By Valentine Obienyem

Today, my daughter’s school vacated and I was there to take her back home. These errands, simple though they may seem, stir in me echoes of a bygone era, those quieter, sterner days of our youth. I often recount to my children how, in our time, fathers brought us to school once, and thenceforth, we charted our own course – returning and departing unaided, unescorted. They listen, incredulous, as if I were narrating fables from some forgotten civilisation. Yet, such were the seeds that bred self-reliance, endurance, and that quiet fortitude which our generation wore like a second skin.

But are today’s children to blame for the contrast? Hardly. The fault, if one must apportion it, lies with the times and not the young. In this age of simmering dread and ambient insecurity, what father would knowingly let his child return home alone?

As we drove off, she animatedly shared with me the moments she considered memorable, speaking in bursts, knowing I was pressed for time. I was to leave almost immediately for Udi, where Prof. Patrick Obi and I were to represent Mr. Peter Obi at the silver jubilee of the episcopal ordination of the Auxiliary Bishop of Enugu, His Lordship, Ernest Obodo.

She recounted an incident that had clearly left its mark: a teacher had administered ten strokes of the cane upon her palm – twice the number given to others – simply because their table at the refectory was left unclean. As the most senior student at the table, the teacher reasoned, she bore the responsibility to notice the oversight and ensure correction.

She narrated the event  with  a little bitterness and an unspoken hope that I, her father, would rise in protest – even in the absence of the “offending teacher”  – against such “injustice.” I know my daughter well; what she sought was not reprisal but empathy, a gesture of shared indignation. She embellished the tale with detail: how pale her palm became, how her “bunkee” massaged it in sympathy, and how others urged her to report the teacher.

I listened, and then I responded  with a father’s surpassing love and  the tenderness of one who knows that even pain, in its rightful place, is a tutor. I conceded that the lashes were many, perhaps too many. But I added that the teacher’s action, far from warranting punishment, was a lesson in leadership. In that moment of discipline lay a deeper instruction – on responsibility, vigilance, and the moral burden of being the senior.

We did not conclude our conversation upon reaching home; duty called, and I stepped into the waiting vehicle bound for Udi. When I return, I shall resume the dialogue with her. But the question lingers: should I welcome her with a playful song – “Holiday is coming, no more teacher’s cane, no more warning bell…” – or should I press on, gently, with the quiet lessons drawn from the sting of the cane? Perhaps childhood needs both – the laughter that lightens the heart and the wisdom that shapes the soul.

Obienyem, a Lawyer, writes from Awka, Anambra State

By Abraham Amah

Football has long been called “the beautiful game,” not just for its grace on the pitch but for its power to unite, uplift, and inspire. It is a theatre of dreams where talent meets opportunity under the rules of fair play. But when those rules are trampled—repeatedly and deliberately—the game loses its soul. What happened yet again at the 2025 WAFCON final between Nigeria and Morocco is more than a sporting incident; it is a loud and damning indictment of African football governance.

In 2022, the Super Falcons of Nigeria were subjected to blatant hostility in Morocco during the WAFCON semifinal. Lasers aimed at players’ eyes, deafening distractions, and questionable officiating culminated in a controversial penalty shootout loss. At the time, it was chalked up as an unfortunate lapse. But déjà vu came calling in 2025. The lasers returned. The crowd intimidation was back. And yet again, CAF—African football’s governing body—stood still in deafening silence.

This isn’t merely unsportsmanlike. It’s unethical, dangerous, and corrosive to the spirit of competition. To repeatedly allow host nations to get away with fan interference that directly alters match outcomes is nothing short of institutional complicity. It signals a tragic departure from the values that sport is meant to embody. It is no longer about the better team, but the better-positioned team.

Football governance, like all leadership, must be built on justice. Rules, when ignored, become props. Decisions, when politicised, become farce. What CAF permits on the pitch becomes the moral code of the game off it. By allowing recurring sabotage of Nigerian teams—especially Nigeria’s women who have carried the continent on their backs for decades—CAF is not just failing a nation. It is failing a generation.

Morocco has the right to host. Fans have the right to cheer. But no host has the right to weaponize the stadium against fairness. Lasers, noise machines, abusive chants—these are not expressions of patriotism. They are acts of sabotage. They have no place in the theatre of competitive sport. And when they become recurring features, they call into question the very legitimacy of the tournament.

Injustice, once tolerated, becomes entrenched. In 2022, many raised their voices. Few listened. Now, in 2025, it is clear that CAF’s silence was not ignorance—it was endorsement. What is the use of a governing body that cannot guarantee the basic integrity of its most prestigious competition? The word “govern” implies oversight. Where is the oversight? Where is the accountability?

The irony is sharp. African federations often speak loudly about FIFA’s bias or Western condescension on the global stage. Yet at home, within our own house, we allow injustice to thrive under our watch. We cannot demand respect abroad while orchestrating unfairness within. The double standard is not only tragic—it is self-destructive.

And yet, in the face of this storm, the Super Falcons prevailed. With grace, discipline, and unshakable resolve, they silenced the crowd—not with weapons, but with their boots. They won, not just the match, but the moral high ground. Their victory was not just about goals; it was about guts, glory, and a deep-seated refusal to bow to institutional sabotage. It was the triumph of sportsmanship over spite.

This should be a turning point. Not just for Nigeria, but for Africa. CAF must rise to meet the demands of modern sport governance. It must investigate incidents of crowd misconduct, enforce penalties against offending hosts, and implement neutral standards for hosting critical fixtures. The age of ambiguity must end.

Let us be clear: this is not about sour grapes. Nigeria won. This is about principle. This is about ensuring that the next team—whether Ghana, Zambia, Cameroon, or South Africa—does not have to walk through the same fire. Fair play must not be a slogan. It must be a system. A structure. A standard.

Football remains Africa’s most powerful cultural force. But its future depends not only on goals and medals, but on the values we allow to govern the game. CAF must choose: to be a body of integrity or a shell of convenience. The choice will determine the legacy of African football for generations to come.

And for now, the Super Falcons have reminded us of the true meaning of victory: to rise above the foul play, to outshine the sabotage, and to lift a continent’s conscience with every kick of the ball.

Elder Amah, an accomplished commentator  on current issues, writes from Umuahia, Abia State