Nollywood’s Unrefined Portrayal of Sex Work and Sex Workers

Sex Work

Collage by Dami Mojid / THE REPUBLIC. Source Ref: Oloture movie / IMDB.

THE MINISTRY OF ARTS / FILM DEPT.

Nollywood’s Unrefined Portrayal of Sex Work and Sex Workers

Nigerian filmmakers must break free from ingrained stigma, clichés, caricature characters, and internalized disdain for sex work by taking a step further in investigating the lives and individual choices of their characters to challenge normative perceptions and create lasting, meaningful art.
Sex Work

Collage by Dami Mojid / THE REPUBLIC. Source Ref: Oloture movie / IMDB.

THE MINISTRY OF ARTS / FILM DEPT.

Nollywood’s Unrefined Portrayal of Sex Work and Sex Workers

Nigerian filmmakers must break free from ingrained stigma, clichés, caricature characters, and internalized disdain for sex work by taking a step further in investigating the lives and individual choices of their characters to challenge normative perceptions and create lasting, meaningful art.

After watching Kenneth Gyang’s 2019 film, Òlòturé, and its sequel, Òlòtūré: The Journey, a recurring flaw in Nollywood’s portrayal of sex work and sex workers became impossible to ignore. Since the late 1900s to early 2000s, this storytelling pattern, with few exceptions, has been a staple of old Nollywood classics and has since been adopted by new Nollywood filmmakers. Though a sensitive topic, some Nigerian productions offer a shallow, pretentious portrayal of sex work. In their hollow attempts to ‘address’ the issue, they often lack a compelling story. Beyond showing glimpses of suffering and violence, these films rarely explore the lives of their characters beyond their roles as sex workers. Moreover, the films mostly present sex workers as morally corrupt individuals, rather than victims of a broken system—though some are. These films fail to convey how sex work reflects the cracks in that system. 

From old Nollywood productions—Zeb Ejiro’s Domitilla, Chika Onukwufor’s Glamour Girls, Chris Obi Rapu’s Living in Bondage, to new Nollywood productions—Gyang’s Òlòturé, Bunmi Adesoye’s Glamour Girls remake, Adeoluwa Owu’s, Adire, Sudabeh Mortezai’s Joy, Nollywood filmmakers have immersed themselves in capturing the realities of sex work and sex workers. To varying degrees of depth and understanding, success, and failure, Nigerian filmmakers have devoted their time and skill to telling stories about sex work and sex workers. These films and series chronicle the daily realities of Nigerian sex workers. In a fictional world, we witness the imminent dangers and traumatic realities sex workers face. Through these productions, filmmakers repeatedly emphasize the numerous inescapable responsibilities that lead each girl into the world of sex work. 

HOW DOES OLD NOLLYWOOD PORTRAY SEX WORKERS?

Old Nollywood, a reflection of a conservative society, portrays sex workers as cautionary tales. Sex workers are also framed as morally deficient humans who need liberation and salvation. When sex workers are not scorned, they are being sexually assaulted by men. Despite the efforts of most old Nollywood filmmakers, they struggled to present an alternative, non-judgmental depiction of Nigerian sex workers. Art is often a cruel imitation of human society, and with few exceptions, these early films reflect society’s tendency to point fingers at sex work. The filmmakers, as products of this society, rarely acknowledge that sex work is a direct result of capitalism and failed government policies. These films fail to clearly articulate that sex work is a symptom of a broken and unjust system that offers no support for its citizens. 

Michael Ezeanyaeche’s 2003 film, Abuja Connection, interestingly trots out a novel approach to discussing sex work. Close attention is given to the relationship between sex workers and Nigerian politicians. Focusing on Sofia (Eucharia Anunobi Ekwu) and Jennifer (Clarion Chukwurah), we see how Nigerian politicians use sex workers to carry out sinister and illegal activities. Additionally, we witness firsthand how sex workers use their relationship with politicians to attract ‘favour’ from government officials and discipline each other. In this film, directed by a male filmmaker, viewers are exposed to how filmmakers and the society at large understand sex work and sex workers. The film eagerly spotlights the dangers of sex work, but what we are shown are stereotypical, handed-down narratives about the industry. 

In Ejiro’s Domitilla, we see one of Domitilla’s friends, Jenny, hacked to death. Released in 1996, this film shows how sex workers are killed under the guise of ‘social cleansing’—a troubling reality that continues to date. Away from the traumatic scene, Domitilla, interestingly and skilfully revealed the titular lead as a layered character. We see Domitilla handle an overbearing boss, share her dream and ambition with friends, and, importantly, meet her family: her father whose illness constantly drains her income, and her siblings who rely on her. By refraining from adopting a judgemental tone, Domitilla avoids reducing its sex worker characters to stereotypes. Instead, the film presents Domitilla as a human being with individual complexities. Viewers see that she is not defined solely by her work; she is shaped by the social and economic realities of her life, including the responsibility of caring for her dependent father and siblings. This nuanced portrayal is one of the film’s most commendable aspects. Commenting on why early Nollywood filmmakers depicted sex workers in a somewhat similar light, Mr C of Iroko Critic’s Nollywood film club, explained how the conservative nature of Nigerian society may have influenced their portrayals in films. Filmmakers likely hesitated to show sex workers in an unbiased light due to the potential risks involved. Regardless of the intent behind their characterizations, these portrayals often guaranteed a negative outcome for sex workers. ‘Old Nollywood used sex work and sex workers as moral lessons,’ Mr. C noted. ‘Given the time, that might have been a story worth telling. With Living in Bondage, you have a sex worker who was almost sacrificed but shouting “Jesus” saved her, and she converted. With Glamour Girls, the ladies are presented as people who go into sex work and end with a bad end.’ It is important to acknowledge that, regardless of the intentions of filmmakers, this remains a distressing portrayal. 

HOW DOES NEW NOLLYWOOD PORTRAY SEX WORK AND SEX WORKERS?

In new Nollywood, there are several titles that explore the realities of sex work and sex workers. One of those titles, Òlòtūré, and its sequel, inspired this essay. Centred around the story of Òlòtūré (Sharon Ooja), an undercover journalist working in a brothel, the film exposes the criminal activities that happen in brothels. In Adeoluwa Owu’s 2023 movie, Adire, the film follows the story of a sex worker-turned-entrepreneur as she moves from the city to a small town to launch her lingerie business. Another notable title is Uyoyou Adia’s 2022 film, Hey You, which tells the story of a sexually liberated woman who owns an adult–only website. Bunmi Ajakaiye’s Glamour Girls, a remake of Onukwufor’s classic, depicts the life of high-class sex workers who work as escorts for wealthy clientele. Ifeoma Nkirukah Chukwuogo’s Bariga Sugar, one of Nollywood’s best short films, offers a fresh and observatory approach to portraying sex work and sex workers in Nollywood.  

Although directed by different filmmakers, these films are united by their portrayal of female characters driven by poverty and dreams of a better life. Trapped by their circumstances and longing for an alternative, more comfortable lifestyle, the women are manipulated by friends and pimps who introduce, lure, and coerce them into sex work. This, again, is indicative of a political system that has distanced itself from its social and economic responsibilities towards its citizens. A failed system that perpetuates poverty and crushed dreams, breeds an environment where sex work and, by extension, sexual exploitation thrive unchecked.  

Distancing itself from old Nollywood, these titles portray sex workers not as morally corrupt individuals, but with a more humanized approach. The actors strive to convey the internal struggles and psychological stress their characters endure, particularly during and after non-consensual encounters. Unabashedly, the cinematographers show us both graphic and intimate scenes—not always to serve the narrative, but to elicit sympathy from the audience. Whilst old Nollywood films adopted a moralistic tone, new Nollywood tends to embrace a linear and superficial storytelling approach. Although the judgmental tone is gradually fading, many of these newer films still take a superficial approach to telling the stories of sex workers. Rather than exploring their humanity, they often reinforce clichés and tropes, diminishing the complexity of these characters.  

Nigerian film journalist, Matilda Adegbola believes that Nollywood films reflect Nigerian society’s perception of sex work and sex workers. In Nigeria, sex work is often viewed as degrading, and parents frequently use it as a warning to dissuade rebellious young women from walking the ‘wrong path’. ‘Sex work is used for reprimand in society. Thus, this perception has been socially ingrained into our consciousness. This also extends to film and filmmakers that explore the subject at a crudely superficial level,’ Adegbola shared with me.

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AN UNREFINED PORTRAYAL

There is an urgent need to move beyond the stigmatizing lens and derogatory portrayals of sex work, replacing them with empathy and a deeper understanding. Our films must break free from ingrained stigma, clichés, caricature characters, and internalized disdain for sex work. Filmmakers hoping to depict the realities of sex work should take a step further in investigating the lives and individual choices of their characters. Scripts should strive not only to challenge normative perceptions but also to create lasting, meaningful art. 

Mr C also shares that new Nollywood filmmakers are better equipped to tell brave stories, unlike their predecessors. But recently, the situation has worsened. Despite the negative outcomes faced by sex workers in these newer films, the usual depth of characterization is missing. He observed that these films and series fail to dive deeply into their subject matter. Using Òlòtūré as a reference, Mr C said, ‘The film didn’t explore what it means working as a sex worker in a dangerous environment because the story was too focused on following Òlòtūré.’  

Adegbola noted that despite improvements in how sex workers are portrayed in Nollywood, more can still be unearthed. She believes Owu’s Adire missed an opportunity by oversimplifying Adire’s story. She said: ‘Adire had the opportunity to explore Adire’s story behind her being a sex worker. But the film made that linear choice of not presenting Adire’s actual story beyond being a sex worker. Sex workers are humans, and they can be multi-dimensional.’  

Nigerian culture journalist, Kikachi Memeh, shares in Adegbola’s sentiment, noting that there has been a conscious effort to diversify the narratives surrounding sex workers in Nollywood. Memeh believes this subtle shift is largely influenced by changing public opinion. Nollywood films are now beginning to humanize sex workers, moving away from portraying them as two-dimensional characters who are morally condemned. ‘It’s a good thing to want to look deeper into the lives and practice of sex work. My only concern is it should only be true to the story being told,’ Memeh shared.  

WHY DO THESE ISSUES PERSIST?

Film is one of the safest spaces for exploring social issues, and Nollywood filmmakers have long embraced this role. In Tunde Kelani’s 1999 film, Saworoide, for example, there is a direct critique of the Nigerian military’s incursion into the government. Lancelot Oduwa Imasuen’s Issakaba addresses Nigeria’s political, justice, and security systems, while Andy Amenechi’s Igodo and Egg of Life explore themes of patriotism towards one’s parents and homeland. Similarly, recent Nollywood films have continued this tradition, tackling economic, social, and political issues. Films like Collision Course, Gangs of Lagos, The Trade, The Black Book, The Blood Vessel, Aníkúlápó, and Jagun Jagun each address political and socio-cultural concerns in their own unique styles. However, what often undermines these socially conscious films—and many of those referenced in this essay—is their lack of strong storytelling. The script’s eagerness to deliver a ‘social message’ frequently weakens both the cinematic experience and the effectiveness of the message itself. 

The films approach their subject matter like hasty tourists exploring a new territory. Eager to experience all the pleasures a new place has to offer, these tourists quickly move from one location to another, checking items off their to-do lists while missing out on a more meaningful and immersive experience. This same tendency is evident in Nollywood’s portrayal of sex work and sex workers. Characters and situations are often introduced arbitrarily to keep the plot moving, with scripts that fail to depict characters as complex humans but rather as superficial images merely ‘experiencing’ something. Like those tourists, filmmakers carelessly navigate through the characters’ stories, prioritizing the delivery of a fraught ‘social message’ over genuine storytelling. 

In a 2017 interview with Women of Rubies, Chukwuogo highlighted how sex workers are often treated as mere plot points in films. According to her, 

In the years since sex work has become a plot point; a twist is thrown in to give a flailing film some edginess, a trump card filmmakers rarely touch unless they can use it as a contrast to purity. The complexities that define sex work and the realities that sex workers have to live through to survive are rarely told with empathy, grace or even distance from personal prejudices and predispositions. 

Nollywood director, Nwamaka Chikezie, noted that as with many sensitive subjects, sex workers are often portrayed through a lens of stigma and moral judgment, reflecting societal views without acknowledging the humanity and struggles of the characters. In earlier films, representations of sex workers relied heavily on stereotypes. However, as Chikezie pointed out, there is now a welcome shift that introduces more depth and nuance to these sensitive topics. A staunch advocate for empathetic storytelling, she believes there is a potential for storytelling that explores the lives, motivation, and challenges of sex workers beyond tired and surface-level portrayals. ‘By doing this, filmmakers could not only serve up some seriously compelling drama but also spark bigger conversations about gender, power, and societal norms in Nigeria because there’s a goldmine of untold stories waiting to be explored,’ Chikezie said. 

For progress, it is crucial to create films that do not impose a noose around the stories of sex workers. Such films can amplify the voices and stories of Nigerian sex workers, fostering the understanding and empathy needed to challenge generationally inherited stereotypes. If filmmakers embrace their social responsibilities, the result will be films that adopt a non-judgmental tone rather than relying on cheap, memorized depictions. These films have the potential to dismantle the generational and unfounded hatred towards sex workers in Nigerian and African societies.  

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A NUANCED PORTRAYAL

When I think of Nigerian films with a nuanced portrayal of sex work and sex workers, three titles come to mind: Chukwuogo’s Bariga Sugar, Chikezie’s My Mama Na Ashawo and Sudabeh Mortezai’s Joy. These lesser-known productions approach the subject matter from a distinct vantage point, presenting sex workers as humans with layered experiences. Bariga Sugar, while primarily a story about the friendship between two young children, is set in a brothel, where the children were ostracized by their peers for being the children of ‘ashawo’. Discussing the inventiveness of Bariga Sugar, Mr C noted that it is the children’s friendship and their observations of their environment that make the film remarkable, not the focus on sex work.  

Chikezie’s My Mama Na is a reflective film that broaches a subject few filmmakers dare to tackle, following the story of Tejiri, a boy raised by his single mother, a sex worker. Mortezai’s Joy takes the conversation further by addressing sex trafficking and the harsh realities of Nigerian female migrants forced to work for heartless pimps.  

When these films end, viewers are left devastated—not just by the characters’ gloomy stories, but by the realization that these are women and children who have been abandoned by a society and system that care little for them. These films demonstrate thoughtfulness, insight, and creativity in addressing a subject that is deeply scorned in Nigerian society. What guides their scripts is empathy, understanding, and care in handling such a potent topic. My Mama Na Ashawo, Bariga Sugar, and Joy beautifully show that these characters are far more than mere plot devices; they are individuals with rich, layered experiences that resonate with broader social and political issues. 

There is no denying the effort to bring new insights into the realities of Nigerian sex workers. Filmmakers are pushing to depict sex work and sex workers in a different, more nuanced light. Memeh describes this as an ‘effort to diffuse the stigma around sex work’. Although Chikezie believes Nigerian filmmakers are on the path to authentic storytelling, we are not there yet. Achieving this requires a deeper investment in the script and story world. It may seem intrusive or creatively stifling to encourage filmmakers to adopt a political or sociological tone, but at the very least, they should strive for a more thorough and sincere approach. Now more than ever, Nigerian filmmakers need to move away from caricatures and pity-evoking characters, and instead, tell more complete, human stories

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