Wapah Ezeigwe | Country Love / 2022

returning to leave

by Douglas Messerli

 

Wapah Ezeigwe (screenwriter and director) Country Love / 2022 [45 minutes]

 

Nigerian Igbo filmmaker Wapah Ezeigwe has created something quite remarkable in his fairly simply-plotted Country Love.

     Fifteen years earlier, Kambili (Kelechi Michael) has left his country home, perceiving that as a gay boy he was not only hated by those around him but also could find room in his Mother’s heart. This is, after all, Nigeria were expressions of homosexuality, male and female, are punishable by imprisonment of up to 14 years, and where even admitting to your sexuality often results in public violence.

     After his long time away, Kambili’s sister Nneka (Uzoamaka Onuoha) writes him of his mother’s death and begs him to return, arguing that she is totally alone, filled with guilt, and wishes to demonstrate her love, although she had generally gone along with his Mother’s viewpoints during his childhood. Yet it is not his sister’s love alone that brings the handsome, now grown man back to his beautiful homestead; he has left behind his boyhood lover, Ifediora (Divine Ahiwe), for whom he has promised to return and help him escape as well.

       Kambili’s first perception upon returning by hired car with is suitcase and several bags tied to the car’s roof, is that nothing much has changed, signaled by his own sister’s reluctance even to run to him with an open-hearted greeting. He moves toward her, and their hugs are anything but enthusiastic.

      He soon learns that, in fact, little has changed. The boys who taunted and beat him when he was a boy still play soccer in a field as adults. Nneka suggests that he join them, with Kambili attempting to explain that he was never friends with his fellow school peers and that football is not his game.

     While the priest officiated the games, the boys let Kambili play, but the moment the priest left

they kicked him off the field and often beat him.

     She is also attending a wedding announcement the next day, and suggests he join her since he might meet a nice girl there. It’s clear she has still has no intentions of supporting his existence as a gay man. She has, however, returned his small room to its original condition, even with the same photos on the wall, in which he left it. And momentarily they find moments of laughter and joy together. But the tensions of his childhood are still strongly represented by his sister.

     When he rushes off to find Ifediora, he finds a rather bitter young man, angry with Kambili for not returning sooner, and arguing that things have “changed.”

      Kambili does join his sister the next day to celebrate the wedding announcement, but he makes himself up with eyeliner and powder, much to her consternation, beforehand, dressing in a controversial outfit for the country dwellers.

     There he again runs into Ifediora, who this time draws him into a back room—Nneka following with justified suspicion as she observes them briefly kiss—before the two run off to a secret place that Ifediora has found with a hillside view of the lush countryside around them.  

    They make love, and for a few minutes it appears that their relationship has abided during Kambili’s long absence. That is, until Ifediora reiterates that he is soon marrying a woman to please his mother and the society, particularly the church, surrounding. Unlike his dear childhood friend, Ifediora does not have the strength or the self-recognition to escape his childhood home, the lessons of a narrow-minded parish priest, or the homophobic attitudes of the country in general, and

Kambili has no choice but to leave his new-found lover to himself and his disastrous choices. We can guess what will happen from the dozens of films where gay men have married because they did not have the moral wherewithal to face their sexuality and the dictates of family and society. Perhaps he even has seen Kambili, if he were to stay, as a hidden sexual escape from some of his familial sexual duties.

 

     When Kambili returns to his childhood home, he discovers that Nneka has thrown most of his clothing into the front yard, burning some of his pants and shirts. Like Nneka before him, he spies on her in her room where she has broken down into sobbing, but backs off before she discovers his presence.

     The next morning, she announces that she has written the letter to him because she had hoped he had changed, admitting that like his mother, she too can never accept his existence as a gay man, the sorrow of which will result in her death.

     Soon after, with no other choices offered to him, Kambili calls the car service as we watch him bring out the suitcase and bags which he throws into the back seat before being driven off, Nneka, in the background, kneeling in sorrow for the differences between them and the loneliness she will once again now face for her own choices.

     Through all of this, Kambili does not argue, but holds his own in demanding his sister, lover, and the community accept him for who he is despite their homophobic attitudes. In a sense, they, who all recognize his as someone special, lose the one who might have made all their lives richer.

     To contextualize Nneka’s and Ifediora’s behavior it might be useful to know that not only is homosexuality outlawed, but in a 2007 Pew Global Attitudes poll 97% of Nigerians believed that homosexuality is a way of life that society should not accept—the second highest of all the nations they polled.

     Accordingly, we immediately recognize just how brave the director and actors were to create this work.

     The beautifully filmed short has the aroma of being semi-autobiographical, although Ezeigwe understandably, given the prevailing laws and attitudes, denies it is autobiographical. In an interview with Sheba Anyanwu in Cinelogue “they” (Eziegwe’s preferred pronoun) respond:

 

“While Country Love isn’t autobiographical, it’s deeply personal. As a queer individual, I wanted to address the broader queer experience. Growing up in a conservative society, I faced challenges and prejudice, which inspired me to create a film that reflects universal queer experiences while highlighting often-overlooked stories.”

 

     Indeed, the director, now based in the Nigerian city of Lagos, the largest in Africa, generally couches his films in an international context: “I’m passionate about creating films that transcend borders and speak to the human experience. I believe every story should resonate globally. Country Love is a testament to this philosophy, and I’m delighted that it connects with audiences both in Nigeria and internationally.”

    And elsewhere in that same interview they argue “Country Love reflects Nigerian realities but aims to engage with a global audience. Homophobia and prejudice are universal issues. Films should challenge these norms and foster dialogue beyond geographical and cultural boundaries.”

     If these seem to be generalized comments that speak around the issue of Nigerian homophobia, however, in a 2022 interview with Uzoma Ihejirika in Open Country Magazine, Eziegwe is much more forthcoming about the difficulties of making such a movie in their country:

 

“ ‘I wasn’t willing to compromise any of my artistic vision,’ Ezeigwe said. ‘When I was looking for a shooting location, I remember going from one lecturer’s quarters to another and getting a full-blown no. I felt miserable. The fact was, I was making a ‘queer film’ and I had to be very picky about the places I choose to tell the story.’

     But it wasn’t just about their aesthetic vision. ‘I didn’t want to expose my actors to any sort of homophobic attack or maybe some altercation. I had to lie to a lot of people a lot of times and I don’t even feel sorry for lying to them. There were no two ways about it: the story is ‘abominable’ to society, but the story must be told because it is worthy to be told and the only way to get it done was to be intentional with what I say and to be very unapologetic about saying them!’”

 

    Later in the same interview, the director makes it even clearer what is vision is about homosexuality in general:

 

“But Ezeigwe is very interested in ‘the right representation of queer desire in cinema,’ they added. ‘There should be a conscious effort in portraying queer desire from a place of authenticity and genuine love. We should first talk about what love truly feels between humans, and not gender, then we should address that imagination that people have about two men in a relationship.’

    As a femme queer person who is non-binary, nothing makes them laugh more than ‘that silly notion of ‘masculinity’ and toughness and roughness as the valid portrayal or image of what queer desire looks like or should look like.’

    They continued. ‘I find that very offensive, because it cancels queer diversity, and then when people, especially heterosexuals, think of two homosexual men in a relationship, it is imagined to be some sexual battle, when in trueness two men can be tender and mild and pampering towards each other because that is exactly what love feels like—two men in a sexual exploration can be romance, can be erotic, intense, and subtle because homosexuality is never about ‘masculine’ presentation or masculinity. I am keen about dismissing that idea that separates queer bodies from love and tenderness.’

  

     It is that tenderness in Country Love’s central character that is most noticeable about his ability to remain true to himself. Despite the hate surrounding him, the terror of his memories about the place, Kambili remains open to engage. Yet when told that no one in his childhood community is willing to offer the same openness, he simply leaves once again, allowing them to suffer in their hollow and hateful lives. Kambili is no missionary; he is only a man true to himself.

    Finally, it an interview with Adelard in Gay Christian Africa, Ezeigwe was asked to speak directly to their bravery of creating such a film:

“Q: You are making a queer film in one of the countries with the most hostile laws against ‘homosexuality’ in the world. Aren’t you afraid of being harassed or your movie being banned?

A: I am a very passionate filmmaker, and it is the passion to tell stories that gives me the courage

to tell them. Film for me is that powerful medium to be seen and to speak boldly and distinctively to the world, to tell stories about my humanity and any humanity. And when I say humanity, I gravitate more to those on the edge of existence. I believe we live in a very diverse world and our experiences as humans are very eclectic. It saddens me when we overlook the story of certain people probably due to religious or cultural sentiments, but then the truth is that all stories matter, and to build a more inclusive world, there must be representation. When it comes to my art, I cannot be impeded by fear or homophobic criticism, I am rather driven by the politic of inclusion. The cinema can never be monopolized despite governmental propaganda to criminalize homosexuality, the cinema would always be a universal language and a safe space where all human experience can be reflected. The homophobia only spurs me to make art that stimulates conversation. I am not worried about anything. If at this point the film already exists why then should I still be worried. The film would not go down well with every individual and that is absolutely fine. The film would likely get banned and I wouldn’t be surprised as well. But it is less about it getting banned and more about the ignorance and cowardice of the people who ban films that are not in harmony with their own personal sentiments and morality. The film is already made, it exists as a cinema even if it is not accepted here. It is a shame to the National body responsible for film in Nigeria to not recognize at this epoch that art cannot be monopolized, that art is a collection of diverse human experience that are valid, and it is absolutely philistine of them to overlook our eclectic humanity and to regulate the stories people should tell and should not tell.”

 

     Before we tsk-tsk the Nigerian situation when it comes to queer behavior, we should recall that from 1934-the early 1960s, the Motion Picture Code did not allow any gay content in US films, and during that same period and after, in many states gay men and lesbians were often arrested for simply gathering in a restaurant or bar. Given the US history of bans on just such gay cinematic stories, perhaps we can learn equally from someone like Wapah Ezeigwe.

 

Los Angeles, July 14, 2025

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema (July 2025).