What makes a player truly Ghanaian enough for the Black Stars? It is a question reignited by the tug-of-war over Callum Hudson-Odoi and Eddie Nketiah — English-born stars of Ghanaian descent now weighing up their international futures.

As the chase for dual-nationality talent intensifies ahead of the 2026 World Cup, Ghana — like many African nations — must confront a complex question of identity, loyalty, and belonging.

Football is the world’s most universal language. It knows no boundaries, uniting people across colour, creed and class. It evokes the same emotions everywhere: the joy of victory, the sting of defeat, and that irresistible bond among supporters.

For all its divisions, football has the rare power to level society. Modern football, however, is brutally meritocratic — driven by performance, not sentiment. Across Europe, elite clubs now regularly field starting elevens without a single local-born player, proof that talent trumps geography.

And it is this same reality that fuels the global chase for dual-nationality players. Some embrace the call of their ancestral homeland; others hesitate. A few walk away entirely.

However, beneath the unifying power of football lies a growing dilemma: what truly defines a qualified Black Stars player in a global era where nationality and identity often collide?

Why dual-nationals hesitate

The latest debate centres around Hudson-Odoi, the Nottingham Forest winger, and former Chelsea prodigy, Nketiah, the ex-Arsenal striker now at Crystal Palace.

Both are products of elite English academies. Both starred for England’s youth teams. Nketiah remains the all-time leading scorer for the England U-21s with 16 goals in 17 games. Hudson-Odoi, meanwhile, helped England lift the 2017 FIFA U-17 World Cup.

Yet the question persists: How Ghanaian do they really feel? For players born and raised abroad, emotional ties often lean towards their country of birth. They speak its language, follow its education system, and absorb its social values — naturally identifying more with it than with their parents’ homeland.

Players born and raised abroad often feel a stronger emotional and cultural connection to their country of birth. They speak its language, follow its education system, and absorb its social values — naturally identifying more with it than with their parents’ homeland. 

Many feel a deep sense of loyalty to the system that nurtured them. When ancestral nations come knocking, often after the player becomes a household name, it is hardly surprising that hesitation sets in.

Corruption, family and emotional conflict 

African football administration often struggles with inefficiency, allegations of corruption, poor infrastructure, and bureaucratic delays. Stories of junior coaches demanding money from parents before granting opportunities are all too common, crushing countless dreams. 

Perhaps this explains why Nketiah never featured for Ghana’s youth teams. Kylian Mbappé, for instance, famously distanced himself from Cameroun, his father's country of birth, after officials allegedly demanded a bribe from his father, a former player. Such stories linger in the minds of diaspora families and could explain why many dual-national talents turn away from their ancestral nations. 

For players raised in structured football environments abroad, inconsistent communication and management instability that often plague African federations make representing their ancestral nations feel less like an honour and more like a bureaucratic ordeal.

Parents also shape these choices, too. Some encourage their children to represent the country that offered them opportunity and stability; others warn against returning to systems and environments that failed them, often recalling neglect, poor welfare, and favouritism. 

The disparity in recognition and treatment between players from developing and elite football nations is undeniable.

For many Africans, the choice goes beyond patriotism; it is about survival. Representing a developing nation often means trading infrastructure and security for emotional connection and pride.

There are players like Italy-based Ghanaian midfielder, Alfred Duncan, who felt abandoned after injuries or unpaid bonuses. Others cite chaotic management and bias.

And then there is the whispered fear of juju — superstition still woven into African football folklore — whispered through generations.

And you begin to see the complex emotional journey that dual-nationality players go through. Whether myth or memory, such beliefs still shape decisions more than officials care to admit. 

Why players come calling 

Now, the tables are turning. Many Ghanaians are beginning to question why players who once rejected the Black Stars suddenly want to play.

The answer is simple: time changes perspectives. In their early years, players think pragmatically — chasing opportunity, exposure and success.

Later in life, they think more emotionally, seeking belonging, identity and legacy.

Hudson-Odoi and Nketiah, once stars of England’s youth teams, looked destined for the Three Lions (England's senior side). Now they face fierce competition to break into Thomas Teuchel’s squad, where prospects look slim.

Representing Ghana — their parents’ homeland — offers renewed purpose, pride and a realistic path to the 2026 FIFA World Cup. 

It is easy to accuse such players of opportunism, but they are not alone; football associations are equally guilty when they go around courting players with little or no emotional connection to their badge. Is that not opportunism, too? 

Beyond the World Cup 

Many assume the World Cup is the goal. But national football identity runs deeper. The Africa Cup of Nations, for instance, carries equal prestige and pride, yet Ghana has not lifted the continental prize since 1982.

Players like Hudson-Odoi or Nketiah could help rewrite that history, not just for glory but also for heritage.

Hesitation in switching allegiance is not about arrogance or betrayal; it is about identity, trust, and professionalism. 

Players are products of systems, but an acknowledgement of the environment that shaped them, and they naturally lean toward those that nurture, respect and empower them. 

Choosing the country of one’s birth is not a rejection of roots, but an acknowledgement of the environment that shaped them.

Ghana and Africa at large must first fix their house and build structures that inspire loyalty, and create systems that reward merit.

In that challenge lies Ghana’s greatest opportunity.
 
• The writer is a Ghanaian journalist based in Ontario, Canada