A 3-3 draw: Team Kauran Gwandu United and Team Due Process community politics

By Kebbi Daily News on Mon Sep 15 2025

Team Kauran Gwandu United and Team Due Process—also known as the Surajo Bagudo XI—gave the local fans exactly what they didn’t think they’d been waiting for

Birnin Kebbi — What happened on that well-worn pitch at the FIFA Goal Project feels like football the way it should be: raw, alive, unpredictable. Team Kauran Gwandu United and Team Due Process—also known as the Surajo Bagudo XI—gave the local fans exactly what they didn’t know they’d been waiting for. A 3-3 draw that was gritty, wild, infuriating, exhilarating. You could argue the result was fair. But you left thinking: both teams deserved better, both teams needed to win—and football fans in Kebbi state got a little bit of redemption on a Sunday evening.

Surajo Bagudo’s boys came to town with swagger. Down by a goal early, they showed why their nickname—Team Due Process—carries weight. Methodical, determined, resilient. They turned the tide with a brace and then a third goal that had the home crowd nursing shocked silence. It wasn’t spectacular. It wasn’t flashy. It was disciplined, functional football—a statement that Kauran Gwandu United aren’t the only team worth watching in this state. Yet as impressive as their rise to 3-1 ahead was, so too was their collapse.

Kauran Gwandu United didn’t panic. They recalibrated. Some fans called it stubbornness. Others called it spirit. They grew into the contest, claimed territory in midfield, and began to dominate possession. Their first strike clawed them back into contention. Their second felt like belief returning. And by the time the equalizer flew in, the entire stadium cracked open with a roar. They’d snatched a point. More than that—they’d reclaimed pride.

The goals came from moments of instinct, desperation, precision. A low drive that slipped under the keeper’s legs. A scramble in the box that could have gone either way. And then that final moment of crisp crossing and clinical finish that broke the visitors—and made the home fans believe. Classic football, on a community scale, with the psychological swings of a professional match.

Behind the scenes, the ceremony that followed reminded us that football in Kebbi is as much a matter of community politics as it is a sport. Arc Aliyu Mode spoke on behalf of the chairman, Alhaji Surajo Garba Bagudo, explaining that the match wasn’t only for kicks. It was about unity, youth empowerment, reminding people why they love this game. It’s easy to mock such language. But watching the fans linger after the final whistle, talking tactics, grinning at shared glory, the sincerity felt real.

Then came the money. Mode stepped forward first, handing ₦25,000 to each team out of his pocket. That doesn’t sound like much in absolute terms—but at grassroots level, it’s everything. Then the chairman himself delivered ₦100,000 each. Hon. Surajo Bagudo topped that with ₦500,000 per side. Alhaji Umar Idris added ₦200,000. Alh. Sani Zamfarawa chipped in ₦50,000 per team. By the end of the night, both Kauran Gwandu and Due Process walked away with more than praise—they left with resources they can use: balls, boots, kits, travel costs. That’s gold to local clubs.

Midway through the first half, Team Due Process thought they had sealed it. Their disciplined structure allowed them to close passing lanes in midfield and launch quick transitions. A measured shot from the edge of the box nestled in the corner. Kauran Gwandu’s defense wobbled, and soon it was two. A curling free-kick. A confident finish from close range. They looked in full command, and frankly, they probably should have closed the game.

But football has a rulebook written in heartbreak. A missed penalty, a half-chance dragged over the bar, and suddenly the initiative shifted. The home side’s keeper made a crucial save to keep it 3-2. A crowd breathing one collective sigh of relief. Then the equalizer arrived, almost out of nowhere, swept in off a crisp cross that found the back post. Cue pandemonium.

As the dust settled, arguments began: who was the better side? Who squandered the most opportunities? Was Team Due Process too naive for letting their lead slip? Did Kauran Gwandu have the deeper bench? Without stats it’s hard to say. But intangible elements were visible: team character, supporter volume, community love.

This wasn’t about league points or long-term glory. It was community football elevated—paid for with civic generosity, fueled by ambition, witnessed by local lovers of the game. You didn’t hear talk of lucrative scouts or professional contracts, but you did see belief. You did hear locals whisper about future matchups and potential stars. After that match, you wondered if one of them might soon be playing in a bigger context.

Of course, there’s a cautionary note. Nigeria has seen a thousand community football gestures broken within months by neglect. Speeches of youth unity, donations of match money, all fading when rain comes and training kits rot away. But there’s still value in the moment. Sometimes the measure isn’t whether this leads to a national programme—it’s whether, for 90 minutes, these young men got to feel seen. Whether the crowd felt hope. Whether the kids watching learnt that effort can snap momentum back, that you can come from behind. These are learnings beyond the pitch.

Watching the match you sensed layers: it was sport, yes. But it was local identity on display. Rivalry turned respectful. Generosity disguised as competition. And in a country where football is worshipped but often ignored at grassroots, this was worship meets reality. It won’t make national headlines. It probably won’t spark policy change. But maybe, in Birnin Kebbi, six goals and a handshake are enough to keep something alive.

It would be easy to end on cynicism. To note that after the money is spent and the cameras head away, the teams might struggle again. That attendance fluctuates. Those goals dry up. That our politics rarely invests in local clubs sustainably. And perhaps that’s true. But sometimes you don’t need systemic transformation to remind people that football still moves hearts. That for one Sunday, six goals echoed across a small stadium, and it felt like everything.

Forget the league tables, forget the politics, forget the usual cynicism. Remember this match for what it was: two teams giving their all, a stadium rediscovering song and hope, donors turning belief into cash. And a crowd that went home buzzing, grateful for something raw and unfiltered. That’s what community football should be — messy, emotional, human. And on Sunday, in Birnin Kebbi, it was.