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The title of my favourite Nigerian migration drama, Eyimofe, carries a tinge of dream in its meaning—an ache for something more, yet to be possessed. In the 2020 film, the characters are bold enough to try to leave their home country and they fail. But even when you make it out, you must also wear the courage to face the struggles that might lead you to the top, like in Akin Omotoso’s Rise. Migration stories aren’t just about those who never make it through. They are also about the struggles of those who do and their ascent. They must also be about those who make it through and find themselves in a cycle of never-ending struggle. More importantly, they should include the people and places we rarely see on screen: two queer Black women who cross paths at a deportation detention centre. Written and directed by British-Nigerian filmmaker Joy Gharoro-Akpojotor for Quiddity Films and BBC Films, Dreamers earns my praise not only for the rarity of its love story but also for offering an important lens on the japa narrative. And, for now, that might just be enough.
During her undocumented stay in the UK, Nigerian migrant Isio (Ronke Adekoluejo) is caught and sent to the Hatchworth Removal Centre. She clings to the hope of a fair asylum hearing, convinced that adherence to the rules will secure her release—despite her new roommate, Farah (Ann Akinjirin), warning her otherwise. As Isio adjusts to this new life, she grows close to Farah and befriends Ghanaian Nana (Diana Yekinni) and Iraqi Atefeh (Aiysha Hart). When Isio’s asylum application is rejected, Farah urges her to escape together and fight for their love. Isio initially refuses, but when forces beyond their control threaten their future, a journey of self-discovery follows.
Dreamers initially presents itself as a drama with two hearts. As a migration drama, Isio fights for freedom, knowing she has two appeals before a final rejection leads to immediate deportation. This sets the stage for the rarely seen depiction of a deportation centre on screen, rich with dramatic potential. An eerie, red-hued sequence shows this fate befalling others, foreshadowing Isio’s own battle with a system unwilling to recognise her queerness simply because she has been with a man before. The film touches on a critical issue: the UK (and much of the West) grappling with immigration policy, where anti-immigrant tensions are rising. It raises pressing questions about what it takes to secure residency—whether as an asylum seeker, a student, or even beyond citizenship—making it a timely story. Yet, the stakes in the appeal process never feel weighty enough. The hearings, the decision letters, the tension of waiting—these should build suspense, yet they lack impact, leaving Isio’s fate feeling less urgent than it should. During the Berlinale post-screening Q&A, the director acknowledged a deliberate choice to avoid delving into the complexities of migration politics, framing the story less as a political drama and more as a romance set within that world.
Set in a detention centre with a prison-style design, Dreamers follows a familiar formula: playground bullies, a secluded start, a roommate with more conviction, and a dry lead character who embarks on a journey of self-discovery. This self-discovery journey, in fact, becomes the third heart of the drama. The lead’s rigidity dampens other aspects of the story—characters who blindly trust the system can be tiresome at first, their unwavering belief making them resistant to advice. Without quirks, Isio remains emotionally closed off until love jolts her into transformation. It is through this love that her self-discovery takes on a personal depth. The film heightens the journey through her nightmares, where she is forced to confront a masked fear or trauma. These nightmares subside as her relationship deepens, only to return later, now guiding the rhythms of her decision and solidifying her resolve.
As a romantic drama where confinement brings two people together, Dreamers gives us glimpses into their dreams, their hopes for a life beyond detention, their intimate moments, and their shared joys. But the journey to how this love unfolds feels abrupt. “I see the way you’ve been looking at each other,” another inmate remarks, but we hardly see the kind of lingering glances, or the simmering tension that would make such a statement feel earned at the point it is said in the film.
In Isio’s pursuit of love, it’s also difficult to fully root for her. Will she embrace this new relationship or not? It hardly matters because her initial priorities lie elsewhere. With the swift romance taking place, the migration half of the film triggers more curiosity because of our unfamiliaraity with this world on screen—how does one convince a stranger of their past and the circumstances that forced them to flee home? Yet, the film never fully takes us through the troughs of uncertainty of fighting for love and for freedom simultaneuosly. Events unfold too mechanically, without truly delving into the emotional depth of the relationship. Love just happens after a few checklist-like moments of teasing and resistance. Ultimately, at just 78 minutes, what we are shown feels more suited to a short format.
While Dreamers is sufficient because of its rarity, there are one or two nice touches from the debut feature director, who draws from her own asylum process experience. The story of kinship among women from different backgrounds is beautifully captured—their banter, their conflicts, and their unwavering support for one another. The film also crafts warm, vibrant imagery that contrasts with the reality in the deportation facility. In its intimate scenes, we feel a closeness, sharing in their emotions and fleeting moments of tenderness.
Despite some bold choices with the metaphorical dream sequences and an added layer of poetry, the script feels painfully cautious—perhaps a reflection of it being a debut feature, semi-autobiographical in nature, of an immigrant’s dreamer’s life still being lived. This makes the film’s final act and heart its strongest—the self-discovery that is, and always will be, an ongoing journey. Just like the decision to leave one’s home for any reason, realising the dream is only the beginning; once you leave, you must understand that the immigrant life remains a neverending dream.
Dreamers premiered at the 75th Berlin International Film Festival in the Panorama Section.
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Side Musings
- Yes, to those names. Not every time Ade, Chuks, etc.
- Those wall flyers. Jeez! Bojack-styled but darker, highlighting the dread and terror of their reality.
- Poetry lovers should enjoy deciphering the film further.
- Nigerians do not talk like this, man! Is it to make it crystal clear that they are Nigerians? This can not become the signature Nigerian accent, Goddamnit.
- One way to make money in the diaspora in the coming years as a Nigerian if you want to get into film: become a Nigerian accent coach. If not, ears might bleed over the next couple of years. But seriously, I think we need a Nigerian accent coach stationed in the int’l industries.
- With an increasing Nigerian diaspora, most especially those getting into filmmaking, I’m highly anticipating more narratives woven around the Nigerian migration across the world. The japa narrative as I love to call it is here to stay, yes, and there are many stories to be told!
- You all should check out Chuko and Arie Esiri’s Eyimofe. Interestingly, it also had its world premiere at the Berlinale.
- “The Nigerian dream is to leave the country,” many say. You have got to keep dreaming to survive. I was tempted to open with this.
- A Nigerian and a Ghanaian enter a kitchen. The chef says, “Not today”.
