Too Naija...Not Naija Enough

Jemima Osunde leans in, brows lifted, a smirk dancing on her lips. Opposite her, Do2dtun, energetic as ever, throws out a question that slices deeper than the usual banter: “Is it true that footballers struggle after football?” A silence lingers, brief but heavy. In this episode of The Culture League, hosted by Nigerian footballers Victor Boniface and Frank Onyeka, the conversation stretches beyond national pride or cultural clichés. It turns personal. It turns global. And it gets real.

What does it truly mean to be Nigerian when your passport says Naija but the world demands something else? When your name rings out in stadiums in Germany, in clubs in London, on tech stages in San Francisco, but back home, your identity becomes a currency you spend cautiously. This isn’t a conversation wrapped in flags and folklore. This is about what it means to be Too Naija for the world to understand you, yet Not Naija Enough when your success becomes intimidating back home.

Victor Boniface knows this duality. His journey, from street ball in Akure to the bright lights of European football, is not just a personal victory but a cultural evolution. Frank Onyeka mirrors this, too. Their lives are testaments to a generation of Nigerians who are rebranding national identity, not through speeches or slogans but through impact. And yet, the question Do2dtun asked doesn’t go away: what happens when the music stops, when the jersey is hung?

Related article - Uphorial Podcast 

Webek Studios

Too many footballers struggle after the final whistle. The applause fades, the stadium lights go off, and reality begins to weigh in. Identity crises. Financial mismanagement. Isolation. The public often forgets that footballers, beneath the fame, are human. Nigerian athletes in particular often carry more than their weight on the pitch; they carry family hopes, societal expectations, and the unrelenting burden of national representation. When the career ends, what’s left?

Jemima Osunde brings a crucial perspective. As an actress and medical practitioner, she understands transition. Reinvention. She challenges the narrative that footballers must fall into post-career depression. “What structures do we have?” she asks. “What support systems?” The silence in response is louder than the applause Boniface hears on Bundesliga weekends.

But something else pulses beneath the conversation, a pride. An audacious, stubborn pride in being Nigerian. The music, the food, the rhythm, the accent, the unapologetic extra that defines us. Nigerians have become the blueprint: Burna Boy at the Grammys, Tems writing for Rihanna, Paystack shaking Silicon Valley, Tolu Bally threading fashion stories into red carpets.

And this pride is also a responsibility.

“Too Naija Not Enough” isn’t just a catchy phrase. It’s a reflection of the tightrope walk every global Nigerian performs. To be Naija enough to belong, but global enough to thrive. To win, without being alien. To grow, without being called arrogant. It’s the dance between heritage and evolution. For footballers, that tightrope is more dangerous. The world celebrates them for their legs; rarely for their minds. And after football, when the world moves on, many are left trying to prove they were more than just athletes.

That’s why this episode matters. It’s not just cultural commentary, it’s legacy building. Boniface and Onyeka are opening up a new lane: a safe space for honesty. They’re not just athletes, they’re hosts, thinkers, cultural ambassadors. They’re showing that success doesn’t have to end when the game does. It can pivot, expand, evolve.

In the end, Too Naija Not Enough is not a critique; it’s a dare. A dare to Nigerian institutions to support their own. A dare to footballers to prepare for their second act. A dare to the world to see Nigerians in full dimension. From sport to stage, boardroom to runway, we’re not just participating, we’re reshaping the narrative. And when the final whistle blows, maybe then the story won’t end. It will just begin again.