In Nollywood, as with most movie industries, the discussions are never-ending. The audiences and stakeholders argue marketing strategies. They push and pull on the necessity of critics, the place of festivals in propelling Nollywood to global stardom and continuous “sabotaging” of movies by distributors. More recently, it’s the debate around kissing and intimacy in Nollywood, with a huge part of the online audience pushing against kissing in films. This debate comes just four months after a UCLA report showed that Gen Zs want less sex and intimacy in films and TV shows. In Nigeria, however, this discomfort is rarely articulated in generational or aesthetic terms. The Nigerian resistance to on-screen intimacy presents itself as a need for morality and decency, but it signals a broader cultural swing to conservatism. It is one that disguises its control and policing of women’s bodies as morality.
This anxiety around intimacy and “decency” is not new in Nollywood; it has existed for as long as the industry itself. It is partly why the acting profession is viewed through disdain coloured glasses and why artistic careers in general are treated with suspicion. Ganiu Nafiu (Alapinu) attested to this in a Punch interview, “Back then, hardly would you see any parent encourage their children to venture into acting. Females, especially, were tagged as prostitutes for going into acting, while men were tagged as being lazy.” Even today, many still turn their noses up at the idea of their children choosing acting as a profession. To them, being a part of the industry is choosing to adopt the ways of Sodomites and Gomorrahites. So, discomfort with intimacy on screen is not a sudden awakening but a continuation of Nigeria’s long-standing culture of moral conservatism.
This conservatism continues to show in the movies we make. Female rivalry is dramatized as seen in Chief Daddy. Sex work is analysed from a sanctimonious perspective as depicted in I Am Anis. Stories that include reproductive rights, such as abortion are often cautionary; the character is made to face excruciating punishments like hysterectomies, amongst others. These films really emphasize the Nigerian society’s distaste for female autonomy and this distaste has grown even bigger.
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In 2022, the American Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade, a law that granted women access to safe abortions. There was a feminist outcry throughout the world. The overturning of the law took away bodily autonomy and sexual agency. America’s place as a superpower means they have the ability to influence the world culturally, socially and politically. So, while Nigeria’s law has always rejected abortion—only allowing it in extreme cases—America’s decision to cut access to safe abortions intensified Nigeria’s crackdown on female autonomy.
Two weeks after Roe v. Wade was revoked, the Lagos State Government discarded a comprehensive reproductive health policy document. The 40-page document, titled ‘Lagos State Guidelines on Safe Termination of Pregnancy for Legal Indications’, had been in the works since 2018 and aimed to address safe abortion practices. A few months later, Nigeria struck out sex education—an essential step in preventing teenage pregnancies and the associated fatalities—from the curriculum. It felt like a conservative pushback to feminist rhetoric flaunted online. And now, with Trump—poster boy for conservatism—as president of the great American state, conservative media has gained momentum. With 79% of surveyed Nigerians–the highest of any country polled–expressing their confidence in Trump’s handling of world affairs, according to a Pew survey, conservatism shows no signs of slowing down in Nigeria, which the kissing debacle emphasizes.
Conservatism is a political, social and cultural ideology that seeks to promote and uphold traditional institutions, values and customs. The problem with this ideology is that traditional institutions are largely patriarchal thus, women are subjugated. Patriarchy nurses a disdain for female autonomy. When the kissing debate surfaced, it was around the same time a rumour was being peddled about Bamike ‘Bam Bam’ Olawunmi (popular for Love in Every Word) and Tope ‘Teddy A’ Adenibuyan’s marriage. The public was quick to blame Bam Bam for the alleged marriage crisis, citing the kissing scenes in the romantic comedy as the cause. When an account defended her, another user replied “She’s not supposed to consider the fact that she’s married abi”. The defender fired back “Are you even joking? Is Teddy not also kissing? Teddy should also consider that he’s a married man”. The prosecutor retorted, “How many movies has he acted that the romance scenes got the public attention? So, you are telling me if you were Teddy, you’d sit down in your sitting room and be watching your wife get smooched and kissed all in the name of a job”. The prosecutor’s retort deflected and slightly defended Teddy A while heaping the blame on Bam Bam. A textbook patriarchal reply; acquit the man, indict the woman. Another account penned a tweet accompanied with an image of Richard Mofe Damijo and Omoni Oboli kissing in Love is War. The tweet reads,
“Stop taking the role of “kissing” in a movie if you’re married.. No man no matter how he loves you will stand watching you do this in the name of acting a movie.. Reason why most actresses have issues with their marriage is because of this kind of role.
You can’t be kissing and doing all sort of roles when you know fully well that you’re married.
That’s a disrespect to that marriage, how do you look at your children after playing such role?
I don’t know what if what people are saying about Bam Bam and her husband Teddy A is true but the role of Achalugo was overly played. Men will applaud you as a single lady while playing such role but will never allow that in their marriage..”
What this essay and the prosecutor tweets reveal is a discomfort not with kissing but with female desire. Patriarchy zeroes in on male sexuality while ignoring female sexuality. Sexuality is often explored through masculine lens; the focus is on the man’s desire. Female sexuality rarely has a place in media. In Nollywood, when female sexuality is grazed, it is depicted as dangerous or excessive. It takes the femme fatale route like in La Femme Anjola and Thin Line. Female sexuality stresses bodily autonomy, conservatism is inherently patriarchal, thus art depicting female desire could be too “liberal” for it.
In the kiss or not to kiss conversation, the position of film as art is remiss. It is widely known that art imitates life. People date, people kiss, people have sex and if all these are erased, it not only fails the first rule of storytelling, “show, don’t tell”, it risks telling emotionally incomplete and dishonest stories. And what is art, if not honest? Film is visual literature and like every piece of literature, it acts as an archive, documenting cultural behaviour. It models relationships and reflects physical and emotional connection.
While intimacy on screen can be gratuitous—and could partly be a reason for the pushback—it can be an exquisite storytelling tool. Intimate scenes could show power dynamics. For example, in FilmOne’s Farmer’s Bride, there is something off-putting about Funmi (Gbubemi Ejeye) and Odun’s marriage. Funmi is a much younger bride married to the older Odun (Femi Branch) in an uneven relationship. The visible age difference creates an imbalance, and coercion seems to linger in the air. This becomes undeniable in a short sex scene between the two. Odun attempts to kiss Funmi and she flinches; he tries again and she pulls back. Seemingly defeated, Funmi undresses and lies on the bed while Odun climbs on top of her. Discomfort is written across her face, but Odun doesn’t care, he is simply in search of his orgasm. In this moment, the power dynamic between them is fully on display. Funmi is powerless here; autonomy is far from her. This scene also reflects Nigerian society’s patriarchal view on sex within the confines of marriage, which was echoed by fashion designer Veekee James last year: “Don’t deny your husband sex. Sometimes you might be so tired that you cannot move, and the last thing you want is anyone touching you. Heck, on some days, you may be able to see that he looks like he’d go and die in the bathroom. My sister, just lie down and open your legs; you don’t need to do anything, just make the crooked way straight.”
When juxtaposed with the sex scenes with Femi (Tobi Bakre), there is an unspooling of characters. Femi seems more interested in pleasing Funmi. The first time they are intimate, he performs oral sex on her—a sexual act that does not, biologically, result in orgasm for the person performing it. This act presents him as attuned and considerate. Whereas with Odun, sex exposes him as entitled. Funmi’s evolution is aided by these sex scenes. We see her go from disempowered to assertive. Her responses also divulge her own desires, boundaries and capacity for agency.
Another thing the two scenes from Farmer’s Bride do is distinguish consent from coercion. Storytelling can also be an educational tool. Stories point, highlight and correct. In Bustle’s essay, “The Surprisingly Hot Case for Condoms in Romance Novels”, romance authors argue that fiction can model safe sex, responsibility and communication. In the same way, films can portray boundaries, illustrate accountability and normalize consent.
If kissing and intimacy as a whole gets thrown out of films, the only place audiences might see sex or kissing is in porn. That is dangerous because porn then becomes the default sex education channel. Alongside being an industry that thrives on the exploitation of women, porn often centres male pleasure and rarely prioritizes emotional safety. It can distort expectations of consent and intimacy. So, if we “cleanse” films of intimacy, we stand the chance of losing a powerful site of informal education and pushing audiences towards unethical representations of intimacy.
Desiring modest media is a legitimate preference, but we must constantly ask ourselves the “why?” Is this about artistic quality or controlling whose desire is visible?
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