A confident, stylish woman descends city stairs, embodying elegance and modern business fashion. Photo Credit: Ono Kosuki/Pexels.
I was not supposed to care because I’ve never been an NBA person. But one random evening, while absentmindedly scrolling through Instagram, a basketball highlight interrupted my routine. Someone sprinted forward, rose into the air and dunked the ball with the kind of confidence that makes strangers pause what they are doing.
I watched it again and began wondering, Who is this guy? The commentator answered.
“OG Anunoby.”
“OG?” “Anunoby?” That sounds familiar. I looked him up immediately, and yes, the familiarity was known. “Ogugua Anunoby,” I muttered to myself; a smile slowly replaced the surprise on my face. That is a Nigerian name.
Without knowing his story, without knowing anything serious about basketball, I became emotionally invested. There is a very specific joy Nigerians experience when we discover someone doing extraordinary things abroad, and they carry a name that sounds like home. We smile and feel strangely proud.
I read more on Ogugua Anunoby and was searching for a video where he probably mentioned the sentence I had already written in my head: “My parents are from Nigeria.” I wanted the familiar story and connection. Instead, I found interviews describing him as British and raised in the US, which wasn’t surprising because people belong to the places that shape them, and identity is often more layered than surnames and assumptions.
But for a brief moment, I felt a pinch of disappointment because I wanted that recognition to be complete. I went back to rewatch the reel, so I checked the comments. Nigerians were already there typing, “He is ours,” “Look at the surname,” followed by a barrage of Nigerian flags. I joined too, dropping Nigerian flags under a stranger’s highlight reel as though citizenship could somehow be reclaimed through emojis. But it felt comforting.
Weeks later, during the World Cup, I watched another video of another player dazzling internationally. Again, Nigerians in the comments, dropping the green-white-green flags. Instead of joining the small excitement, I found myself asking a question I had never seriously considered before: Why do we do this? Why do Nigerians celebrate so loudly when people with Nigerian names succeed elsewhere?
I realised that maybe what we are celebrating is not victory. Maybe what we are expressing is longing. Maybe every Nigerian surname succeeding abroad quietly reminds us what could also happen for us if we existed elsewhere. Maybe it reminds us that in Nigeria, talent has never really been our problem.
We have talent in abundance. We see it everywhere: Children playing football barefoot and somehow moving like professionals. Young people creating businesses with unstable electricity. Students competing globally with fewer resources. People building extraordinary lives despite ordinary systems.
Nigerians have never lacked brilliance. What we often lack is the environment that turns brilliance into possibility. Perhaps that is why these moments stay with us. Our biggest moments of national pride sometimes arrive through another country’s display, just because we can find a connection.
Migration is a natural and positive phenomenon. Individuals should move to places where opportunities are available. Every parent wants their child to reach their full potential. This is not a criticism of those who choose to leave; rather, it is a question for those of us who remain and for those who are responsible for building the future.
At what point will Nigeria be the place where excellence returns instead of leaving? When will our talents wear the green and white colours of our nation not out of obligation, but because they genuinely believe they can achieve world-class status here? When will Nigerian children stop seeing emigration as the ultimate measure of success? When will we stop viewing our brightest minds and strongest athletes as our most successful exports? A nation should not be renowned solely for producing exceptional individuals who excel elsewhere; it should also be known for creating conditions where excellence can thrive, remain and be celebrated.
Talent is never the issue; the real challenge lies in what happens after talent is recognised. Do we notice it? Do we support it? Do we reward it? Do we create systems that are stronger than individual effort? Do we help people believe that staying is not the same as settling? We seek pieces of home wherever we can, quietly hoping that one day our children won’t have to leave home before the world realises how brilliant they already are.
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Esther Adeyanju is a writer and communications professional who believes every ordinary moment is carrying a bigger story. Through thoughtful storytelling and social reflection, she explores culture, identity, leadership and the quiet details that shape how we see ourselves and the world around us.
The post Esther Adeyanju: Why Do Nigerians Celebrate People Who Succeed Abroad? appeared first on BellaNaija - Showcasing Africa to the world. Read today!.
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