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The thought alone feels almost cinematic. The banners, the anthem, the parade of nations under the Abuja sun. A continent that has waited more than a century finally seeing the Commonwealth Games staged on African soil, and Nigeria as its host. The vision is powerful because it is overdue, and because for Nigeria it would mean much more than just two weeks of sport.
Nigeria wants to host the 2030 Commonwealth Games with Abuja picked as the candidate City. A bid was submitted last week by the contingent led by the Chairman of the National Sports Commission, Shehu Dikko, and the Director General, Bukola Olopade.
President Bola Tinubu has called the bid “a dream that must be realised.” For once, the political rhetoric fits the mood. Hosting the Games would be a chance for Nigeria to be seen not just as a footballing nation or an oil state, but as a country capable of staging a world event with competence and flair.
If successful, it would be the first time Africa has ever staged the Games. But beyond the prestige, beyond the noise of opening ceremonies and medal tables, lies a question Nigerians have asked before: can sport transform our infrastructure, our cities, our everyday lives?
For those old enough to remember the 2003 All Africa Games in Abuja, the memories are still vivid. A new National Stadium, fresh roads, facilities rising almost overnight, for a moment the city felt like the centre of the continent. Although the shine faded, but, the glimpse of possibility was real. A Commonwealth Games, on a far bigger stage, offers the chance to rediscover it, and maybe get it right this time.
Hosting the Games is not just about spectacle. It’s about leaving behind stadiums, housing, and training centres future athletes can actually use. In Nigeria, where facilities are so often forgotten, that kind of legacy could be transformative. Too many athletes still pack their bags in search of proper tracks or gyms abroad. Imagine if those existed here, built out of the urgency to host the world.
Nigeria’s moment, should it come, could follow that same arc.
A Commonwealth Games would be a second chance to not just build, but to sustain.
There is also the symbolism. In Nigeria, sport is usually framed around the many talents we have. What’s missing is the environment. What would it mean for the next generation to grow up with world-class facilities at home, to train where global stars once competed? The inspiration would not only stay in the stadiums, it would spill into every grassroots corner.
Of course, the hurdles are real. Funding, political will, and whether Nigeria’s governance can withstand international scrutiny all hang over the bid. Yet those are also the reasons the opportunity matters. To host is to commit to transparency, to invite oversight, to prove to ourselves as much as to the world that the machinery can work. Mega-events have a way of forcing uncomfortable improvements: airports get renovated, transport is rethought, urban planning finally meets its deadlines. For Nigeria, the Games could be the jolt that turns long-promised projects into reality.
It is easy, perhaps too easy, to be cynical. The track record of abandoned facilities across the country is long. But every great leap in sport begins with belief before it becomes infrastructure. And this, more than anything, is why the idea of Nigeria hosting the 2030 Commonwealth Games feels so magnetic. It is not just the prospect of medals or ceremonies, but the rewriting of a story.
A Commonwealth Games in Nigeria would not solve everything. It would not end mismanagement, or instantly transform grassroots sports. But it would offer a stage, a deadline, and a spark. It would offer a chance to remember what it felt like in 2003, when Abuja was alive with possibility, and to extend that feeling into something that lasts.
The story is ready to be told. All that is left is approval, and with a bit of luck, it will get there. Fingers crossed.
