Peter Rufai, Taribo West And Nigeria’s Forgotten Heroes

There are moments in football that transcend the field moments when a roar of frustration cuts deeper than any goal or tackle.

This past week, former Super Eagles defender Taribo West gave us one of those moments.

Standing in grief at the funeral of his late teammate Peter “Dodo Mayana” Rufai, West delivered a scathing rebuke of Nigeria’s football authorities and society at large.

His words were unfiltered, searing, and impossible to ignore: “What kind of nation is this? I will never advise my son to put his feet for this country.”

For many, it was a shocking statement from one of Nigeria’s most iconic footballers. But for those who have watched the slow decay of how we treat our legends, it was less shocking than it was inevitable.

Rufai, one of the greatest goalkeepers Nigeria has ever produced, should have been celebrated as a national treasure in death. Instead, his family reportedly had to seek funds to give him a dignified burial. Taribo West could not hide his anger, and frankly, neither should we.

This is not just about Rufai. It is about the broader, painful reality of how Nigeria celebrates its athletes in their prime, only to abandon them once the floodlights dim. Taribo’s outburst has reopened an old wound and forced us to confront uncomfortable questions.

The Making of Legends

To understand Taribo’s anguish, one must revisit the legacy of Peter Rufai himself. Nicknamed “Dodo Mayana,” Rufai was not merely a goalkeeper; he was a symbol of Nigeria’s footballing rise in the late 1980s and 1990s.

He was between the sticks when Nigeria conquered Africa in 1994, lifting the Africa Cup of Nations. He represented the country in two FIFA World Cups, earning respect not just as a shot-stopper but as a leader of men.

For millions of Nigerians, Rufai’s iconic saves were childhood memories. He was part of the golden generation that carried Nigeria into football’s global consciousness. Yet, years later, as Taribo reminded us, Rufai’s funeral did not carry the dignity his service to the nation deserved.

This is not an isolated story. Rashidi Yekini, Nigeria’s all-time top scorer, died in 2012 in deeply troubling circumstances, abandoned in illness despite his heroics.

Samuel Okwaraji collapsed and died on the pitch in 1989, representing Nigeria without insurance or adequate welfare. Even Stephen Keshi, Africa’s most successful coach-player combination, battled for recognition until his death in 2016.

The pattern is distressingly consistent: national heroes in life, forgotten men in death.

Taribo West: Never Afraid to Speak

Taribo West has always been a man of fire. On the pitch, he was known for his uncompromising tackles, fierce aerial presence, and those unforgettable multi-colored hairstyles that lit up Serie A and the Champions League. Off the pitch, he has carried the same intensity into his new life as a pastor and outspoken critic of corruption and injustice.

When Taribo speaks, it is often raw and uncomfortable. He does not massage words; he detonates them. In blasting the Nigeria Football Federation (NFF) and the Lagos State Government for neglecting Rufai’s funeral, he was doing what few ex-players dare: calling out the establishment directly.

Yes, the NFF has since tried to “clear the air,” claiming Taribo’s grief may have misrepresented the facts. But the truth is this: his comments struck a nerve precisely because they felt believable. Nigerians have seen this movie too many times before.

A Culture of Abandonment

Why do Nigeria’s sporting heroes suffer this fate? The reasons are both structural and cultural.

1. Lack of Institutional Frameworks

Unlike in some countries where professional associations guarantee pensions, healthcare, and post-retirement support for athletes, Nigeria has no comprehensive welfare system for ex-internationals. Once you hang up your boots, you’re largely on your own.

2. Poor Record of Documentation and Legacy

There is little effort to archive or celebrate past heroes. Many young Nigerians know Lionel Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo but not Peter Rufai or Emmanuel Okala. Without sustained cultural memory, heroes are quickly forgotten.

3. Transactional Nationalism

Nigerian society has a habit of treating its stars as disposable assets. While they are winning trophies, they are adored. Once they retire, the adulation evaporates, replaced by silence.

4. Governmental Neglect

Successive administrations have paid lip service to sports development while offering little long-term planning. Football federations are more often in the headlines for scandals than for policy innovations.

This abandonment is not just institutional—it seeps into the national psyche. We celebrate fleetingly, but we do not sustain.

The Emotional Weight of Taribo’s Words

The most powerful line from Taribo’s lament was his declaration that he would never advise his son to play for Nigeria. That is devastating. For a man who wore the green and white with such passion, for someone who represented Nigeria in the 1998 and 2002 World Cups, to say this speaks volumes about his disillusionment.

It is also a warning. If national legends feel that representing Nigeria is a thankless risk, what hope is there for future talents? Already, many Nigerian-born players are choosing to represent European nations with clearer welfare structures—think David Alaba (Austria), Bukayo Saka (England), or Manuel Akanji (Switzerland). Taribo’s words capture why.

Lessons from Abroad

Nigeria is not unique in facing questions about how it treats its heroes. But other nations provide models worth studying.

Brazil: Despite deep economic challenges, Brazil treats its Selecao legends with reverence. Funerals of players like Socrates or Pelé became national ceremonies. The state and football bodies ensure families are supported.

England: The Professional Footballers’ Association (PFA) provides financial assistance, legal advice, and retraining for ex-players. Even retired lower-league professionals are not left to fend entirely for themselves.

South Africa: Post-apartheid, South Africa has made deliberate efforts to enshrine its sports heroes in museums, documentaries, and welfare programs.

Nigeria does not lack resources. What it lacks is commitment to valuing its people beyond the temporary glitter of victory.

Beyond Football: A National Mirror

Taribo’s outburst may have been about football, but the themes resonate across Nigerian society. Teachers, soldiers, doctors, civil servants—all too often, those who serve the nation end up neglected. The Rufai case is not an exception; it is a reflection of the wider culture.

When we fail to honour those who gave us joy, inspiration, and sacrifice, we send a message to the younger generation: loyalty is not worth it. Patriotism becomes hollow.

What Must Change

Opinion pieces are easy; solutions are harder. Yet the Rufai tragedy, amplified by Taribo’s fiery intervention, should spur practical reforms. Some recommendations:

1. Establish a Sports Heroes Welfare Fund

A government-backed, privately-managed fund could provide healthcare, pensions, and emergency support for ex-athletes. Funding could come from a levy on match tickets, sponsorship deals, or government subventions.

2. National Hall of Fame and Legacy Projects

Nigeria should institutionalize the memory of its sports heroes through museums, scholarships, and annual recognition events. Rufai, Yekini, Keshi, and others deserve eternal remembrance.

3. Player Insurance and Post-Career Support

Contracts for national duty must include robust insurance and career-transition programs. No player representing Nigeria should worry about dying without dignity.

4. Cultural Shift

Nigerians must move beyond short-term adulation to long-term appreciation. This means fans, media, and government alike should champion the welfare of our heroes not just mourn them when they are gone.

The Backpage Reflection

Taribo West is not perfect. His words were emotional, maybe even harsh. But sometimes, it takes an unvarnished truth to jolt a nation awake. Rufai’s death and the surrounding neglect should not be another entry in Nigeria’s long list of “what could have been.”

The measure of a nation is not just in how it celebrates victory but in how it remembers sacrifice. Nigeria cannot continue to drain the joy of its athletes in life and then abandon their families in death.

When Taribo cried out, he was not just mourning a teammate. He was mourning a national culture of forgetfulness. The question now is whether Nigeria will listen—or whether, years from now, another legend will die, another family will beg, and another Taribo will rise to cry the same lament.

If we fail to act, the warning is clear: our future sons and daughters may never put their feet for this country again.