A Tribute to William Troost-Ekong As He Retires

The news landed on a quiet Thursday afternoon, the sort of day when Lagos sun hangs heavy and the streets move with their own rhythm. William Paul Troost-Ekong, the tall defender with the proud gait and the unmistakable voice at the back, had ended his international career. He wrote it softly, almost tenderly, on Facebook.

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HONOURED. GRATEFUL. FOREVER A SUPER EAGLE 🦅🇳🇬

Playing for Nigeria has been the greatest privilege of my life. The journey may end here, but my support never will.

Here’s to the next chapter.

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The words glowed against a white screen, steady and calm, the way he often looked before walking out of a tunnel into noise that could shake a stadium.

Retirements in football tend to appear like short headlines. This one felt like a curtain lowered by the hand of the actor himself, thoughtful and unhurried. His decade with Nigeria had unfolded with triumph, pain, recovery, second chances, and a long record of showing up even when his body rebelled. His story was never flat. It carried bright peaks, bleak corners, and the steady light of a man who understood duty.

It began with a phone call.

In 2015, the late Stephen Keshi reached out and told him to come home. Troost-Ekong was in the Netherlands, the country of his birth, still navigating his identity as a footballer. Born into a mixed Dutch and Nigerian family, Troost-Ekong was eligible for both the Netherlands and Nigeria at international level. The invitation from the ‘Big Boss’ struck him like a summons. A month later he debuted in the hot June air of Kaduna in a qualifier against Chad. He played the whole match. He later said that he thought back to that moment every single time he pulled on the green jersey.

The shirt did something to him. It linked him to a father’s homeland and opened a horizon he had not imagined. It also came with a weight he learned to carry with a mix of pride and stubborn resolve.

In those early years he formed a bond with Leon Balogun. Together they became known as the Oyibo Wall, a phrase that carried appreciation for a partnership that steadied the team during uncertain cycles. Troost-Ekong was still learning the rhythms of African football at the time. Crowded stadiums in Uyo, rising dust in Kano, humid nights in Calabar, the unpredictable pulse of away games in West and Central Africa. He adapted with a straight spine and a vocal presence that echoed across green pitches.

There were Olympic nights too. In Brazil, during the Rio 2016 Games, he started every match. Nigeria chased its only medal of the tournament, and he scored a decisive goal in the quarter final against Denmark. It came from his run toward the far post, a scramble of limbs, a sharp connection, and a roar that rose through the stadium. Bronze followed. It was the kind of medal earned through sweat rather than glamour.

By 2018 he reached the World Cup stage in Russia. He marked tight angles, kept shape under pressure, and walked off the pitch after each match with the quiet focus of a man storing lessons for another day.

AFCON, though, turned him from a dependable defender into a figure of myth.

In 2019 he scored an eighty-ninth minute winner against South Africa. The celebration scattered across the stadium like a gust of wind. He ran with arms wide, eyes shining, teammates falling over him. Nigeria finished with bronze. That night in Cairo planted him firmly in the memories of fans who might not track club football but knew loyalty when they saw it.

Two years later, in the pandemic-delayed 2021 edition, he captained the team through a strong group stage and scored against Guinea-Bissau. Then came Tunisia. A red card for Alex Iwobi, a narrow defeat, and a stunned silence that washed through Nigerian supporters who expected more. Troost-Ekong did not hide from the responsibility of that night. He took questions, protected teammates, and walked off with the look of someone storing pain for fuel.

The most defining chapter arrived in Ivory Coast at the 2023 tournament. It nearly did not happen. He had been overlooked for over a year under Jose Peseiro. His form dipped. His body faltered. Many expected him to fade from the national team. Instead he stayed close. He sent messages of encouragement to the squad when he was not called up. He reminded the coach that the door could still be opened. When he eventually made the squad, he walked back into camp like a man returning home after a long winter.

He then delivered a run that stretched belief.

He played through injury. He roared instructions from deep positions. He thundered into tackles with a commitment that bordered on self-sacrifice. He scored penalties with the nerve of someone who knew that failure could shadow him forever. The semi final against South Africa brought a moment etched into modern Super Eagles folklore. He was supposed to take the final kick in the shootout. Ola Aina missed his attempt. The stadium air thickened. Troost-Ekong stepped forward and took the fourth kick instead. He scored with a steady sweep of his right foot. No theatrics. No hesitation. He then scored again in the final against Ivory Coast, a powerful header that sent Nigerians into celebration across streets, bars, classrooms, and military barracks.

Nigeria fell short of the trophy, losing the final. But the tournament crowned him the Most Valuable Player. He became the highest scoring defender in AFCON history. He carried the team through a sequence of games where hope had to be rebuilt from grit. That run looked like the final blaze of a warrior. A last battle fought with heart rather than a fully healed body.

His later performances under Coach Eric Chelle revealed the limits of endurance. The fade was visible. The match in Uyo with Zimbabwe, where Tawanda Chirewa slipped through him with alarming ease, felt like an uncomfortable reminder that time waits for no one. It was not the only performance that stung. Football is cruel that way. Legends can be peeled back by a single mistake. But retirement allows space for generosity. A man can be judged not by isolated moments but by the sweep of his service.

By December 2025 he arrived at a personal crossroads. He announced his retirement. The words were warm. Playing for Nigeria had been the greatest privilege of his life. He highlighted Keshi. He thanked fans. He thanked the country that embraced him as a son.

He also carried his regrets with honesty. The failure to qualify for the 2026 World Cup weighed heavily. He called it one of the most difficult periods of his entire career. Nigeria stumbled through qualifiers, dropping points they should have secured. The late rally proved insufficient. The loss to DR Congo in the playoff, sealed by penalties, crushed hopes. He admitted that he felt embarrassment and shame. Those emotions do not often appear in official statements. His openness revealed the character behind the armband.

He leaves with eighty-three caps, multiple medals, five major tournaments, Olympic memories, and the echoes of stadiums scattered across Africa. He also leaves with softer legacies. His charity work. His mentorship of young defenders. His steadying influence on dressing rooms filled with pressure and expectation.

And yet, his story refuses to end in silence. He will still travel to Morocco for AFCON 2025. Not to play. To support. To advise younger players. To stand behind the team without stepping onto the pitch. It has the mood of an elder returning to the battlefield, not with a sword but with wisdom.

When the history of Nigerian football in the last decade is written, it will be impossible to ignore his shadow. He was the captain who stayed through storms. The defender who threw himself at danger. The leader who once leapt into a semi final penalty situation without blinking. The man who connected Dutch precision with Nigerian defiance.

William Troost-Ekong leaves the Super Eagles the way he entered it, guided by belief. The first time it was the belief of Stephen Keshi. Now it is his own.

If you ever watched him walk out with the armband, shoulders lifted, jaw set, eyes narrowed in focus, you will remember a man who understood what the shirt meant. He wore it as armour, as responsibility, and as home.

The curtain falls, but he remains in the wings, steady and present. A captain still, even without the armband.