In a world where women constantly battle to be seen, heard, and valued, the story of Nigeria’s Super Falcons is both a revelation and a reckoning.
Watching the recent documentary by Togethxr titled “African Giants” on Nigeria’s Super Falcons wasn’t just about football; it was a powerful emotional journey. It explored pain, power, and persistence through the lives of Michelle Alozie, Asisat Oshoala, and Rasheedat Ajibade — true icons of resilience. What began as a celebration of athletic excellence became a piercing reflection of the daily realities many women face — not just on the field, but in boardrooms, classrooms, and homes across the world.
These three women, each a symbol of excellence in their own right, spoke not with bitterness but with raw honesty. They unfolded the layers of their stories: Alozie, balancing elite sport with a career in medicine; Oshoala, rising from the streets of Lagos to Barcelona’s pitch while battling systemic neglect; Ajibade, fierce and unapologetic, breaking moulds in a culture that often demands quiet obedience from women. Their paths were never paved; they carved them with their own hands.
The struggle for recognition
Their stories echo far beyond football. The real game they’ve been playing all along isn’t just on grass. It’s in fighting for their right to be respected, to be paid fairly, and to be valued as professionals, not just “female professionals.” The documentary laid bare the raw truth: women, particularly African women, are expected to be twice as good to be considered half as worthy. It’s exhausting. And it’s wrong.
Ajibade’s words about having to “prove myself again and again” struck a nerve. Whether it’s defending our choices, fighting for a promotion, or simply being heard in a room full of men. The pain of being questioned, minimised, or dismissed is universal. The Super Falcons, with all their trophies and global accolades, still have to shout to be heard in their own country.
For decades, female athletes in Nigeria have faced mistreatment, neglect, and discrimination from the very systems meant to support them. They continue to be underpaid, overlooked, and denied access to basic resources that their male counterparts receive without question or struggle.
As a result, many young girls often get discouraged early on, being told that sports are not for women or that they are not worth the effort. Talented athletes also abandon their dreams, not from lack of passion, but from exhaustion, frustration, and a constant battle for respect. This pattern of systemic disregard silently steals potential, forcing women to choose between their passion and their peace of mind.
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Why must women struggle to prove what should already be evident?
This documentary didn’t just spotlight the pay disparity or the lack of investment in women’s football in Nigeria. It exposed the deep-rooted societal expectation that a woman must suffer to succeed. That we must quietly endure mistreatment if we choose to defy gender-specific roles dictated by society. However, these women refused to be silent. They spoke up. That is where the emotional power of the documentary lives; not just in the statistics or the heartbreaking behind-the-scenes realities, but in their voices. Calm, clear, and unshaken.
Their stories are achingly familiar. It’s not just about footall but all about being told “You should be thankful,” when you’ve worked twice as hard. It’s about being asked to smile more, ask less, and accept crumbs. This documentary is a reminder, a wake-up call, a rallying cry.
Yes, the Super Falcons are the most decorated women’s football team in Africa. But more importantly, they are architects of change, fighting not just for the ball, but for every woman who’s ever been told “you’re good — for a girl.”
In a world that still questions our worth, the Super Falcons are a bold, beautiful answer. And no, women shouldn’t have to struggle to prove they belong. We already do. It’s time the world caught up.
