When legends die in silence: Peter Rufai and the forgotten few

By Lemmy Ughegbe, PhD

There was a time when the name Peter Rufai evoked unbridled pride across Nigeria. Known as Dodo Mayana, he was the towering goalkeeper who stood between our posts at the 1994 Africa Cup of Nations, where Nigeria lifted the trophy, and at two successive World Cups.

He was one of the faces of the Super Eagles’ golden generation, a symbol of resilience, agility and national pride. Yet on the 3rd of July 2025, Peter Rufai died not with the dignity befitting a national hero, but quietly, after years of battling alone with illness and neglect.

The news of his passing was met with an outpouring of grief. But it also reopened a wound Nigerians know all too well: the miserable death of sporting heroes abandoned after their days of glory.

Rufai’s decline is not an isolated tragedy. It is the latest reminder of how the country that once cheered its stars to the skies often forgets them the moment they hang up their boots.

Rufai earned 65 caps for Nigeria and was widely respected both at home and abroad. He played club football in Belgium, the Netherlands, Spain and Portugal, representing clubs such as Deportivo La Coruña and Hércules CF in Spain and Lokeren in Belgium.

His leadership and safe hands were vital in Nigeria’s run to the World Cup in 1994, our first appearance at the global stage, where he kept goal against Argentina and Bulgaria with confidence and authority.

At the 1998 World Cup in France, he once again stood tall, cementing his place as one of the most recognisable names in Nigerian football. Yet after retirement, his story mirrored that of too many African athletes: no structured welfare, no pension, no institutional support, no safety net.

In what would turn out to be one of his final interviews, Rufai revealed a poignant dream. He desperately wanted to publish his autobiography, aptly titled My Story. That book, he said, would capture the triumphs, struggles and sacrifices of his life.

But as one close associate put it, “like a thief in the night, death came visiting,” and Rufai’s wish was left unfulfilled. It was as though Nigeria could not even grant him the dignity of preserving his voice for posterity.

Even in death, indignities followed. Reports emerged that his family had to beg and cry within their small circle for contributions to cover burial expenses. For a man who had carried Nigeria’s flag at the world’s biggest stages, this was nothing short of scandalous.

At his funeral, former teammate Taribo West spoke with fierce sorrow and unflinching honesty. He was heartbroken that Rufai’s family had to cry for burial funds and asked how Lagos State and the Nigerian Football Federation could “drop the buck on the family.” With bitterness, he confessed: “I will never advise even my son to play for this country.”

Taribo’s words were not the rant of a grieving man alone; they were the sober verdict of one who had seen too many teammates fall into neglect and misery after giving their all for the flag.

Now consider the contrast. When Christian “Chairman” Chukwu, captain of the victorious 1980 Green Eagles, passed away recently, his home state of Enugu stepped up in a manner worthy of his stature.

Governor Peter Mbah’s administration not only constituted a central planning committee but also fully funded his burial, covering the tributes, memorials, novelty matches and interment. Beyond that, the state pledged to immortalise him and extend welfare support to other members of the iconic Rangers team. It was a gesture of respect that matched his legacy.

Rufai, who lived and died in Lagos, received no such dignity. Lagos remained aloof, leaving his family to shoulder a burden they should never have borne.

The Nigerian Football Federation, meanwhile, has often been quick to issue tributes and speak glowingly of its fallen heroes, but words alone are hollow. Eulogies without tangible support are empty gestures. It is not enough to mourn publicly while families scramble privately. It is not enough to hail their service at funerals while ignoring their struggles in life.

The problem is systemic and long-standing. Rashidi Yekini, scorer of Nigeria’s first World Cup goal, died in tragic circumstances, reportedly isolated and depressed. Wilfred Agbonavbare, another Super Eagles goalkeeper, succumbed to cancer in Spain in 2015 without support.

Even Stephen Keshi, who captained and later coached Nigeria to continental glory, repeatedly lamented the lack of respect and support shown to those who sacrificed for the nation. Nigeria’s first Olympic medallist, Nojeem Maiyegun, also slipped into obscurity.

Across sports, across generations, the pattern is the same: heroes celebrated in life are abandoned in retirement, and indignity often follows them to the grave.

This is not how nations that truly value service behave. In England, the Professional Footballers’ Association ensures pensions, healthcare and retraining for retired players. In Brazil, former internationals are integrated into football governance and grassroots development. In Ghana, the Professional Footballers Association has lobbied successfully for healthcare support and allowances for ex-players.

Even smaller countries like Rwanda have created athlete welfare structures, linking player performance with pensions and health coverage. Nigeria, by contrast, remains content with headlines and hashtags, neglecting the structures that could dignify its heroes.

Why does this matter? Because how a society treats its heroes is a mirror of its values. When legends die in silence, young athletes learn that national service is rewarded with applause today and abandonment tomorrow. It corrodes patriotism, trust and loyalty to the national cause. If serving the flag does not guarantee dignity in retirement, why should future generations give their all?

It does not have to be this way. Nigeria can and must do better. The creation of an Athletes Welfare Fund, backed by government, the NFF, corporate sponsors and FIFA grants, is long overdue. A National Hall of Fame should provide more than ceremonial recognition. It should ensure stipends and roles in mentoring, coaching and sports administration.

Transparency and accountability in sports management must ensure that resources reach the people who built Nigerian football’s reputation. States must also take ownership of their heroes. What Enugu did for Chukwu should be replicated nationwide, so that no family of a fallen legend is left to face indignity. And beyond institutions, the Nigerian public itself must change. Fans must hold authorities accountable, not only celebrate players in their prime and forget them in retirement.

Peter Rufai’s death is not just the end of a chapter. It is a mirror to our national conscience. His final wish to publish his story remains unfulfilled, and his family’s cry for burial funds remains a scar on our dignity and the dignity of our fallen heroes.

Christian Chukwu’s burial shows what is possible when leaders step up. Lagos’ aloofness towards Rufai reveals what happens when they do not. The NFF’s words, no matter how glowing, cannot substitute for action.

If we cannot honour those who gave us joy, then what kind of nation are we?

Lemmy Ughegbe writes from Abuja

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