Nigeria, Film and English: An Exploration into Its Potentials

Street vendors in Lagos (All images belong to Esther Oladimeji, unless otherwise stated)

At the ripe old age of twenty, I have been attempting to regain my knowledge of Yoruba. It’s the language I first heard at home, wraps arounds many of my memories and is the origin of my name. But my want to speak fails, I can comprehend but never actively translate or articulate myself, leaving me in a frustrated, liminal space of muted understanding, so I went in search of ventured avenues of learning. Typically, I was led to read primary school textbooks, listen to music and watch films – immersing myself fully is advised but that shall have to wait till post-graduation. Nollywood, primarily found on YouTube, was my main source of films. The trouble is most if not all, high-quality productions with positive reviews and accolades spoke or peppered in English. At first, I took no offence it was comforting to solve whatever unfamiliar phrases I came across with clues of English. However, with time, I began to ask why English was so predominant in much of what I watched even when it needed not to be. Films made and marketed for a Nigerian audience like myself found a need to cater for a language not of their own.  

Cinema in Nigeria is booming. Film has been readily and steadily available since the 19th century and enjoyed a leap, post-independence, in the 1960s. Coupled with the transition of major thespians like Moses Olaiya to the big screen in productions like Mosesbolatan (1985) which grossed around ₦44 million, by todays’ rates. Government policies like the Indigenization Decrees of 1972 and 1977 led to the active re-assignment of foreign actors’ economic activities to Nigerian citizens and has been cited as another contributor to the early growth of the industry. Today, it is estimated to be worth around $6.4 billion, second to Hollywood, an industry that inspired its portmanteau Nollywood – its colloquial title.  Like the industry, its name reflects  the Western film hub’s pervading dominance – its name is without an equivalence in my home language Yoruba, and I am yet to hear a competing alternative made widely known by the other 500 estimated and recognised languages of Nigeria.   

I should quickly disclaim that I cannot speak on behalf of all of Nigerian film but rather the films I am exposed to as a Yoruba Nigerian. You see, Nigeria incorporates hundreds of tribes and peoples, I hark from the Yoruba people, one of the largest tribes, and naturally have been exposed to entertainment from Yorubaland.  Which means my observations can be deemed as limited but I do not believe that this is the case especially if I pay close attention to the most popular films of the recent ages like the Igbo blockbuster Lionheart (2019) and The Figurine (2009). I recall the latter being all the rage amongst my parents’ circle of friends, thanks to its setting in the National Youth Service Corps camp and discussion of birth right’s pressures; both of which are deemed a point of reference and rites of passage for many Nigerians. The Figurine, an award-winning epic supernatural thriller interchanges between English and Yoruba in a flow that I jokingly term as “Yonglish”.  A quick investigation into the most awarded Nigerian films in the African Movie Academy Awards (AMAA) finds that majority spoke predominantly in English.  In fact, in 2019 Lionheart was disqualified from the 92nd Academy Awards’ Best International Feature Film category due to the lack of Igbo spoken. An appreciation of Kunle Afolayan’s The Figurine elevated use of 35mm film and incorporation of cultural references like juju, was minorly clouded by my wonder as to whether using English was necessary. A question dutifully answered with a resounding yes in thanks to the apparent logic that a want of a wider audience and greater revenue meant making full use of nation’s lingua franca – English. One that I feel obliged to dispute. 

However, such a conclusion makes way for the overarching truth that even post-independence, Nigeria’s entertainment industry is still chiefly ruled by an imported language. The English language historically served as a tool of control purported through systems of beliefs and administration in order to establish a vehicle for understanding and later co-opting control of territories and peoples. Nigeria is a land that gave passage to this vehicle, born from an amalgamation of tribes forced into unison and even named by a British subject, Fiona Shaw, wife of colonial governor - Lord Lugard. The land that is spoken of today was not formed naturally and yet in 21st century it still stands, despite a secession attempt in the 1960s. Film and its continued use of English serves as a reminder of how greatly colonialism’s imprint remains, even in the supposedly liberating expression of art. Movies serve as a reflection of a society’s attitudes and ways. English’s linguistic dominance in a space that promises the freedom of expression suggests that Nigeria is still implicitly restrained by its interrupted past.  

Recently, the ground-breaking epic Aníkúlápó (2022) directed by Kunle Afolayan offered a semblance of progress. The fantastical film coupled with its leading actors, Kunle Remi and Sola Sobowale, provided a fictionalised insight into pre-colonial Nigeria in a manner that aimed to represent and not just sell. Following the journey of Saro a textile weaver in Oyo State, who falls prey to pride. Maintaining an acute awareness of its mission to immerse itself into the rarely fictionalised past, its continual use of Yoruba was made all the more intentional and well-suited. This use of Yoruba is not new but the production partnership with streaming giant Netflix platform suggests a shift in a new direction. Upon first glance, it appears to be a supernatural film inspired by historic touchstones however, at its core, it is a film made in Yoruba with Yoruba people in mind - a form of de-centring is witnessed through the screen. It is not entirely profound, but noticeable nevertheless, highlighted by its numerous nominations and award wins. This is not to say there are not plenty of films that are made entirely in Yoruba; but rather to point out that major, far-reaching films on mammoth platforms and that are not intermixed with English, can in fact, take mainstage and enjoy  the same degree of production quality witnessed in Afolayan’s work. It could be speculated that its partnership with entertainment giant, Netflix, gave grace to such a production. Ultimately, giving hope that Nigerian cinema is taking steps in the right direction, it is not definitive but rather indicative of what may yet come.  

In another strand of thought, I look critically at how my appraisal of such a film was bolstered by its promotion and platforming on Netflix, a US-based English speaking media conglomerate.  I too, as a viewer, should look beyond to what Nollywood could be if it were to no longer interact or rely on Western entertainment for inspiration. If such a possibility is tangible and if leading figures like Afolayan no longer had to look internationally to promote such ambitious works. Instead, Nollywood could be internationally sought after and be more in tune with its domestic audiences’ linguistic realities. Of course, English is spoken by most that populate this African giant of a nation but an act of intentional preservation of its mother tongues must now be undertaken in order to preserve its indigeneity. I would like many more to become familiar with the dynamic and rich culture of Yorubaland and beyond – language certainly has the power to do so. Perhaps there lies a future where an embrace of Nigerian cultures includes her languages- I look to the director of South Korean thriller Parasite (2019), Bong Joon-ho’s true words “Once you overcome the 1-inch tall barrier of subtitles, you will be introduced to so many amazing films.”