It is about 4 p.m. in Kpaduma, on the outskirts of Nigeria’s capital, Abuja, and a group of young players—some barely teenagers—pass a ball across a dusty field as a small crowd gathers along the touchline. The pitch is uneven and bare, but the passing is sharp. Their jerseys form a rainbow of football allegiances: Barcelona blue, Manchester United red, and even the bright yellow of Al Nassr.
Two boys argue over who is faster, Kylian Mbappé or Victor Osimhen. The debate ends when a tall striker in a Napoli shirt controls a long pass and rifles a shot against the post.
“Look at our own Osimhen!” someone shouts.
The irony is that their hero will not be at the next World Cup. Nigeria failed to qualify after a turbulent campaign that was marred by coaching changes and player unrest. Yet the disappointment does not last for long. Another whistle blows. Another drill begins.
For the first time in history, ten African nations will play at a FIFA World Cup. The expansion of the tournament from 32 to 48 teams has given the continent its largest-ever representation, increasing Africa’s allocation from five places to nine automatic spots plus an intercontinental playoff berth. For countries that have long argued that African football was underrepresented despite its global influence, the change is a welcome development.
Yet the moment arrives with contradictions. More African teams than ever will compete on football’s biggest stage, but financial barriers, visa restrictions, and political tensions threaten to make the tournament less accessible to many African supporters than previous editions.
More teams, more chances
Africa’s push for more representation did not start overnight. For decades, football officials across the continent argued that the allocation system failed to reflect Africa’s growing influence on the global game. The continent had produced generations of elite players and landmark World Cup performances—from Cameroon’s run to the quarter-finals in 1990, to Senegal’s shock defeat of defending champions France in 2002, Ghana’s near-semifinal run in 2010, and Morocco’s historic journey to the last four in 2022.
Those moments strengthened the case that African football deserved more than five World Cup slots among 54 nations.
When FIFA approved the expansion in 2017, African football leaders viewed it as a long-awaited correction. The qualifying campaign that followed quickly demonstrated the continent’s depth.
Morocco became the first African nation to secure qualification after a dominant run that included a 5–0 victory over Niger. Coach Walid Regragui praised his team’s consistency against disciplined opponents who often sat deep.
Behind them came Egypt, Tunisia, Algeria, Senegal, South Africa, Côte d’Ivoire, Cape Verde, and Ghana, and later DR Congo—reflecting a continent whose competitive balance has grown over the past decade.
Perhaps no qualification story illustrates the impact of expansion more clearly than Cape Verde’s. The island nation of roughly 500,000 people finished ahead of Cameroon, one of Africa’s most decorated football powers and a five-time World Cup participant. Their success was not accidental. Years of building links with diaspora communities and strengthening domestic football structures produced a team capable of winning matches they once would have merely hoped to survive.
Morocco’s model
If one country offers a blueprint for sustained success, it is Morocco.
At the heart of its transformation is the Mohammed VI Football Academy, a state-backed institution that combines elite coaching, sports science, and structured talent identification. But Morocco’s approach extends beyond a single academy. Investment has gone into youth systems, facilities, and a clear pathway from junior football to the senior national team.
The results are visible across every level.
Morocco became the first African side to reach a World Cup semi-final in 2022. In 2025, its Under-20 team made history by winning the FIFA U-20 World Cup in Chile, defeating Argentina 2–0 in the final and becoming only the second African nation after Ghana to lift the trophy. The achievement reinforced the idea that Morocco’s rise is not accidental.
A new generation—Bilal El Khannouss, Eliesse Ben Seghir, and others—now pushes toward the senior team alongside established names such as Achraf Hakimi, Hakim Ziyech, and Yassine Bounou.
With Morocco set to co-host the 2030 World Cup alongside Spain and Portugal, the ambition is now sustained global competitiveness.
Other contenders face more uneven trajectories.
Egypt, led by Mohamed Salah, has not advanced beyond the group stage since 1990. Algeria continues to struggle with consistency despite its technical talent. Côte d’Ivoire boasts a wealth of Europe-based players but has failed to translate potential into deep tournament runs. South Africa’s return under Hugo Broos is progress after years of decline, but questions remain about long-term stability.
Europe as a pipeline
Modern African football increasingly spans two continents.
Many of the continent’s leading internationals are products of European academies in France, Belgium, the Netherlands, Germany, and England. Morocco’s World Cup semi-final team in 2022 was built largely around players developed abroad. Achraf Hakimi came through Real Madrid’s system, while Hakim Ziyech cut his teeth at Ajax.
Senegal’s 2022 squad, which reached the Round of 16, also leaned heavily on European development pathways, with players such as Kalidou Koulibaly and Edouard Mendy shaped in France.
The advantages are clear: tactical discipline, elite conditioning, and exposure to high-pressure football environments.
Yet this model creates tension. Former Nigeria captain John Obi Mikel has criticised players who treat African national teams as a fallback option after failing to break into European squads, reflecting a broader debate about identity and belonging.
Success in 2026 may depend not only on talent but also on cohesion—building teams that integrate Europe-based players into a shared national purpose. Morocco’s recent success has shown how powerful that balance can be when managed effectively.
Fans shut out by cost and politics.
For all the optimism around Africa’s expanded presence, the continent’s fans face a challenge of access to the game and filling the stands in support of their country.
The first barrier is financial. Ticket prices have drawn global criticism, with Football Supporters Europe describing them as “extortionate” and “a monumental betrayal of the tradition of the World Cup.” For African fans, whose currencies are weaker and incomes far lower than in Europe or North America, the numbers are even worse. Ghanaian supporters are supposed to cough up from $140 to $600 per group-stage match—before flights and accommodation across a tournament spread over three countries. Ghana’s President has estimated that supporting a single fan through the full tournament could cost nearly $11,000. South African fans found similar shock on the secondary market, where resale prices for Bafana Bafana’s opening match against Mexico surged to between R17,000 and R50,000 per ticket.
The second barrier is political. A U.S. State Department memo freezing visa applications from 75 countries—covering a broader screening review—has created deep uncertainty for fans of multiple qualified African nations, including Algeria, Cape Verde, Côte d’Ivoire, Egypt, Ghana, Morocco, Senegal, and Tunisia. While FIFA secured exemptions for players and accredited personnel, ordinary fans have no such guarantee. The Canada Border Services Agency compounded the confusion, publicly stating that “There is no special FIFA visa” and that “a FIFA World Cup ticket is not a ticket into the country.”
The situation is most acute for DR Congo, making their first World Cup since 1974. An Ebola outbreak in the country’s east led to U.S. visa services at the American embassy in Kinshasa being suspended entirely, meaning DRC fans who bought tickets through official FIFA channels cannot enter the United States—where Congo plays two of their three group games. DR Congo’s federation president Veron Mosengo-Omba appealed directly to FIFA for refunds. “We asked FIFA if this is possible to take into consideration, because the tickets are a little bit expensive,” he told BBC Sport Africa. “They are punished because they cannot get into the U.S. to see the World Cup to support their team.”
And the problems extend beyond supporters. South Africa’s national team, due to open their campaign on June 11 against hosts Mexico, was thrown into a visa crisis that disrupted their build-up. Several players and officials were unable to board their chartered flight from Johannesburg, with at least 20 members of the delegation still not cleared for travel as kickoff approached. The delay—coming just days before one of the tournament’s highest-profile group matches—forced a scramble in preparations and cost the squad valuable time to adjust to Mexico’s high-altitude conditions. South Africa’s Sports Minister, Gayton McKenzie, called the situation “embarrassing and grossly unfair towards the players and coaching staff,” underscoring how logistical and diplomatic hurdles are now shaping even the sporting readiness of World Cup teams.
These challenges expose a structural tension at the heart of 2026. A tournament expanded in the name of global inclusion is, in practice, increasingly inaccessible to the very communities it claimed to welcome.
AFCON lessons from 2026
The 2025 Africa Cup of Nations provided an important preview of the continent’s readiness.
Senegal reinforced its status as Africa’s most complete team, combining defensive structure with tournament experience. Morocco displayed technical quality and depth but also revealed inefficiencies in converting dominance into goals. Egypt showed signs that it may finally have the squad depth required to progress further at a global level.
Elsewhere, Algeria, Tunisia, South Africa, and Côte d’Ivoire exited with familiar questions about consistency and game management.
What most observers took home from the tournament is the shifting hierarchy in African football. Morocco and Senegal now set the standard. Egypt remains dangerous. Côte d’Ivoire retain the capacity to surprise. Others continue searching for stability in an increasingly competitive landscape.
Back in Kpaduma, none of these calculations matter.
The boys continue playing as the sun drops lower over the field. They argue about Mbappé and Osimhen. They imitate goal celebrations seen on screens thousands of kilometres away. They chase a version of football that feels both distant and immediate.
The World Cup may be expensive, politically complicated, and geographically far away. But here, it remains what it has always been: possibility.
And for the first time, more African nations than ever before will step onto that stage. Whether that moment becomes a breakthrough or simply a larger illusion will be decided far from this dusty pitch.
