‘I’M THE UNKNOWN GENIUS’

It rarely happens. Not for a very long time has Jay-Jay Okocha scored with a media interview the way he just did. An Okocha interview is like an eclipse—it doesn’t happen often. But when it does, the world stands still to listen. And that is exactly what happened when The Sun newspaper splashed his latest heart-to-heart interview with the headline: “I never got the reward I deserved as a player.”

Reading through the interview, I could hear Okocha’s voice—humble, reflective, slightly nostalgic but still proud. Somewhere between the lines, I heard him say something even deeper: “I’m the unknown genius.” That line struck me like poetry. It carried pain, honesty, and truth. It was Jay-Jay saying to the world: I know what I was. I know what I gave. And I know what I deserved.

Okocha has every right to feel that way. He gave his best to football. He was, and still remains, one of the most naturally gifted footballers to ever come out of Africa. Watching him play was like watching a blend of art and jazz—improvisation, rhythm, and flair all rolled into one. He played football the way a musician plays a saxophone, effortlessly creating melodies with his feet.

For my younger readers who may not have seen Jay-Jay Okocha in his prime, let me take you back to the wonder years. Born Augustine Azuka Okocha in Enugu, he grew up playing football on the streets, barefooted, chasing anything round enough to be called a ball. From those dusty fields he rose to the world stage, playing for Enugu Rangers before moving to Germany, where his name began to echo in the Bundesliga. It was there, while playing for Eintracht Frankfurt, that he scored one of the most memorable goals in German football history—dancing past defenders and even the great Oliver Kahn before calmly slotting the ball into the net. That goal alone could have written his legend.

From Germany, he moved to Turkey’s Fenerbahçe, then to Paris Saint-Germain, where he shared the dressing room with a young Ronaldinho. Those who watched both of them then still insist that if anyone influenced the other, it was Jay-Jay influencing Ronaldinho—not the other way around. Later, he moved to England to join Bolton Wanderers, a modest Premier League club that became a theatre of magic. Every match was a show. Every touch was a trick. Every feint drew gasps from the crowd. The fans loved him so much they created that immortal chant: “So good they named him twice!”

Yet, in spite of all that, Jay-Jay Okocha feels unrewarded. In the interview, he lamented that he never won the CAF African Footballer of the Year award despite his exploits. “I believe I deserved it,” he said. And many of us agree. There are players with far less ability, far fewer highlights, who won it multiple times. Okocha—the showman, the magician, the man who put joy into the game—somehow went home without that crown.

Why? Perhaps he came too early. Perhaps he played for clubs that were not glamorous enough. Perhaps Africa and the world were not ready for a player who made football look like theatre. His flair was ahead of its time. In an era that celebrated power and directness, Okocha brought beauty, creativity, and unpredictability. He reminded us that football could still be art.

For me, his words—“I never got the reward I deserved”—go beyond trophies. They touch the deeper question of recognition. How do we measure genius? By medals? By money? Or by memories? Because when it comes to memories, Okocha has given us enough to last a lifetime. Who can forget the 1996 Olympic Games in Atlanta, where he inspired Nigeria to its historic gold medal? Who can forget those dazzling runs in the green and white jersey of the Super Eagles, those curling free kicks, those moments of pure magic?

Even now, years after his retirement, videos of his dribbles still trend on social media. Teenagers who were not even born when he played are learning his moves and calling him the godfather of flair. That is how legends live on—through imitation and inspiration.

As a biographer, my only regret is that I walk into bookshops in London and other world capitals and see shelves filled with biographies of footballers who, with all due respect, do not have half the talent of Jay-Jay Okocha. Yet there are books about them—beautifully written, well marketed, widely sold. And I tell myself: what a pity that Okocha’s story, the story of Nigeria’s Mozart of Football, remains largely untold. How I wish he would let me write his biography. What a book that would be! A book of art, beauty, and destiny.

Maybe someday he will. For now, I am happy that he is doing very well in life after football. Jay-Jay Okocha has reinvented himself as a businessman and a brand. He has become the face of many Nigerian products, a celebrity endorser whose name still carries magic. From football-betting products to beverages, from sportswear to energy drinks, the Okocha smile sells. And rightly so. If anyone deserves to smile now, it is him.

But beyond the endorsements, there is something more enduring—his place in the hearts of Nigerians and football lovers around the world. He represents a golden generation that gave us joy without politics or controversy. He played for fun, for love, for artistry. Watching him was like watching happiness itself sprinting down the pitch.

To the young footballers reading this, there are lessons in Okocha’s story. First, talent is not enough. Work hard. Train hard. Discipline yourself. The world may not always reward you instantly, but keep doing what you love with passion. Second, never lose your originality. Okocha could have played like anyone else, but he chose to play like himself. That’s why we remember him. And finally, understand that fame fades but impact remains. The crowd may stop cheering, but the legend will echo forever.

Okocha is that rare kind of footballer who made people fall in love with the game all over again. He played as if the ball was part of his soul. And even when the world did not give him all the awards he deserved, he gave us something greater—the joy of watching genius, or poetry, in motion.

Now, in my seventies, reflecting on Okocha’s words—“I’m the unknown genius”—I cannot help but smile sadly. Unknown? Not really. Jay-Jay Okocha may not have the trophies or the biographies, but he is known in every corner where the round ball rolls. Known by every child who tries a step-over. Known by every old fan who whispers, “That’s how Okocha used to do it.”

He is known in memory, in magic, in movement. He is the genius who may not have been fully rewarded, but who rewarded us all with beauty. And sometimes, that is the highest prize of all.

THE DAY I ANGERED JAY-JAY OKOCHA

Let me end this column with my most unforgettable Jay-Jay Okocha moment. It was in the early days of The Sun newspaper, and Senator Orji Kalu had invited us to a friend’s party somewhere in Ikeja. To my surprise, Okocha and his wife were at the party, and Kalu arranged for me to interview him. Towards the latter part of the interview, I asked him one satanic tabloid question that could have made a front page:

“Do you play as well in your marital bed as you play on the field of soccer?”

By “marital bed,” I was referring to what President Buhari famously called “the other room” years later. It was one question that angered Okocha to the point of ending the interview and walking away to another table. To make matters worse, Okocha’s young, beautiful wife was giggling—much to his chagrin.

Eventually, Senator Kalu went to pacify him, and the interview continued, though Okocha responded half-heartedly until it ended. I didn’t put this incident in the story I reported for The Sun. I was keeping it for my memoirs.

Looking back, it was an unforgettable day—the day my tabloid obsession almost eclipsed my encounter and an interview with a proudly made-in-Nigeria world-class soccer megastar.  The unknown genius: Jay-Jay Okocha.