An African pidgin proverb says that dog wey go loss no dey hear hunter’s whistle. 

Meaning anyone who doesn’t listen to advise is liable to get himself or herself into trouble sooner than later.

That is what is playing out now with Super Eagles goalkeeper, Stanley Nwabali.

Initially I thought the death of his father was taking a toll on him but his erratic behaviour in recent matches is proving that his mental health is suspect.

The talk about Nwabali is on the lips of most Nigerian fans and the earlier the managers of the national team look into his case and help him out the better.

This is very urgent as in a matter of four weeks, the Super Eagles who got a life line in the 2026 World Cup qualifiers, will be engaged in a difficult CAF play-offs.

Nwabali’s theatrics in the last two games against Lesotho and Benin Republic could have cost the Super Eagles the play-offs lifeline.

If he keeps doing it, it my be too costly. So it is imperative the NFF gets a psychologist for him.

I was ruminating over the Nwabali issue which is bothering Nigerian fans and I stumbled on the piece below and I felt I should share it readers of this Column who are passionate about the Super Eagles and could be hurt if Nwabali turns out to be the reason Nigeria’s flag would not be flown at the 2026 FIFA World Cup.

Enjoy it:

A Problem Like Stanley Nwabali’, written by Charle Udoh.

There is a problem quietly unfolding before our eyes — one that goes beyond football, beyond tactics, beyond the Super Eagles. It is the story of a young man with enormous talent standing dangerously close to the edge of self-sabotage. His name is Stanley Nwabali.

When Nwabali first appeared on the national scene, he felt like an answered prayer. Nigeria had been wandering in the wilderness of goalkeeping uncertainty since that fateful fallout between Sunday Oliseh and Vincent Enyeama — a moment that seemed to curse the Super Eagles’ goalposts for years. From one error-strewn display to another, we watched once-great confidence turn to collective anxiety every time an opponent took a shot.

Then came a new name, whispered first in curiosity and later in admiration — Stanley Nwabali. He was untested, raw, yet strangely composed. His huge frame moved with surprising grace; his calm under pressure seemed to whisper: “Relax, I’ve got this.” And for a while, he truly did.

During the Africa Cup of Nations, he stood between Nigeria and humiliation, his gloves telling a story of quiet redemption. We cheered, we believed, and we dared to hope again. It felt as though we had finally found the heir to Vincent Enyeama’s throne — a man worthy of that once sacred shirt. But lately, the script seems to be changing.

It’s not that Nwabali has suddenly lost his abilities — far from it. His reflexes remain sharp, his positioning intelligent. Yet, somewhere between the applause and the adulation, a shift appears to have occurred. The humility of the boy who fought for recognition seems to be giving way to the restlessness of a man who now believes he has arrived.

We’ve seen flashes of this new attitude on the pitch — moments that make you wince, not because of technical flaws, but because of temperament. That near-red card against Rwanda in Uyo. The clumsy giveaway against Lesotho. The unnecessary theatrics in the match against Benin that became more of a headline than Osimhen’s hat trick.

It’s almost as if he is pressing the self-destruct button — slowly, almost unconsciously. And that’s the real tragedy.

Talent is never enough. Football — like life — rewards consistency, discipline, and humility as much as it does flair. The truly great players understand that their greatest opponent is not the man across the field, but the one staring back at them in the mirror.

Stanley Nwabali must be careful not to become another cautionary tale — a story of potential turned to waste, of promise undone by pride. The same fans who cheered his rise are now whispering doubts. The same journalists who called him Nigeria’s new hope are beginning to use past tense.

But this story does not have to end in regret. He still has time — time to rediscover that quiet fire, that focus that once made him fearless. Time to remember that greatness is not a destination but a discipline.

Because when a goalkeeper stands tall, it is not only his gloves that matter — it is his mindset. And for Stanley Nwabali, that mindset must once again become the fortress that Nigeria believed in.

The hope of a nation once rested on his broad shoulders. It still can — if he steadies himself, silences the noise, and returns to the hunger that brought him here.

Nigeria does not need another lost talent. We’ve had too many already. We just need Stanley Nwabali — the calm, hungry, humble one — back.

For Sir Udoh, a brand strategist, public policy advocate and tourism development advisor, who lives in Uyo to have taken pains to pour out his heart on Nwabali’s new attitude shows how Nigerians may feel if the lifeline the Super Eagles suddenly got from the last day of the qualifiers goes up in smoke by the careless mistake of any player.

Since the days of Aminu Maigari as NFF president when the Super Eagles psychologist, Dr. Robinson Okosun was sidelined for his own personal reasons, I doubt if the football house has attached another psychologist to the Super Eagles or any other of our national teams.

This is the time to have one for the team, especially Nwabali whose recent actions on the pitch gives Nigerians goose pimples.