplishments far outweigh their male counterparts. The symbolic weight of conferring the OON honour on these women is significant. It sends a message that Nigeria sees them not just as footballers, but as patriots who have carried the green-and-white flag high. However, in a country of over 200 million people, many of whom are burning quietly in service and sacrifice, the sudden celebration of one group; no matter how deserving, without a broader national reward structure or guiding principle, sends the wrong message. It hints at a troubling national culture: one that waits for viral moments to recognize value and one that favours spectacle over substance.
In many hospitals across the country, underpaid doctors and nurses are saving lives with expired equipment and broken spirits. Across treacherous terrains in Borno and Zamfara, soldiers and security officers are dying in silence; fighting wars they did not start, wars that may never end. In overcrowded public classrooms, teachers are molding the next generation without chalk, books, or dignity. These are also patriots. Some have served 20, 30 years without a single handshake from the government. No house. No award. No press coverage. They are never invited to Aso Rock. Are their sacrifices less noble? Are their forms of service too boring for national reward?
There is an emotional firestorm around the Falcons’ reward, and understandably so. Nigerians are desperate for good news. Our spirits are worn. But leadership is not just about doing what is emotionally satisfying; it is about being fair, balanced, and sensitive to national mood. As we cheer for our football heroines, let us not forget the street sweeper who keeps Abuja clean every day before dawn, the policewoman who refuses to collect bribes despite peer pressure, the fireman who runs into a burning building with nothing but his willpower, the public health worker who contained Ebola in Lagos, or the young innovator designing solutions for local problems with no support. These people may never trend online or win tournaments, but they are the invisible walls holding Nigeria from collapsing entirely.
Some may accuse this line of thinking of being ungrateful to the Falcons. That’s not the point. Gratitude can be multi-dimensional. Applauding the Falcons does not mean silencing a conversation about fairness. The real issue is imbalance. When national honour becomes selective and spontaneous, it risks becoming performative. The idea that you must play under the spotlight, or go viral, to be noticed and rewarded by your own country is not only unjust; it is dangerous. It breeds a culture where substance is ignored unless it’s dramatic, visible, or entertaining. That’s not how nations grow. That’s how nations collapse slowly, from the inside.
For us to move forward with sense and justice, we must develop a structured reward system, a national framework that defines what constitutes honour-worthy service, across sectors. We need a standard that celebrates not just sports and showbiz, but medicine, education, civil service, security, agriculture, and innovation. If every year, the presidency hosts a National Heroes Roll Call where silent heroes from each state are recognised and rewarded, it will inspire dignity, fairness, and patriotism across the board. Rewarding the Falcons with houses and cash is not inherently wrong. What is wrong is not doing the same for others whose work, though quiet, is just as crucial. Even in sports, the reward system should be policy-driven, not mood-driven. When a team wins a trophy, or reaches a global milestone, let there be a known set of incentives not sudden presidential surprises.
Nigeria must not only clap for winners; we must build a culture that sees and honours consistent effort, honesty, and national sacrifice. Otherwise, we will keep producing disappointed patriots. We will keep raising citizens who serve but die unnoticed. And we will keep nurturing bitterness, not nationhood. Let the Falcons enjoy their honour; it is well deserved. But as we celebrate them, let us not forget the unnamed nurse in Maiduguri, the retired teacher in Abeokuta, the traffic warden in Kano, or the tech genius in Enugu who hasn’t gotten one kobo of encouragement. These are our silent heroes. And if Nigeria must rise, we must rise with all of them.
Adebayo Faleke
Broadcast Journalist,Author & Filmmaker.
For Nigeria’s unsung patriots.
