Gymnastics is a sport worth fighting for — GFN board member Olalere

Gymnastics Federation of Nigeria board member, Omowunmi Olalere, talks about why she adopted gymnastics, her battle for a fair election, her fight for women in sports leadership and more in this interview with PETER AKINBO

What made you go into gymnastics?

I did not enter gymnastics because I wanted a title. I entered because I wanted to give back. As a business owner, I have always believed that success comes with a responsibility to society. I have built businesses, created jobs, survived difficult seasons and experienced the privilege of being able to make a difference in people’s lives. At a point, I asked myself what I could give back that would outlive me, and I decided to adopt a sports federation as part of my Corporate Social Responsibility, not merely to put my name on a project but to genuinely invest in people.

 Did any other thing draw you to gymnastics?

I deliberately chose a children’s sport. My children loved gymnastics, and I saw something beautiful in it: discipline, courage, flexibility, confidence, concentration and the possibility of discovering extraordinary talent in ordinary Nigerian children. I thought that if I could help even a few children discover what they are capable of, my involvement would be worthwhile.

 How did your involvement in the federation begin?

In 2021, I became Chairperson of the Southwest Gymnastics Association and also contested for the presidency of the Gymnastics Federation of Nigeria. I lost, and I accepted it. I was new, I did not understand all the dynamics of the federation, and I had much to learn. I saw losing not as humiliation but as education. I began studying the sport, understanding its structures, meeting stakeholders, supporting athletes and learning what it would take to develop gymnastics in Nigeria. I sponsored events, supported programmes and invested my time, relationships and resources.

 Did your contribution get recognised after that election?

Not always. I learnt quickly that when you challenge the person in power, your contributions can suddenly become invisible. Because I had contested against the incumbent, some of what I did for gymnastics was not celebrated. I was not doing it for applause. I was doing it for the children, so I kept going.

 What made you try again in 2025?

By 2025, the circumstances were different. The incumbent had already spent eight years in office, and I believed that after two terms, the natural thing in any healthy democratic institution would be to allow members to choose a new direction. So, I prepared, campaigned, travelled, networked, spoke with stakeholders, built relationships, listened and worked. I was not expecting anyone to hand me the presidency. I wanted to earn it through an election. At one point, I secured the support of three of the 14 constituencies. I knew I still had work to do, and my calculation was that if I could secure five more constituencies, I would have a real opportunity to win.

 What went wrong?

Instead of allowing the process to play out, the rules were changed. The Constitution was amended in circumstances that some stakeholders questioned, with the effect, as I understood it, of creating a pathway for a third term after eight years. I began asking questions. Where was the proper authorisation, the supporting documents, the transparent process, the legitimate General Assembly and the evidence that the decision represented the genuine will of the gymnastics community? Questions were raised, but I did not feel that satisfactory answers were provided. Then came the election, which many stakeholders questioned. Some constituencies were said to have been excluded from the process, and the election was subsequently challenged. I refused to accept it. There were petitions, meetings, arguments and interventions. Eventually, the election was annulled, and another one was scheduled. I thought, finally, we would do this properly. I was wrong. When the new election was scheduled for October 25, 2025, I mobilised my team. People travelled from different parts of Nigeria, hotels were booked, resources were spent, and people sacrificed their time. Some of the elderly stakeholders who came were over 70 years old. They came because they believed that, after everything that had happened, the process would finally be allowed to work. Then we were confronted with another reality. The process surrounding the annulled election was being reconsidered, and there was renewed uncertainty about whether the earlier outcome would stand. The gymnastics community was left in uncertainty. At one point, gymnastics was even excluded from the inauguration process, and athletes, coaches and stakeholders were all left waiting. I found myself asking how we had gotten here.

 Do you believe you were treated differently because you are a woman?

That uncomfortable realisation began to grow in me along the way. I cannot speak for every person involved, and I cannot read the minds of those making decisions, but I can speak about my experience. I experienced resistance, pressure and attempts to make me retreat. Repeatedly, I felt that my capacity, my voice and my right to compete were being questioned in ways that made me ask whether a woman who dared to challenge an established order was simply not welcome. There were moments when I was expected to grow tired. Perhaps they thought the travelling would exhaust me, the meetings would frustrate me, the pressure would make me surrender, or that because I was a woman, I would eventually and quietly accept whatever was offered. I refused to be intimidated or treated as insignificant, and I refused to let anyone convince me that because I was a woman, I should be grateful simply to have a seat in the room.

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 What exactly were you asking for?

I wanted the right to compete, nothing more, nothing less. I was not asking for the presidency to be handed to me. I was asking for an election. If I lost a credible election, I would accept it, as I had lost before and knew how to lose. What I could not accept was being denied the opportunity to find out whether I could win.

 Why did you accept the position of First Vice President?

After everything, I was persuaded to accept it in the interest of peace. I was very hesitant, because I knew what I had built, what my capacity was, what relationships I had developed and what work I had put into gymnastics. I kept asking myself, if I am truly not capable, why are they afraid of an election? Why not simply allow the stakeholders to decide? Why was there such resistance to a legitimate contest? But I eventually chose peace. I accepted the proposed compromise because I wanted gymnastics to move forward, I wanted the fighting to stop, I wanted the athletes to return to the centre, and I wanted the children to compete. I thought perhaps I could swallow my disappointment and work from within the system.

 How did you feel when the incumbent got a third term?

It was a shock. Instead of resolving the underlying issues through what I believed should have been a credible election, the incumbent was given another term, a third term, after eight years. Suddenly, the compromise I had accepted appeared to be interpreted as though I had surrendered my right to question the process. My willingness to make peace felt as though it was being treated as acceptance, my sacrifice as weakness and my good faith as consent. I found myself asking whether my willingness to compromise had unintentionally been used to bring an end to the very questions I had spent a year raising. That was one of the most painful moments of this journey, because I could have continued fighting, could have refused and could have insisted on my position. Instead, I trusted the possibility of peace. At some point, I realised this story cannot simply be about me. It is about every woman who has ever entered a room where decisions were already made before she arrived, every woman who was told, directly or indirectly, to know her place. It is about every woman who is welcome to work, mobilise, contribute money, organise programmes and support the system, but suddenly becomes a problem when she says, “I also want to lead.” I do not want a gymnastics federation where women are useful only when they are supporting someone else’s agenda. I want a federation where a woman can stand for election, campaign, build support, lose, win and sit at the table because she earned her place, not because someone decided to give her a decorative position.

 Why are you still standing after all you have been through?

I have spent money and time, travelled, lost sleep, missed business opportunities, endured pressure, been disappointed and been underestimated. But I am still standing, not because I am fighting for a chair, but because I believe the chair should belong to whoever the stakeholders legitimately choose. If tomorrow that person is someone else, so be it. But let the people choose, let the athletes breathe, let women compete, let the rules be respected, and let eight years be enough to ask whether another generation deserves an opportunity. Let no one confuse my demand for fairness with bitterness. I am not bitter. I am awake.

 What lessons has the experience taught you, especially for the children?

Sometimes I go back to why I entered gymnastics in the first place. My children loved the sport, and I wanted to give back, to help children discover their talent and to build something that would outlive me. I never imagined that a children’s sport would teach me so much about power, gender, resilience, institutional politics and the price of standing up. But perhaps that is the greatest lesson. The children are watching whether adults will protect the sport they love, whether fairness is real, whether women can lead and whether courage has consequences or is eventually punished. For their sake, I cannot pretend that everything is okay.

 Where does your journey go from here?

I entered gymnastics to give. I stayed because I discovered a sport worth fighting for. I lost an election and learnt. I prepared for another and built. I faced resistance and stood. I was pressured and remained. I was offered a compromise and chose peace. And when that compromise did not produce the fairness I believed I had agreed to, I found my voice again. I do not know exactly where this journey ends, but I know one thing. I will never allow anyone to make me feel that I was wrong for believing that a Nigerian woman has the right to compete, the right to lead and the right to be heard. This is no longer just my story. It is a story about women, power, sport and the courage to refuse to disappear.

 Do you have a message for young girls in the sport?

Perhaps one day, one of the little girls standing on a gymnastics floor in Nigeria will read this story and understand that she does not have to ask permission to dream beyond the limits someone else has created for her. She can compete. She can lead. She can win. And if she loses, she can try again. But first, let her have the election.