NollywoodWeek: Romance, in Nigerian cinema, is often mistaken for ease. It is treated as a genre that requires little or no more than nearness and sentiment—two beautiful people, a mild obstacle, an expected resolution. Yet romance, at its most exacting, is strain—desire wrestling reality. It demands precision—of writing, of performance, of chemistry. And still, for all the volume of romantic films produced, very few endure. Set against these expectations, East West Love, directed by Tanzania’s Seko Shamte (who returns to the festival after her 2021 film Binti), collapses into the jejune.
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In East West Love, Tito (Sunshine Rosman), a Lagos-based self-made entrepreneur visits her lover and business partner Chude (Efa Iwara) who has been “off lately”—having planned a surprise vacation to Kenya—only to find him in masochistic lovemaking with another woman. Her happiness is shattered, but she eventually is convinced into turning the trip into a girls getaway by her carefree best friend and housemate, Jumaai (Elma Mbadiwe). The trip becomes a journey of healing and the discovery of unexpected love with Juma (Brian Abajah), a wealthy Kenyan heir. In Mombasa, love doesn’t come easily; it is also marked by a breach of trust, much like Chude’s love back in Lagos—except this time, will it endure?
It takes only seven minutes to see an unbecoming product placement typical of Nollywood films. Setting out for their trip, Tito sits quietly as Jumaai clumsily expresses excitement about the ‘free’ trip, mockingly thanking Chude for making it possible. When Tito scolds her with a disapproving look and mourns her previous love, we cut briefly to an exterior shot of Tito from her side of the car window; on returning to the interior shot, two bright-yellow cans of Star Radler sit tidily on both their palms. This moment summarizes Nollywood’s uninventiveness towards product placements. Yet, the film’s problems do not begin here.
It begins with its timeworn story and is eventually undone by its unimaginative construction. “Unimaginative,” “uneventful,” or “uninteresting” are words seldom used in describing director Shamte’s filmography: Mkwawa, a biography of Chief Mkwawa of Uhehe in Tanzania, who opposed German colonial rule in the 19th century; Binti, a portrait of four loosely related women, navigating the troubles of being a woman in male dominated society; or Kikopa, a live-action/animation hybrid five-minute short film where a man tells his granddaughter a story about caring for all, prompted by her questioning of her mother’s love due to absence as a healthcare professional. None of these works are synonymous with a lack of imagination, yet, the director should bear little blame as she appears to be working within the limitations of the standard Nollywood has already set for itself; and as my mother would often say, “If you put your cloth for ground, people go call am rag.”
An unoriginal story in itself can be forgivable in light of a fresh perspective, but the film offers no discernable perspective. This is not to downplay the importance of a strong script in the making of any sensible film. The screenplay—written by Folashayo Oke Sobo and Sonia Nwosu from a story by Abiola Sobo—is plagued by predictable dialogue, an accumulation of generic romance tropes, and a penchant to situate them in the most comfortable of narrative environments. Shamte’s directorial approach results in a formally hollow film with unstable performances. Visually, it offers very little beyond crisp images of colourful landscapes, arranged through a “scroll-stopping” editing logic reminiscent of Instagram and TikTok reels.
The cast of East West Love are fine-looking, yet they struggle through predictable lines of dialogue that might initially be read as poor acting. On closer inspection, however, it becomes clearer that it is better understood as a struggle with the script’s poverty, as they occasionally still manage to produce moments of meaningful performances. As is often the case, a beautiful cast adds little intrinsic value to any film in this modern era—not even in the sense of spectacle, since that is already visible on their social platforms.
Among its many faults is its conformity to Nollywood’s widespread treatment of professions as mere backdrop. Tito is introduced as a hardworking self-made entrepreneur, a detail that should indicate at least a minimal seriousness about her work. Yet when she is hurting over Chude’s abominable act, Jumaai’s reminder that “work is very important” feels disingenuous, as though to invoke an illusionary work ethic the film itself doesn’t engage. Instead, it reproduces Nollywood’s thoughtless rendering of labour, where work entails off-screen agreements conducted in secret or through a montage sequence—barely more substantial than an instagram reel—before being brought to a close with heavy-handed affirmations: “bravo,” “you’ve outdone yourself,” “this work looks really amazing.” The film follows this pattern almost exactly.
After checking off a highly-telegraphed “meet-awkward” via a histrionic condom-spill, where Tito is burdened by Jumaai’s incriminating belongings, the film begins an attempt to give love a geographical context as its title suggests, first by noting similarities across Kenya and Nigeria. As the lovebirds, Tito and Juma, explore Mombasa together, Tito tries Kenyan tea and kaimati (an East African variant for puff-puff). In an earlier scene, Tito says of Mombasa: “there is something about this place. It feels so similar and yet so different at the same time.” This difference gets its grand gesture in one of the latter scenes, now in Nigeria, where Juma tries to kiss Tito. She quickly stops him, informing him that public displays of affection are socially frowned upon in Nigeria, unlike Kenya.
Similarly, in a particularly heartwarming scene where Tito and Juma find their way back to a softer rhythm, the choreography is almost idyllic: charming chords underline the moment, while a thoughtful camera unfolds slowly and deliberately, strengthening the romantic mood. This is completed by an intimate performance from both actors, whose chemistry briefly shows how enjoyable the film might have been had it approached its material with formal seriousness (yes, romance is a serious genre). Yet even here, when it gestures to something meaningful, it feels misaligned, as most of its runtime reveals little sustained intentionality.
East West Love is symptomatic of cinema’s reduction into “content,” where narrative, form, and aesthetics are increasingly governed by the logics of digital circulation and consumption. Save for a few humorous moments, the film offers little more than an Instagram reel aesthetic—beautiful people, exotic locations, quick cuts—or a short influencer travel vlog. What, then, is the worth of a film when what it offers its audience already exists in excess across social media?
Produced by Suss Productions (Nigeria), East West Love had its world premiere at NollywoodWeek 2026.
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Side Musings
- There’s something really funny about Tito inviting Chude to her house at night after returning to Nigeria. The scene appears structured toward a cheap plot twist that ‘untwists’ very quickly.
- In another life–one with a longer attention span—East West Love might pass for a “scroll-stopping” reel.
- Efa Iwara finds himself in another cross-country romantic film.
- I align with Tito’s observation that Mombasa bears a strong resemblance to Nigeria.
- Was a Shutterstock watermark left somewhere in there?
- The Nigeria and Kenya love story continues.
