For nearly seven decades, the Africa Cup of Nations (AFCON) has been the beating heart of continental football — a defiant, biennial celebration of African talent staged on Africa’s own terms. That tradition has now been jolted, after CAF confirmed a seismic shift: AFCON will move from its historic two-year cycle to a four-year calendar, a decision that has ignited controversy and accusations of capitulation to FIFA and European football interests.
CAF president Patrice Motsepe announced the change in Rabat following high-level talks with FIFA chiefs, on the eve of the 2025 AFCON currently underway in Morocco. Under the new roadmap, East Africa will still host AFCON 2027 in Kenya, Uganda and Tanzania, followed by a hastily scheduled 2028 edition — after which the tournament will permanently adopt a four-year cycle.
Officially, the decision is framed as “calendar harmonisation.” Unofficially, many across the continent see it as African football blinking first.
Since its inaugural edition in 1957, AFCON has been staged every two years, surviving political turmoil, economic hardship and infrastructural challenges. Beyond prestige, the tournament is a financial lifeline: broadcast rights, sponsorships and prize money sustain national federations that already operate on thin margins.
Critics argue that stretching AFCON to four years weakens its relevance and deprives smaller nations of vital competitive exposure. While CAF has floated a new African Nations League — modelled on UEFA’s version and set to begin in 2029 — skeptics question whether it can truly replace the commercial and emotional weight of AFCON.
Pressure from Europe, denied but undeniable
Inside CAF, the backlash has been sharp. Officials privately admit the announcement caught even senior departments off guard. The abrupt plan to host two AFCON tournaments in consecutive years — 2027 and 2028 — poses logistical nightmares, from congested qualifiers to calendar clashes with Euro 2028 and the Los Angeles Olympics.
But at the heart of the uproar is a familiar grievance: Europe’s long-standing discomfort with releasing African players mid-season.
Major European clubs, backed implicitly by FIFA’s ever-expanding global calendar — the Club World Cup, a bloated World Cup, more international windows — have for years lobbied against AFCON’s timing and frequency. Previous CAF presidents Issa Hayatou and Ahmad Ahmad resisted that pressure. Motsepe, critics say, did not.
Tunisia coach Sami Trabelsi was blunt: changing dates “won’t change African football’s value to Europe,” where African stars continue to fuel elite leagues. Mali coach Tom Saintfiet went further, calling the move “abnormal” and warning that “Africa must be respected.”
Veteran coach Paul Put questioned whether CAF is being squeezed into submission by FIFA’s global ambitions. With fewer AFCON tournaments, emerging teams lose rare opportunities to shine, while elite nations — already well represented in World Cups and club competitions — lose little.
Morocco coach Walid Regragui offered a more nuanced view, acknowledging that biennial AFCONs helped many nations grow but conceding that football’s global structure is changing. Algeria captain Riyad Mahrez welcomed the shift, arguing that a rarer AFCON could feel “more special.”
Yet for many fans and administrators, that argument rings hollow. Africa’s problem has never been too much football — it has been too little respect.
The AFCON calendar change may be sold as progress, but it risks setting a dangerous precedent: that African football must constantly bend to external schedules, commercial interests and FIFA’s expanding empire.
AFCON was more than just another tournament on the global conveyor belt. It was Africa’s assertion of footballing sovereignty. By surrendering its rhythm, CAF has raised an uncomfortable question that will linger long after the final whistle in Morocco:
Did African football modernise — or did it simply give in?
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