When Kayode Kasum released Afamefuna: An Nwa Boi Story in 2023, it sparked a cultural moment, particularly among Igbo audiences who celebrated its homage to the Igbo apprenticeship system (nwa boi), a notable concept of their entrepreneurial heritage rarely recognized in mainstream media. However, Afamefuna wasn’t a cinematic masterpiece; its success owed much to being in the right place at the right time, capturing a cultural narrative with a sincerity that purchased the people’s sentiments. But what that film did do was that it showed us Kasum’s potential as a filmmaker to approach Igbo culture with intimate authenticity, free from the detached gaze of a non-Igbo.
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Two years later, in July 2025, the trailer for Kasum’s The Serpent’s Gift executive produced by Winifred Mena-Ajakpovi (4:4:44) dropped, stirring anticipation with its promise of another deep dive into Igbo culture. People were excited about this one, too and they carried this excitement to the cinema for its opening weekend. I know this because my cinema was packed full of an eager audience, delightful even as they queued up to buy their tickets. Red Sonja was showing at the same time but only a handful of teenagers were buying the tickets, obviously the type that would never come to the cinema to watch a Nollywood film even if you paid them for it.
Set in modern-day Southeast Nigeria, The Serpent’s Gift follows the sudden death of Nduka Sylvanus, a successful Igbo businessman whose young widow, Ijeoma (Linda Ejiofor-Suleiman), becomes the unexpected custodian of his vast empire. The story pits her against Nduka’s grasping relatives in a battle over inheritance and greed. It is a film that seeks to celebrate the Igbo entrepreneurial spirit while exposing the fault lines of tradition and ambition.
Kasum’s approach in The Serpent’s Gift diverges sharply from his earlier work in Afamefuna. Where Afamefuna wove the Igbo apprenticeship system into a heartfelt, even if flawed, narrative of brotherhood and hardwork, his latest offering leans heavily on melodrama, amplifying familial strife to an operatic heights. Afamefuna felt like a conversation with Igbo culture, respectful and grounded, even when it stumbled. The Serpent’s Gift, however, risks crossing into cultural voyeurism or for the lack of a better word, anthropological exhibitionism— an exaggerated portrayal of cultural practices for external consumption, and here, Kasum flirts with that line. The film’s depiction of Igbo widowhood traditions—particularly the pressure on Ijeoma to relinquish her inheritance and also drink the water used in bathing her late husband—feels like a staged spectacle for an audience eager to peek into the Igbo life, an attempt to show an archaic tradition which modernity has almost forced into extinction.
This voyeuristic tilt is the film’s Achilles’ heel. Modern southeast Nigeria is a blend of progress and heritage, yet The Serpent’s Gift chooses to lean on outdated customs and wrong traditional practices to heighten its stakes, as if the story can’t stand alone without some cultural embellishment. Kasum showed in Afamefuna that he could approach an Igbo story with empathy and nuance, but here, his lens occasionally feels like that of an outsider marveling at, rather than inhabiting the culture. The film’s anthropological lens magnifies rituals, like the ceremonial walk of the widow, at the expense of exploring the subtler dynamics of a wealthy Igbo family torn apart by grief and greed, which could have grounded the story in a more authentic present.
This screenplay co-written by Stephen Okonkwo (Ajosepo) who is Igbo and Ufuoma Metitiri (4:4:44) shields the film from being a story told entirely from the point of view of Kasum who is but an observer of the culture the film seeks to portray. The dialogue is rich in local oral phrases and cultural elements only a native can capture on writing. Yet, the screenplay falters in its introspection. While it captures the surface of Igbo traditions, rituals, family hierarchies, and proverbs, it shies away from probing the moral ambiguities of these practices. The depiction of widowhood customs, for instance, lacks the depth to explore why such traditions persist or how they are contested in contemporary Igbo society. This suggests a missed opportunity to delve into the tensions between tradition and modernity, a theme that would have elevated the script to serious and entertaining culture discourse.
Nonetheless, there’s something to admire about this film. From the opening frames, the film’s tension is palpable, almost touchable. We learn of Nduka’s death before his family does, a narrative choice that casts a shadow over every interaction in the first few minutes. The rich Igbo language and cinematography capture the verdant pulse of South-Eastern Nigeria, with sweeping shots of landscape that breathe life into the setting. The soundtrack, laced with Igbo highlife, hums with nostalgia of old Nollywood films, tethering the drama to its cultural roots. Ejiofor-Suleiman’s Ijeoma is the film’s heartbeat, her defiance is a quiet rebellion against a system that seeks to erase her and other widows like her. She portrays Ijeọma with a searing intensity, a grieving widow who wields both steel and fragility. She’s badass in her resolve to protect her husband’s legacy, yet there are times when her quiet moments of grief threaten to unravel her under the weight of funeral tradition and her husband’s family’s unrelenting greed.
Stan Nze (Afamefuna), as Nonso, Nduka’s younger brother, delivers a performance that’s all huff and no puff, believable but teetering on caricature with his blustery indignation. His confrontations, particularly with security detail at one of Nduka’s stores, brim with energy but lack the nuance to fully humanize his greed. Tina Mba (Suspicion), as the calculating matriarch Adaora, is unmissable and unlikable in equal measures. Her performance anchors the ensemble, though her character’s unrelenting venom sometimes feels like a trope stretched thin, like a Patience Ozokwor mother in-law character from those old Nollywood films.
In its final act, The Serpent’s Gift meanders between resolution and excess, as truths and deception unravel with the speed of a soap opera. The pacing, at times languid, at others breathless, mirrors the unevenness of Kasum’s cultural gaze. It is a film that wants to honor its subjects but occasionally peers at them through a one sided lens that fails to recognize their full humanity or purpose. This is not to dismiss Kasum’s effort and commitment to telling stories aside from his cultural background; he is not the first nor will he be the last. Most of the historical stories in other markets are not told by active participants of those stories anyway and even they make terrible, terrible mistakes that make the fault in Kayode Kasum’s The Serpent Gift forgivable.
Unfortunately, Kasum’s flirtation with dramatic exhibition dulls the film’s edge despite his evident admiration for Igbo culture. To fully engage with these stories, he needs to avoid leaning towards romanticization or sensationalization of stories but instead, strive for nuanced and authentic portrayals that respect the complexities of the cultures and experiences he seeks to represent. The Serpent Gift is neither a triumph nor a failure, but a work that dances on the blurred line between cultural discourse and voyeurism. Still, it’s a journey worth taking, for the quiet questions it tries to ask about widowhood tradition, wealth preservation, and the cost of legacy in a society where years of a wealthy patriarch’s hard work can come to swift ruin in the hands of a wrong custodian.
The Serpent’s Gift premiered in cinemas on August 29.
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Side Musings
- The moment I saw Daniel Etim Effiong’s character, I worried that he might want to sleep with my girl, Ijeọma, like he did with Efe’s wife in TKAM.
- Whoever put that ridiculous idea into Nonso’s head that he could marry his brother’s widow in 2025?
- I’m still struggling to understand the connection between The Serpent’s Gift title and this film.
- Only Nduka’s niece (Beverly Osu) cared to sign the condolence register. Lmao. Although, where I come from, only guests sign the condolence register.
- I guess some people were so busy munching on their popcorn that they blinked and missed Ric Hassani’s brief scenes.
- Despite its shortcomings, I would pick The Serpent’s Gift over Afamefuna.
