Every time a film is made in Nigeria, a pirate is waiting to illegally profit from the filmmaker’s sweat.

By the early 2000s, Gbenga Adewusi, the Chief Executive of Bayowa Films and Records International, was one of the most prolific film producers of his era. His early 2000s slate included Ebi Olokada (2000), Onikoyi (2001), Lepa Shandy (2002), and Larinloodu (2003). These films dominated the home video market and earned huge followings among everyday Nigerian viewers.

In 2004, he received a tip that pirates were circulating Apala Disco, his latest production, and other projects at the infamous Alaba International Market in Lagos. He needed to see this with his own eyes, so he went to the market alongside Afolabi Ogunjobi, his manager, and Remi Oshodi, the actress popularly called Surutu. The investigation soon took a dark turn as pirates pounced on them: Adewusi suffered arm and leg injuries, Ogunjobi left with a black eye, and Oshodi was stabbed in the hand.

This violent encounter marked a provocative point in the relationship between Nigerian filmmakers and pirates, but the damage isn’t always physical. The pioneering filmmaker and comedy legend, Moses Olaiya, was dealt a terrible blow upon the release of his 1982 film, Orun Mooru, which he financed with a bank loan. The film’s master celluloid tape was stolen and illegally screened by unlicensed exhibitors, ruining the producer’s profit prospects. It was one of the first major instances of large-scale piracy in Nigerian film history, a decade before Nollywood was born. But the history of that tension echoes across generations of creators and thieves.

Kunle Afolayan is one of the important names in the transition to New Nollywood, with hits like The Figurine (2009) and Phone Swap (2012). In 2015, pirates allegedly threatened to illegally distribute his latest project, October 1, and eventually sold copies of the AMVCA-winning film on the streets of Lagos. Afolayan was vocal about his ugly experience, especially his inability to recoup investment, and even led a sensitisation campaign pressing Nigerian filmmakers and industry stakeholders to fight piracy.

Skip another decade ahead, and Toyin Abraham is making a public show and an example of five people arrested by the police for allegedly pirating her December 2023 film, Malaika. Months later, Femi Adebayo was awarded ₦25 million in damages against a YouTube channel which had infringed on the copyright of his two films, Survival of Jelili and Kodi Ologbon Aye.

Who Keeps Pirates in Business

Pirates are one of the biggest and most enduring villains in the Nigerian film industry. But their business thrives especially because there’s a willing market for their illegal products.

In the late 2000s, pirates often bundled multiple new films into 10-in-1 DVD compilations, selling them for ₦100 to ₦150. Individually, each film sold for around ₦220. In an economy like Nigeria’s, stuck in an unending cycle of development, that’s a significant influence on how people consume films.

With a low minimum wage and stifling economic realities, subscribing to multiple streaming services, or going to the cinema—with inflated ticket fees—to watch Nigerian or foreign films is an elusive dream for the average Nigerian. Because piracy offers much-sought entertainment at accessible and reduced cost, pirates always find a willing market. Thus, in a chronically poor country like Nigeria, the piracy market thrives because there are people interested in its continued survival.

But a frequently overlooked reality of piracy is that it also comes with complex, unintended consequences. Piracy has, over different eras, been an outlet for audience-building. The accessibility of these films gives them cultural relevance as more and more people engage them and hold conversations about the quality of storytelling and performance. In its own way, this accessibility has contributed to building Nigerian film culture. More people can watch these films because they’re cheaper to acquire and make cultural contributions to how they are remembered.

However, this isn’t much comfort for the people who invest in the films at a very personal cost.

The Big Picture of Piracy

In a 2009 P.M. News article, members of the Yoruba Video, Film Producers and Marketers Association of Nigeria (YOVIFPAN) lost a staggering ₦500 million to piracy. Adewusi, who was assaulted by pirates, was one of the top producers affected.

From an investor’s perspective, piracy kills the film business and the building of a sustainable film industry. According to recent industry estimates, the Nigerian film industry loses an estimated ₦7.5 billion (around $18 million) every year, affecting around 80% of Nigerian films. This is more than a numbers game and has real consequences.

The veteran filmmaker Yemi Ayebo, popularly known as Yemi My Lover, recently spoke about how widespread piracy stagnated his career and led to his current financial struggles despite the success of his cult classic films like Yemi My Lover (1993) and Ode Aperin (2002).

What pirates take isn’t always obvious. It’s not just money they steal, but the momentum behind a project, the confidence of its creators, and the opportunities that could have followed. It affects the negotiating power of filmmakers, especially those with theatrically-distributed films, when talking with streamers.

Also, that film executives and investors aren’t making money contributes, in the long run, to how they pay cast and crew members. And, because filmmaking employs the service of not just filmmakers but service providers, the ascent of piracy has a destabilising effect on the day-to-day business of these service providers.

Piracy appears harmless to consumers, but it messes up the filmmaking system and structure in ways that affect the quality of the craft.

Does It Ever End?

Nigerian filmmakers and pirates are caught in a loop. Nollywood has moved past physical piracy through the sale of counterfeit VHS, CDs and DVDs to digital piracy, through illegal downloads and streaming. With technology, pirates have devised modern means to illegally access, acquire and distribute Nigerian films to a willing audience. This technology-driven phase has prompted the creation of illegal websites, unlicensed distributors, and Telegram groups and channels. This shift has made it easier than ever for pirates to access and distribute films, and harder for filmmakers to fight them.

Over the years, as exemplified by Adewusi, the Afolayan-led campaign in 2015 and other individual and collective initiatives and wins against piracy, Nigerian filmmakers and industry practitioners have done their best to curb piracy. But the illegal trade remains one of the most widespread and enduring routes for film circulation in Nigeria.

Perhaps the perspective that’s missing in the anti-piracy movement is the failure to acknowledge that piracy thrives because it meets the audience where they are. Thus, as Maurice Chapot stated, “Until filmmakers and investors study how that (piracy) network functions and reimagines distribution from the ground up, legal models won’t compete, let alone win.”

Piracy persists not because it’s right, but because it’s cheap, fast, and everywhere. This means that, as an industry constantly losing money to the trade, arresting pirates, blocking pirate sites and channels, will only do so much in putting an end to the trade. Producers and investors may need to consider cheaper models that can be created for the distribution of films to the audience beyond cinema and streaming platforms, which are priced above the average Nigerian.

But the big picture remains: While piracy has historically expanded access to Nollywood films to audiences who might otherwise be excluded, it has also severely limited the industry’s ability to generate sustainable revenue, invest in quality production, and build a professional ecosystem. The result is a paradox: Nollywood is globally visible, yet structurally weak, and piracy sits at the heart of this contradiction.

Nollywood’s future depends on turning this paradox into progress: exploring new business models that reflect the realities of the Nigerian audience and more effectively cut out pirates.