On a bright afternoon in January 2025, I was watching an episode of Nollywood Roundtable—the OGs edition. Think pioneers of the industry like Chris Obi-Rapu (Living in Bondage), Emeka Mba (former DG of NFVCB/NBC), and Steve Eboh (a founding member of the Actors Guild) gathered around to reflect on what it meant to make films in Nollywood’s early days. Amid this nostalgia and deep industry wisdom, Dika Ofoma’s name comes up. And oddly enough, it doesn’t feel out of place.
Because through Ofoma’s work, you catch glimpses of that golden era, not just in aesthetic choices like the old Nollywood-inspired poster for God’s Wife, but in the themes he explores. His films are rooted in cultural nuance, layered emotions, and a commitment to telling stories that feel both deeply personal and universally resonant.
It’s a hot Friday afternoon in Lagos, but a fairly cold midday when I catch up with filmmaker Dika Ofoma on a video call. He’s somewhere in the U.S., attending the New York African Film Festival where his latest short film, God’s Wife, is being screened. A hauntingly quiet meditation on grief, tradition, and womanhood, God’s Wife has had moments during its festival run so far, showing at the International Film Festival Rotterdam, S16 Film Festival (where he received the Rising Star award as recognition for his works) and now New York African Film Festival
In the 14-minute short film, silence becomes both a form of language and resistance, and Dika admits he’s long wanted to experiment with silence in film. Throughout our conversation, we discussed God’s Wife and the importance of telling stories that are grounded in who we are as a people, highlighting the ability of these narratives to reach even wider foreign audiences.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
God’s Wife has been selected for both NYAFF and IFFR. How do these selections validate or influence your approach to storytelling, especially when tackling culturally specific narratives?
It reaffirms what I’ve always believed in, that stories about our people, stories that are specific to our culture, can travel, can connect with audiences who aren’t Nigerian or African. There are reviews from Rotterdam. The people there liked it. It was well received. And then here (New York African Film Festival) as well, there are, of course, a few Nigerians in the audience.
But you know, we have non-Africans, non-Black people who saw the film and liked it as well. There are also people who asked questions about the making of the film because it connected with them and moved them. And I guess, that’s why we make films. It reminds us that we are all connected and a lot more similar than we are made to believe. And so having all of these different people connect with the story was validating.
Considering the film’s themes, and the audiences from different cultural backgrounds who have seen God’s Wife, have any reactions surprised you so far?
Each time the film screens, I’m genuinely surprised by the level of engagement. People come up afterwards and want to have long conversations about it. They ask questions like, “How were you able to get your actors to do this?” or “How did you fund it?” and “What are your plans for the film?” Also, beyond the technical curiosity, it’s clear they’re deeply interested in the story itself. That kind of response has been really fulfilling for me.
God’s Wife confronts the treatment of widows through a lens that merges Catholicism and traditional rites. What cultural responsibility did you feel while making this film, especially as someone from the East, where these stories still unfold?
I felt I had to stay true to the story because it’s a culture I come from. I’m proud of my roots and of telling stories about my people. I try to be as honest as possible in portraying their lives. Since the film is grounded in the tradition of communities, I needed to ask questions and do some research. But because it’s also a culture I grew up observing, a lot of it came naturally. It was easy to recall certain details. When I wasn’t sure about something, I asked questions and got support from friends, people around me, and even some of the cast.
The central image of the widow and her silence feels deeply symbolic. Could you walk us through some of the visual metaphors in the film? What did you want to say through the things left unsaid?
I think the silence in the film is the film being about grief. And so it takes that tune. And I’m not saying that all types of grief are quiet, but for this one, that was the tune that I was going for. I have always been toying with the idea of making a silent film. And so God’s Wife allowed me to experiment, explore new things. And I was thinking of a story where the world of the story allows me to make a silent film. God’s Wife didn’t end up being silent. But it’s made up of still moments.
But tied to the story, when we talk about dialogue, it’s interesting, I think I realised recently while watching the film that there’s no dialogue in the film. I mean, people speak, but there’s no response. It goes back to the original idea that I was working with. But yeah, part of what inspires the stillness and the quietness in the film is the story of this woman who is grieving.
There’s a tenderness even in the harshest realities you depict. Is that something you’re consciously trying to maintain—balancing pain with grace?
One of the things that I keep saying sometimes is that when I’m writing about people who are going through some sort of oppression and pain, I like to find their strength, maybe because I’m an optimistic person. When we go through difficulties, that’s when we learn things about ourselves, that’s when we find our resilience. I also want people who are going through the same thing to find strength in their character. Despite whatever it is that they’re going through, I think that keeping it hopeful sometimes helps. When people see this, they connect to the characters in a way that they see these characters not as victims, but as survivors and the people who’ve been able to stand through difficulties that they are going through.
It’s impossible not to mention the presence of Onyinye Odokoro, whose performance anchors the film. Not only did she star in the lead role, but she is also credited as a producer. How did this dual role influence the film’s development and on-set dynamics? Also, one notices Onyinye return after A Japa Tale. We could call her your muse at this point. What makes it great working with her?
Fantastic. Because I’ve worked with her before in what was an easy experience, it just made sense to reach out to her again. I’m like, yo, I’m doing this again. Let’s do this. I needed some help on set, so it was okay to just call on her to work behind the scenes and help out as a producer. And so, that was what the relationship was.
With projects like The Way Things Happen, Nkemakonam, God’s Wife—all heavy on themes of grief, loss, and love—are you interested in exploring other themes next? Are there particular aspects of Nigerian or African life you feel are underrepresented in cinema? Will it continue interrogating tradition and modernity in a subtle yet loud manner?
One of the things I’d like to see more of is characters who are flawed. I think, sometimes, we feel the need to make our characters overly likeable, especially when we feel like we’re representing a group or telling a culturally specific story. But I’m more drawn to stories that provoke questions. I’m interested in characters whose flaws and imperfections are visible, yet we’re still able to empathise with them. That’s what makes us human: our ability to recognise injustice, even when it happens to someone we don’t necessarily like or agree with. What if the person on screen holds beliefs we disapprove of, but they’re still wronged? Can we still care? I’m not just talking about the trend of anti-heroes, but about deeply human characters who remind us of ourselves. That’s what excites me right now, writing people who feel real.
Whether I’m setting a story in an urban city like Lagos or in a remote village in Anambra, what matters to me is that it reflects Nigerian life. Whether the characters are dancing to Afrobeats or Ogene, it’s still our culture. I’m always going to keep engaging with how we interact with our traditions and how those traditions shape us. People might say I’m telling the same story over and over, but for me, it’s the characters that change—their lives, their flaws, their humanity.
There will come a time when you’ll make a feature film. How do you envision that shift? What challenges or opportunities do you anticipate, aside from money, of course?
Honestly, it feels almost inevitable. I don’t know when exactly I’ll make one, but it’s definitely on the horizon. That said, even today, I’ll probably be writing another short film script—there’s this idea I’m excited about. I see it clearly as a short film, so I’ll open my laptop and get to work on that.
When I’m ready for a feature, I’ll know. I think the difference with making a feature is that it requires a project I deeply connect with, and it involves a bigger team. From a storytelling standpoint, I’ll still do my duty to the script as I always have—telling the story with honesty and in my voice.
But with features, the considerations are different. There’s the budget, of course, but also the fact that it means spending longer days on set, which I haven’t done before. I’m looking forward to that challenge. At the same time, I’m still very happy making short films for now.
As a young filmmaker whose shorts already command attention, do you feel pressure or maybe excitement about what comes next? What does success look like for you in the long run?
There’s no pressure, really. I’ve thought about it, and to be honest, success for me means being able to keep doing this—filmmaking—and still finding joy and satisfaction in it. If, 10 years from now, I’m still making films and I still feel fulfilled by the process, then that’s success to me.
God’s Wife screened at the New York African Film Festival 2025.
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