Morocco’s Hakimi and Nigerian Politicians, by Lasisi Olagunju

(Monday Lines 2 published in the Nigerian Tribune on Monday, March 23, 2026).

A mother sits her son next to her, looks him in the eyes and says:

“Son, listen to me carefully. I want to tell you some important things.”

“Okay, Mom, what’s going on?” The boy responds and the lesson becomes a conversation about morality.

“First of all, always be kind. Speak kindly and respect everyone, young or old.”

“Even if someone isn’t nice to me?”

“Yes. Kindness shows your true strength. Second, always tell the truth. If you make a mistake, don’t be afraid.”

“Would you be angry if I were honest?”

“I may correct you, but I will be proud of your honesty.”

“Third: Learn to be responsible. Clean your space, finish your work.”

“Does even small work count?”

“Yes. Small good habits make a strong person. Be grateful for your food, your family and every little blessing.”

“I will remember, Mom. Thanks for teaching me.”

When something profound happens, it doesn’t end in the moment; travel. Find voice in history, in song, in art.

The previous mother-son conversation, taken from a fictional animation circulating online, echoes that journey. I refine my reflection on the captain of the Moroccan national team, Achraf Hakimi, and the silent and stubborn discipline of a son guided by his mother’s word.

“My mother told me to refuse the Africa Cup of Nations trophy. I officially refuse it and I hope my teammates do the same. We had the chance to win it, but we couldn’t,” he said at the weekend.

In our tradition we say that a child who listens to his mother hears tomorrow before speaking. Hakimi, apparently, listened.

The Confederation of African Football (CAF) at the weekend announced its decision to overturn the result of the 2026 AFCON final, awarding Morocco a 3-0 victory after ruling that Senegal had forfeited the match.

The ruling, swift, severe and not without criticism, was CAF’s final sanction for Senegal’s brief retreat to Rabat, staged in protest at a disputed injury time penalty awarded to Morocco. It was a decision that, despite its administrative form, left a lingering question about justice in play.

Hakimi heard the CAF and said no. This medal is not mine. There is, in his refusal, a lesson older than football and deeper than sport: that honor is not what is handed to you, but what you are willing to refuse. He chose principle over profit; he insisted that Senegal (who won on the field) was the rightful champion. In doing so, he drew a clear line between legality and legitimacy. It is a distinction that Nigeria’s electoral process and its dispute resolution system often struggle with.

“Grab it, grab it and run with it.” You remember who said it, when and where and the consequences. We are hearing even more frightening promises as we prepare for the next set of elections.

To those who have expressed 2023 scholarship on the political banditry of kidnapping, grabbing and running with the kidnapped, Hakimi offers a rare lesson in how to win or lose with integrity. It offers even more to Nigeria’s entire political class, its electoral umpire and the judiciary.

Elections can be decided through technicalities, procedural rulings, or judicial interpretations. But beyond the letter of the law lies a deeper question: Does the outcome reflect the will of the people?

The position highlights a simple truth: a decision may be legitimate, but lack moral authority. And when that happens, you risk public rejection.

This is where the judiciary comes into play. Like the CAF in this case, the courts, particularly the Supreme Court, are final arbiters. But finality is not the same as credibility. When rulings appear to contradict what the public perceives as clear findings, institutions risk eroding trust. CAF finds itself in a quandary today, with its authority intact on paper, but weakened in legitimacy, after both the perceived “winner” and the perceived “loser” rejected its decision.

For INEC, the lesson is clear: credibility must go beyond process to reflect real outcomes. For the judiciary, this is a call to ensure that justice is not just done, but seen in line with fairness and common sense. For politicians, the message is even simpler: Power acquired without legitimacy will always remain uneasy, like a bird perched on a frayed string.

It is in moments like these that sport reaffirms its highest purpose. Hakimi’s decision is all the more reason why many insist that sports exists to repair a world repeatedly destroyed by politics and politicians. And people know it. They will always choose competition over crisis, peace over carnage.

The intuition is not new. French historian Jean-Baptiste Duroselle offers a vivid example of this in his masterpiece “La Décadence: 1932–1939.” Writing about France in the 1930s, he notes that “the regiments that had won the First World War received less applause from the French public when they marched on July 14 than the champions and main group of Tour de France riders that same month.”

The telling comparison, cited in Paul Dietschy’s study, Creation Football Diplomacy in the French Third Republic, 1914–1939, captures a timeless truth: war-weary audiences instinctively turn to play; exhausted by the theater of power, he seeks the fairness of the field.

Hakimi proved that leadership isn’t just about winning; it’s about honoring the truth of the contest. And sometimes, the strongest statement a player can make is to reject a victory that isn’t truly his.

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