By Prosper Mene
In a lit Lagos studio, Jade Osiberu tweaks the sound mix for her 2025 crime thriller The Shadow Runner, a pulse-pounding tale of a female ex-soldier turned vigilante. Released in January, it clocked 12 million streams on Netflix in its first month eclipsing Nollywood’s male-directed heavyweights like Kunle Afolayan’s latest and earned Osiberu a standing ovation at the Berlin Film Festival.
Meanwhile, Mo Abudu, dubbed “Africa’s Oprah,” oversees post-production on Widow’s Fire, a drama about a Nigerian woman defying patriarchal norms after her husband’s death. Launched through her EbonyLife-Netflix pact, it’s trending in 30 countries by March 2025. These women are the vanguard of Nollywood’s new wave, steering the world’s second-largest film industry churning out over 2,000 movies yearly—toward female-driven stories that resonate globally. Yet, with women making up just 15% of directors, their ascent battles funding droughts, entrenched sexism, and an industry slow to evolve. This story unpacks how they’re reshaping Nollywood’s DNA, probing whether their breakthroughs signal lasting change or a gilded anomaly.
Osiberu, 38, a former ad exec turned filmmaker, embodies the hustle Nollywood demands. Her 2025 hit, shot on a shoestring $80,000 budget, blends Lagos street grit with a heroine who’s “not here to be saved,” she tells me over Zoom. “Audiences crave real women, not props for male egos.” Her gamble paid off—The Shadow Runner outdid 2024’s top Nollywood earner, a male-led action flick, by 30% in global views. Abudu, 60, takes a different tack: her polished productions, backed by Netflix’s deep pockets, elevate Nigerian narratives to Hollywood sheen. Widow’s Fire, starring Genevieve Nnaji as a steely matriarch, has sparked X threads praising its “quiet power,” with 4 million views in its first week. Together, they’re flipping Nollywood’s script—once dominated by tales of rich men, juju curses, and docile wives—into a showcase for complex female leads who fight, grieve, and win.
But the shine belies the struggle. Industry data from the Nigerian Film Corporation shows women directors snag just 22% of available funding, often dipping into personal savings or crowdfunding. “Men get the big checks; we get skepticism,” says Funke Akindele, another rising star whose 2024 comedy grossed $1 million locally but stalled internationally for lack of marketing cash. Male producers, who control 70% of Nollywood’s purse strings, still balk at “risky” female-led projects, insiders say, citing a 2025 survey where 60% admitted preferring “proven” male talent. Abudu’s Netflix deal—rumored at $10 million over three years—makes her an outlier, not the norm. On X, fans hail “Nollywood’s queens,” but critics like @LagosFilmGuru
snipe: “It’s elite women winning, not the industry changing.” Even Osiberu admits the grind: “For every script I shoot, I pitch ten that get ignored.”
The stakes are high as streaming giants like Amazon and Disney+ circle Nollywood, drawn by its $1 billion annual haul. Female directors could ride this wave to parity—Osiberu’s next project, a sci-fi epic, has Amazon’s interest—but systemic hurdles loom. Training programs like the Women in Film Nigeria Initiative, launched in 2024, aim to boost numbers, mentoring 50 aspiring directors this year. Yet, with no government subsidies and a piracy-riddled market eating 40% of profits, progress crawls. Abudu, ever the optimist, sees a tipping point: “Every hit we make cracks the ceiling.” This dives into their victories—raw talent meeting global appetite while exposing the fault lines: an industry hooked on cheap, male-centric formulas, and a funding gap that keeps most women on the sidelines.
