Invest in community-led experiences: Young Lagosians are choosing affordable, community-driven gatherings like raves, art shows, and workshops instead of expensive clubs and bars. Investors and entrepreneurs should focus on first building loyal communities before launching a product around it.

Build strong operational structures: Entrepreneurs especially in the events space should treat events like startup launches: invest in experienced production teams, detailed logistics, and real-time problem-solving. Investors can back companies that help standardise these operational structures like Tix Africa.

Scale without killing the culture: There’s global potential in Lagos’s rave scene, but growing too fast can ruin its underground spirit. Entrepreneurs who want to expand should balance intimate, authentic experiences with bigger shows and tours. Investors can help by backing record labels, artist development, and partnerships that take Afrohouse and electronic acts abroad while also protecting the community feel at home.

1. Nightlife goes indie

Among young Nigerians, there’s an enduring need to socialize outside of work. In Lagos, weekend plans once revolved around restaurants, clubs, and bars. However, as living costs soar and disposable incomes shrink, many are rethinking their leisure activities, turning instead to affordable, community-led experiences such as workshops, art shows, and raves.

According to Fadekemi Aburu, Head of Insights at Stears, as cited in the PiggyVest Savings Report 2024, the declining earning power of Nigerians is tied to the labor market, where 60% of workers are in the informal sector, leaving the remaining 40% with limited earnings. That same report notes only 8% of Nigerians spend money on clubs monthly, second to last among 12 major spending categories.

Casual outings have become a luxury. “Even though I earn more money than I did in 2019, my salary’s value isn’t what it used to be. Drinks that cost 5,000 naira now go for 15,000 naira. The last time I went to a club, my friends and I got hit with a 400,000 naira bill. I haven’t been back since,” Kamnelechukwu Obasi, founder of co-working and community space Joydragger House, told Communiqué.

In this reality, millennials and Gen Z Lagosians are leaning on each other to create new ways to unwind. “Lately, I’ve been drawn to the vibe we had as teenagers, showing up at a friend’s place and hanging out for the price of whatever’s in your pantry. Since I couldn’t find that anymore, I decided to create it,” Obasi says. Her Surulere living room is now a multipurpose space where people work, make art, and watch movies for a fee. Others are doing the same. Culture journalist Nelson CJ hosts AThirdSpace, weekly gatherings centered around art, food, and literature, offering Lagosians a break from their work-home routine.

Even established art spaces have adapted, meeting the emotional and financial needs of their audiences. Galleries like 16by16, the G.A.S. Foundation, and Amah Studio now host workshops and sunset parties. There's a noticeable shift in how the city’s most active inhabitants spend their leisure time. At the heart of this shift, electronic dance music—encompassing house, techno, and drum and bass—has become the soundtrack for alternative Lagos, with raves at its core.

“I go to raves for the community. The quality of people keeps me coming back,” says Deola Adebiyi, digital marketing lead at Mavin Records and a longtime raver. “One time, at a rave, a guy was dancing too close, and some women came over to make sure I was safe. I don’t see that level of care anywhere else.” For many, raving is akin to religion: loyalty to the music, freedom to be yourself, and safety to express without judgment. “They push back against the idea that connection has to cost money. I love the informality. I don’t have to pretend to be something I’m not.” Obasi told Communiqué

2. Nothing comes easy

Lagos is home to several raves, with new ones springing up every other day. “When I started, there was maybe one rave a month. Now, every weekend, there’s at least one; sometimes there’s a beach rave, a club rave, and a warehouse rave all in the same weekend,” Adebiyi says. Some raves are genre-specific, letting people choose by taste.

New-age heavyweights like Group Therapy and Monochroma now attract over a thousand attendees per edition, filling massive venues with high-energy sound. “Group Therapy excites me because it’s a leveler. Celebrities show up in this to experience without feeling like public figures. That tells me we’re doing something right,” says Aderinsola Ogala, DJ (Aniko) and Group Therapy’s founder.

Delivering a stellar rave is far from simple. It relies on a skill that understands the culture and the technical complexity. The Lagos rave scene attracts talent from individuals who build and scale complex projects, including tech founders, engineers, bankers-turned-DJs, marketers, and media editors, who often juggle rave production alongside their day jobs. “Our core roles include a production lead who drives the look, feel, and technical execution of the entire event, a project manager who manages the logistics, and a marketing lead who handles rollout, social media, community, and ticket sales. We also work with an artist liaison who ensures DJs and performers have a smooth journey from arrival to stage and a content team of photographers, videographers, and editors who document the magic,” Dimeji, DJ (B3AM), co-curator and operations lead at Activity Music Festival, told Communiqué.

Preparation often begins months in advance to help save costs, but this is not enough. “We have at least 20 people on the team, and we start planning three months ahead. Because it happens in remote areas, costs can hit 10 million naira. Even with great turnout, breaking even is tough,” says Tigran Letov, DJ (Tigran) and co-founder of the 2-day Èkólectro Festival.

Beyond the financial costs pre-event, mishaps are prone to happen during the event. Some problems include power failure, DJ gear malfunctions, delayed vendor arrivals, unplanned rain, or even someone trying to force entry with fake tickets.

Ejiro O., a DJ known as Sons of Ubuntu and cofounder of Sweat It Out, one of Lagos’ oldest raves, recalls an instance where they lost music for 45 minutes mid-show. There’s also the threat of harassment from area boys, especially for queer ravers or those dressed expressively. Security isn’t just about stopping theft or fights but also about ensuring everyone feels free to dance and express themselves without fear.

David Olubaji, a software engineer turned DJ (Blak Dave) and cofounder of Monochroma, a high-concept bimonthly rave series, likens running the event to launching a startup. “About 40–60% of our budget goes to human resources. Each edition is treated like a product launch. I’m big on data; when do people arrive, which DJ set gets the best crowd spike? We watch user experience closely because it shapes how energy flows throughout the night.”

The tension for the growing rave scene is balancing scale with the soul of the underground. Tigran of Èkólectro describes the underground vibe as “music first, freedom, raw rebellion, non-aesthetic values, and accessibility for all.” For its first two years, Èkólectro was free to attend. Sweat It Out, too, started as an entry-free rave to build a community around house music.

“Keeping Sweat It Out underground benefits the people who love the music,” says Ebi Tomce, a DJ known as Dr Love, an investment banker and co-founder of Sweat It Out. “We’re not curating events for people to just show up; we want them to enjoy the music and to bask in the feeling because we are curating an artistic experience where people meet themselves.”

“Seeing table culture at raves is quite disheartening because it takes away from the experience of a rave at its core, which is to dance without care for the markings of the outside world, like class.” Deola says, “As someone who works in marketing and media, I understand they are trying to make money, especially as these events are cost-intensive, but at the same time, I wish we didn’t have tables with minimal spend caps, which I believe are representative of where the scene is at the moment. However, I think there’s space for the underground raves, which focus more on building community and creating safe spaces for marginalized groups. The more commercialized spaces focus on scaling exponentially.”

At their core, raves are not intended to generate revenue. Historically, they were built to engineer a community of self expression, respect and inclusion “We keep Sweat It Out bootstrapped so we can be deliberate about certain things. For instance, we use studios or warehouses because that’s the typical design of a rave. It’s also why the numbers abound when you take a blank slate of a location and build a utopia where people can’t tell when it’s day or nighttime until they step out,” Ejiro of Sweat It Out told Communiqué.

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3. Chasing scale

While Sweat It Out and Èkólectro prioritize intimacy and artistic rebellion, others like ASC3NSION, Group Therapy, and Element House have begun to lean into large-format experiences with regional and global reach.“Group Therapy isn’t underground anymore; it’s still true to the music. As long as the music and the sense of freedom always come first, everything else can grow around that.” Aniko says

Dimeji has ambitious plans for the Activity Music Festival, aiming to curate electronic music experiences across Africa and beyond. Its record label, Activity Records, is the vehicle for those ambitions. “ Activity Records will be the launchpad for the next wave of African electronic artists. We want rave culture seen as a bold, vibrant expression of African creativity, not niche or imported.”

Black Dave shares a similar vision: “Monochroma’s goal is to tour cities like Lagos, Nairobi, Joburg, London, and Ibiza to become the leading Afrohouse rave brand from West Africa.” For Group Therapy, this global push is already unfolding. Its recently announced world tour includes stops in London, Amsterdam, Johannesburg, and Nairobi.

As the scene expands and begins to crossover globally, the goal is for the local movement to keep growing alongside it. Adebiyi believes the quality of raves will continue to improve. “We’ve gone from raving only in warehouses to various venues: beaches, clubs, rooftops. The community is growing, and it’s no longer just underground. One sign of how far it’s come is seeing people complain online that a rave didn’t play Afrobeats, which means folks who usually attend regular events are now showing up at raves. We’re also bringing in international DJs, which is great for the scene. I want people to fly into Lagos to attend raves and catch international acts.”

But ambition does not come cheap. “Scaling raves requires huge finsancial commitments” Ebi says. “A local lineup alone costs 7 to 10 million naira. Add international DJs, and it’s 20 million naira. We’re lucky to get discounts from relationships built over time with service providers who respect what we do.” For Sweat It Out, the payoff isn’t particularly financial but cultural. Each rave is a tree, like an artistic experience, even though it might be challenging to justify the numbers on paper.

Despite the challenges, ravers are optimistic. “I see Lagos hosting even bigger electronic music festivals that span days and nights. I see raves expanding beyond Lagos, Abuja, and Port Harcourt to places like Enugu, Ilorin, and Taraba. I believe this scene is also important to the growth of the Nigerian music industry. I go to raves now and see artists like Ladipoe and Wurld vibing to the music, and I can already hear the influence of Afrobeat.” Deola believes that house music has the power to unite us as Africans. “South Africans and Nigerians are often at odds, but SA DJs are flown in almost every month in the rave scene. More collaborations are happening, and our local DJs are working with international ones. Imagine someone like Aniko doing a track with Skrillex. That’s the growth I see coming in the next five years.”

The Lagos rave scene isn’t perfect, but like any creative micro-industry, it thrives on passion, community, and self-expression. Time may test its shape, but the goal stays the same: to be a safe place to dance, dream, and just be.

1. Chapter X

In November 2024, Nigerian record label Mavin Records released Chapter EX, a short film featuring a cast of actors and creatives. The 11-minute drama was the film directorial debut of Daniel David, the music video director renowned for his work with some of the label’s most prominent acts, including Ayra Starr and Crayon. It was also the coming-out ceremony of Savant, Mavin’s in-house production studio.

The move signaled Mavin’s evolution from a traditional record label to a multimedia business. At the heart of this transformation was a content marketing strategy built upon Afrobeats’ universal appeal. It was also Mavin’s way of staking a claim beyond music. For a long time, Mavin had been known as just a record label. Now, it is evolving into a content marketing company that also happens to develop artists and make music.

2. The content gamble

After three years of working in traditional media with stints at Pulse, and CNN, Segun Akande knew he needed a new challenge. He did not know where it was going to come from, but that did not stop him from resigning from his job at Zikoko—where he had helped platform artists like Joeboy, BNXN, Blaqbones, and Oxlade before they blew up —at the end of September 2019. While waiting for the next opportunity he got a text from a friend, Mavin Records was looking for someone to lead their content marketing efforts.

In January of that year, Kupanda Capital had invested $5 million into the record label. This deal was significant for the Nigerian music industry because it was one of the earliest examples of a music label like Mavin Records being valued like a tech startup. Tech startups are often valued based on their potential for rapid growth, scalability, and future revenue rather than their current financial performance. Venture capital investments like the one from Kupanda Capital, are typically aimed at fueling this kind of exponential growth, with the potential for outsized returns. For Mavin content marketing was the vehicle that would drive that growth.

Two years before investing in Mavin, Kupanda Capital had put boots on the ground in Lagos, helping the record label structure its business operations and understand the Nigerian market. A change was afoot in the way Nigerians consumed music locally and in the way the music was marketed internationally.

In 2012, Spinlet launched in Nigeria as the first music streaming service in Sub-Saharan Africa. Before then, Nigerians primarily accessed music through file-sharing sites like Notjustok and Naijaloaded, where they downloaded songs, often without compensation for the artists. This began to change with the introduction of streaming services, artists could now earn directly from their songs. But more importantly, it also changed the way music was marketed.

Instead of relying solely on radio, DJs, and file-sharing sites, labels began using digital platforms to generate buzz and revenue. This transformation mirrored what had happened with hip-hop in the U.S., where rap songs were marketed through mixtape sites, which offered exposure but little to no revenue. Over time, artists like Rick Ross and his Maybach Music Group began creating their own content teams to document artists’ creative processes and promote their music independently. Mavin’s COO, Tega Oghenejobo, himself a hip-hop fan, had been paying attention to the trend. With the support of Michael Collins Ajereh (popularly known as Don Jazzy), Mavin’s founder and CEO, he wanted to replicate the strategy with the label’s roster of artists.

The timing was also serendipitous as the label prepared to release the second generation of artists from its academy. These artists had different styles and approaches to music, with different audiences, but the label wanted to ensure a uniform quality of content across the board.

After drafting a content plan for Crayon, one of the acts in the Mavin Academy at the time, during the interview process, Akande joined Mavin as the label’s first content strategy lead.

3. Mavin’s content playbook

Mavin Records excels in tailoring narratives for each artist, treating them as unique characters with distinct origin stories, motivations, and conflicts—elements designed to captivate specific audiences. This process begins early, often while artists are still in the Mavin Academy, where the content team helps them develop a front-of-camera personality that best represents their brand.

The label is also particular about the audience it markets its artists to. For instance, Ayra Starr was positioned as a young female pop icon from the onset, and her marketing strategy was laser-focused on appealing to young women. Korty, a young female creator, conducted her first Nigerian media interview. Subsequent local and international interviews were with young female personalities, reinforcing her connection with this audience.

Similarly, during Rema’s rollout, Mavin collaborated with Gen Z influencers like Diana Eneje and Amy Okoli, who introduced him to their established fanbases, even sparking rumors of a relationship between Rema and Eneje. These partnerships not only expanded his reach but also ensured his music resonated within the Gen Z community. This audience-centric approach fosters deep emotional connections and builds loyalty among early adopters. By cultivating a core group of dedicated fans, Mavin guarantees consistent engagement—whether through views, shares, or amplification—for every release. This foundation of loyal supporters ensures that from the moment an artist is launched they already have a built-in audience invested in their journey.

Mavin Record’s ability to adapt to the rise of short-form content has also been integral to its content strategy. Before the pandemic, the label began observing TikTok’s growing influence as a major driver of music streams. Recognizing the platform’s dynamics—where users scroll through endless feeds seeking quick, engaging videos, and sometimes discovering new music—the label swiftly adjusted its approach to align with this new consumption behavior. Platforms like TikTok have changed how audiences find and engage with music, shifting the burden of engagement onto creators. Recognizing this, Mavin condensed its storytelling into bite-sized formats, optimized with platform algorithms and audience attention spans.

Beyond the obvious metrics for success like reach and engagement, Mavin’s content approach has been financially beneficial for the company, helping maximize impact while minimizing expenses, a critical advantage for an industry where projects frequently go over budget. For instance, with Ayra Starr’s Bloody Samaritan, a shoestring budget of ₦700,000 ($1,700) was approved for the in-house content team to make a performance video before releasing the official video. The minimalist yet compelling performance video resonated deeply with audiences. It amassed 62 million views on YouTube, six times more than the 10 million views the official video has gathered.

Aside from the cost-efficiency benefit that Mavin’s content division provides, it has also become an income generator, diversifying the label’s revenue streams beyond traditional music sales and streaming royalties. Mavin generates income by creating content for external collaborators, including brands and other artists. For instance, when Mavin artists partner with global or local brands for endorsements, collaborations, or campaigns, the label’s content team handles aspects of the production.

With the release of Chapter X, Mavin announced Savant, the in-house content production studio that began to take shape when Akande joined the company in October 2019. Content marketing has played a key role in the company’s success until now and will play an even bigger role in the coming years.

1. A fresh pair of eyes

Late one Saturday evening in January, Miche Atagana, Spotify’s Sub-Saharan Africa communications and PR lead, stood before a group of young Nigerian musicians and producers, taking them through slide after slide of a media training masterclass.

Atagana showed the artists how to prepare for media appearances, conduct themselves in public, and craft their images responsibly—subjects that artists rarely consider until several years into their careers. Some never even learn them, and, in the process, churn out uninspiring interviews and vapid media appearances.

The media training session was one more in a long day of a boot camp, and that Saturday was the third and final day. Over the two previous days, a different set of artists went through something similar. Their day started with introductions and a briefing from Victor Okpala, Spotify’s artist and label partnerships manager for West Africa. Then the artists—gathered in a studio building in the upscale neighborhood of Lekki, Lagos—spent the rest of their time listening to and asking advice from established industry players, recording new music, and interacting with each other.

This particular boot camp—inspired by Fresh Finds, Spotify’s playlist dedicated to emerging artists, and in partnership with United Masters, a music distributor—was the first of its kind. The company’s Africa team got the go-ahead to spin the playlist into something more personal and tangible. It took months of planning and carefully selecting participants. But eventually, Spotify’s first-ever Fresh Finds Sessions came to life in Lagos, Nigeria.

Roaming around the building and observing things in motion, I felt like I was experiencing the early days of a Burna Boy, Wizkid, or Davido—Afrobeats’ holy trinity. Not many artists present had up to 100,000 monthly listeners, but Spotify was determined to be a factor in their early and future success, much like it has done for Afrobeats globally.

This was Spotify’s attempt to level the playing field of an industry that’s become harder to break into without bags of money. Okpala told Communiqué, “An emerging musician's journey is not the easiest as there is constant pressure to break into mainstream music and stay relevant. If it’s done in the wrong way, it can set the artist back. By supporting the industry with educational tools, collaborative platforms, and engaging masterclasses, we help them overcome a myriad of challenges.”

Ultimately, the Fresh Finds Sessions were Spotify’s way of doubling down on a continent that has shown so much promise and growth—another initiative in its attempt to deepen its influence across Africa.

2. The algo-rhythm

Very often, conversations around Spotify’s impact in Africa revolve around its role in popularizing Afrobeats, and that is understandable. After all, the genre’s streaming figures on the platform have grown more than 500% in the last few years. But what’s even more impressive is its overall impact on general streaming. For instance, between 2022 and 2024, Christian podcast streams grew 482%, while Gospel music grew by over 1,220% in Nigeria. Within the same period, Highlife and Igbo Pop, two genres you can consider truly indigenous, grew by 224% and 303% respectively.

Some of this is the result of external factors, like the booming interest of a fast-growing youth population, increased internet penetration and smartphone literacy, and a general willingness to explore old sounds in new ways. But what’s also significant is the work behind the scenes by a team of people paying attention to these trends, listening to the audience, and collaborating with industry players in multiple markets. It is the product of Spotify’s investment in a truly pan-African team within Africa, avoiding the usual trap of importing talent to force a strategy on a region that, in some ways, is different from many others.

Most of Spotify’s African executives are natives who live and work on the continent. For instance, Jocelyne Muhutu-Remy, its SSA managing director, was born in Ethiopia to a Burundian father and Rwandan mother and lives in South Africa. Phiona Okumu, its SSA head of music, is a Ugandan born in Kenya. Several of its music operations executives are Nigerians and South Africans who have lived most of their lives on the continent, fully aware of its cultural and sonic intricacies. They know what it means to be and sound African.

All of the people who make major decisions and influence the company’s Africa strategy are citizens of African nations and reside on the continent. They are exposed to their listeners’ sensibilities, they understand the industry stakeholders’ pain points, and they grasp the market dynamics—what makes things work and what makes them, well, complicated.

A big part of their work over the last few years has been advocacy, and it helps that the company has a structure that encourages people from different regions to make their voices heard. This is evident in the long list of initiatives Spotify’s Africa team has championed, from pushing for African features on global playlists and investing heavily in popularizing the African Heat playlists to spending significantly to promote African artists on Times Square billboards in New York, countless partnerships with industry event organizers, and encouraging collaboration with curators and colleagues across Europe, the U.S., and Latin America.

Often, Spotify playlist curators (or editors, whose identities are usually protected to stop industry lobbyists from attempting to influence decisions) share songs across regions with the goal of cross-platforming them. This, for instance, is what opens the door for a hit track in Lagos to become popular in Amsterdam or Berlin. It is what makes it possible for a quietly famous song in Johannesburg to explode in London or Paris. It is one of many reasons why Afrobeats and Amapiano have become global phenomena.

These things are not accidental.

3. La coda

One of the biggest Afrobeats stories in the last two years has been the global success of Rema’s Calm Down, the continent’s first-ever billion-stream song on Spotify.

The signs were there early on that the song was going to be a hit. “Before its explosion on the global stage, Calm Down was doing well on several of our playlists,” Okpala told Communiqué. “Its natural appeal led to millions of listeners discovering and falling in love with it.”

As the song gained popularity, the artist’s team, using access to backend data, began exploring potential collaborations to expand its reach. The decision, and what really tipped things over the edge, was a feature with Selena Gomes. Soon after, Calm Down became a global phenomenon and started appearing in places the team could have never imagined—India, Brazil, Spain, and so on.

Bomi Anifowose, writing for The Upper Entertainment, describes this perfectly:

“Rema’s Calm Down benefited immensely from Spotify’s push. After the remix featuring Selena Gomez dropped, Spotify included the song in its top-tier playlists like Today’s Top Hits, which has millions of followers. The result? Rema’s track went viral on a scale previously unimaginable for a young artist from Nigeria. Spotify’s ability to connect emerging artists with global audiences turned Rema into an international star. Rema didn’t just make it to the top; Spotify helped put him there with campaigns that pushed his sound from ‘underground’ to ‘international radio staple.’”

No other song led by an African artist has reached the threshold that Calm Down crossed, but a few albums have, including Burna Boy’s Love, Damini, Rema’s Raves & Roses (Ultra), and Tyla’s Tyla. All of these projects hold water on their own. But they have also greatly benefited from the hard work of a group of people maintaining and improving the engine of a vehicle that otherwise could have left their continent behind.

As I think deeper about the events and conversations surrounding the Fresh Finds Sessions, I realize just how much work goes into making cultural goods globally accessible. I also wonder how much of this is replicable across industries other than music—film, television, arts, fashion, and sports. The opportunities seem boundless; the effort and strategic thinking, not so much. Or maybe, like it was for Afrobeats, the timing has to be right.

Whatever the case may be, one thing is certain: it will always be in the hands of people—people who live and breathe the essence of those cultural goods. They are the ones who make these things work. No one else.

1. When Nigerian stories go global

When Paramount Pictures secured the rights to adapt Tomi Adeyemi’s New York Times bestselling novel Children of Blood and Bone in 2022, it was seen as a milestone for Nigerian storytelling on the global stage. The deal, part of a three-film franchise, sparked excitement for its potential to bring a richly imagined Nigerian narrative to international audiences. Yet, the recent release of the film’s cast has reignited a contentious debate about who gets to tell Nigerian stories and how.

The ensemble, which includes Thuso Mbedu, Amandla Stenberg, Damson Idris, and Viola Davis—with Regina King in talks to join—is undeniably star-studded. However, the non-inclusion of Nigerian actors in key roles has drawn criticism, echoing past controversies around adaptations like Half of a Yellow Sun and, more recently, the upcoming Things Fall Apart series starring Idris Elba. While celebrated for their ambition, these projects have repeatedly faced scrutiny for sidelining Nigerian talent in favor of global star power.

In casting these actors, the producers of these projects sought to balance the demands of cultural authenticity, global appeal, and financial expectations by leveraging star power to attract international audiences. In Communiqué 43, we explained the logic behind this, with a particular focus on the Things Fall Apart adaptation:

“Things Fall Apart is now a global product, having been translated into over 60 languages, including Arabic, Basque, Greek, Hindi, Italian, and Swedish. Therefore, it makes sense that a 2024 adaptation will appeal to a wider, global audience. This strategy will require making hard decisions, such as bringing on investors, actors, and crew members who are neither Nigerian nor speak Igbo, the language of the book’s locale. Furthermore, it is impossible to ignore the financial limitations of Nigeria’s film market. For instance, the highest-grossing Nigerian movie of all time, A Tribe Called Judah, has brought in 1.4 billion naira ($853,000). The top five movies have brought in a combined 3.5 billion naira ($2.2 million)—that’s less than it would cost to even get a star like Elba onboard the Things Fall Apart ship.”

Many argue that these casting decisions have erased the cultural identities the stories aimed to celebrate. But the films’ producers are not at fault. Over the years, the lack of investment in Nollywood’s production quality and distribution systems has made it difficult for the industry to lead its own adaptations.

The result is a paradox: Nigerian stories are going global, but Nollywood, the industry that birthed them, is left behind.

In Communiqué 54, we explained how this state of affairs came to be. Now, we ask, how does the industry move forward?

2. Banking on the diaspora

The Nigerian diaspora, spread across Europe, the U.S., and Asia, is an untapped economic engine. Think of it as a ready-made market primed for Nollywood’s products. These are people with disposable income, living in countries with robust cinema infrastructure, and hungry for stories that remind them of home. A well-made Nigerian film doesn’t need to fight for their attention; it already has it.

They’re not just an audience—they’re a distribution network, a marketing team, and a source of capital all rolled into one. Already, there are early signs that this strategy could be successful. The U.K., which has one of the highest concentrations of Nigerians outside the country, has been the best-performing international market for Nigerian movies. Of the $193,709 generated by the highest-grossing films at the international box office, 93% ($180,815) came from the U.K.

Because the diaspora is geographically dispersed, their support can create a ripple effect. A hit in London or New York can generate buzz that spills over into other cities, drawing in non-diaspora audiences curious to see what the excitement is about. Building partnerships with international distributors in cities with significant Nigerian diasporan populations like Houston and Toronto, and conducting strategic marketing campaigns targeting these diaspora communities can help amplify this reach.

3. Lessons in collaboration

Collaboration, not competition, is the fastest path to building Nollywood’s international presence. Hollywood has the resources—capital, technology, distribution networks—that Nollywood lacks. By collaborating, Nollywood can access these tools. And if giving up some creative control during production is the price to pay, then so be it.

The success of Slumdog Millionaire for Bollywood offers a clear blueprint. Slumdog Millionaire was a loose adaptation of the Indian novel Q & A. Most of its actors, while being Indian, had not been involved in the country’s movie industry before then, leading to the same criticism of cultural authenticity that Children of Blood and Bone now faces. But the film was one of the first Indian movies with international appeal, winning 8 of the 10 Oscars it was nominated for and grossing $237 million—63% of its total $378 million—in the international market. Bollywood films afterward began to see wider releases in global markets, particularly in the West, as audiences became more curious about Indian culture and cinema.

Nollywood can learn from this example. This isn’t about surrendering autonomy; it’s about leveraging strengths. Hollywood’s global reach can amplify Nollywood’s voice, introducing its stories to audiences that might never have encountered them otherwise. And just as Slumdog Millionaire opened doors for Bollywood, successful collaborations could do the same for Nollywood, paving the way for more commercially successful Nigerian films on the international stage.

The production of Children of Blood and Bone is set to begin in South Africa later this year, a decision that has added fuel to the ongoing outrage. But rather than focusing on the anger, this moment should serve as a reality check for Nollywood: the global film industry operates on commercial viability, and Nigeria’s movie industry must prioritize the infrastructure, talent, and partnerships needed to compete. The fact that a story deeply rooted in Nigerian culture is being filmed outside the country, with a largely non-Nigerian cast, shows the gap between Nollywood’s potential and its current capabilities.

To bridge this gap, Nollywood must shift its focus from local dominance to global relevance. This means investing in high-quality production facilities, developing talent that can meet international standards, and forging strategic collaborations with other established film industries. It also means tapping into the economic power of the Nigerian diaspora, whose support can serve as a springboard for international success. These things already happen, but only in bits and pieces. They have to become dominant factors in Nigeria’s creative economy blueprint.

While cultural authenticity is important, it cannot come at the expense of commercial viability. The global market demands both, and Nollywood must rise to the challenge.

1. A turning point

In 2024, Nigerian movies outsold Hollywood movies locally for the first time, reversing a longstanding trend. Until that year, filmgoers in the country had consistently chosen to watch foreign movies over local titles.

This trend reversal helped drive a record ₦11.5 billion in ticket sales, a 60% increase from the ₦7.2 billion made in 2023. A significant price hike in movie tickets drove the growth as the industry adjusted to an inflation rate of over 33%.

While the price hike took the films beyond the reach of many Nigerians, those who remained steadfast opted to watch more local films. This small victory for the industry raised an important question: If Nigerian films were finally gaining more traction than foreign films at the local box office, had the time come for them to crack the international market?

Nollywood, as Nigeria’s film industry is famously called, has been touted by many as a global giant. In 2009, UNESCO declared it the second-largest in the world, surpassing Hollywood and second only to Bollywood. But this characterization was based on quantity—the number of films produced within the industry during the year. While quantity is an important metric for success, there are more important indicators like quality and global commercial viability. In this area, Nigeria's film industry has performed poorly.

2. What does success look like?

For a country’s movie industry to achieve global success, it must be successful outside its home market. In the U.S., for instance, the 20 highest-grossing movies have accumulated $34.6 billion, of which $21.8 billion came from foreign markets. The success of India’s film industry, Bollywood, has also been largely based on the performance of its films in foreign markets. Its 10 highest-grossing movies have made $1.3 billion—$200 million locally and $1.1 billion internationally. South Korea has also executed a similar crossover with its film industry. Of the $1.29 billion its 10 highest-growing films have generated, 95% ($1.22 billion) has come from the international box office.

Nollywood, on the other hand, has had limited success producing breakthrough films that resonate commercially with global audiences. None of its highest-grossing films has made any significant revenue outside the country.

3. La raison de la situation

Nigeria underwent a structural adjustment program in the late 1980s that transformed its foreign exchange and trade policies. The resulting inflation and currency devaluation hit the cinema and film industry particularly hard. Cinema operators found it difficult to maintain their facilities and import new films as middle-class Nigerians, the primary customers, could no longer afford tickets.

The film industry began developing against this backdrop, prioritizing a direct-to-consumer distribution model that excluded the cinema middlemen altogether. This model favored high-volume, low-cost, low-quality productions distributed via VHS tapes and later CDs for home viewing. It worked for the status quo and even benefitted a section of the industry at that moment. But that singular decision has become the bane of the industry’s existence.

Unlike in the U.S., where the film industry was built around theatrical releases, Nigeria never developed the infrastructure and industry relationships needed for wide theatrical distribution. As of 2024, Nigeria had only 300 cinema screens serving over 200 million people. For comparison, India has over 9,000 screens, and the U.S. has over 40,000. This historical pattern made it difficult for the country to develop a strong local box office, and this came with dire consequences.

There's a symbiotic relationship between local and international box office success. International distributors rely on home box office figures to predict international outcomes. Without strong performance in the domestic market, it’s difficult to generate box office numbers that would attract international distributors or justify the marketing budgets needed for global releases. Nigeria's total revenue from its box office in 2024 is essentially the same as the amount generated on the opening day of some films in other markets. This means that international distributors simply do not consider the industry significant enough.

4. The false promises of the streaming era

The direct-to-consumer model on which the Nigerian film industry was built was the precursor to streaming. Netflix started as a mail-order business, delivering movies on CDs, before its pivot to streaming in 2007. By the early 2010s, its growth in the U.S. market slowed as its core demographic became saturated. So, it turned to the international market for salvation, expanding into Europe and Asia.

Netflix officially arrived in Nigeria in 2016, and Amazon Prime Video followed in 2022. Both came with gifts—increased financing for local productions and talent training—and raised expectations that the production quality of Nigerian movies would finally catch up with the rest of the world. The streaming services’ mission was twofold: to gain new subscribers and tap into Nigeria’s film market for content that appeals to a global audience. They were disappointed on both counts.

The first mission has failed as Nigeria, despite its large population, lacks the economic stamina to contribute significantly to streaming service subscriber numbers. Upon realizing this, Amazon Prime Video exited in 2023. The jury is still out on the second mission. There have been successes like King Of Boys and The Black Book, which garnered 5.8 million views within 48 hours of release and spent three weeks on Netflix's Top 10 English language titles globally, peaking at number three in the second week. But The Black Book is an outlier; most Nigerian films on the platform have underperformed. In 2024, Netflix scaled down its investment in the country as part of a global strategy change, opting to license already-produced films instead of commissioning originals from scratch.

The economic challenges of the 1980s forced Nigeria’s film industry to innovate, leading to the direct-to-consumer distribution model that became the foundation of Nollywood. By circumventing traditional cinema distribution, the industry flourished in volume, establishing itself as a cultural force despite its limited infrastructure. However, this forced change meant that the industry has been unable to invest in the systems and infrastructure that make international commercial success possible. Relationships with international distributors remain infantile, with very little progress in the past few decades.

The same economic challenges that plagued the country in the 1980s still exist, but the industry’s direct-to-consumer fix to the distribution problem is no longer adequate. Neither was the attempt to paper over the cracks with streaming partnerships. For this industry to successfully crossover and become a global commercial success, it cannot afford to ignore the international box office. But for the international box office to respond positively, the local market has to fix itself.

A classic chicken and egg situation. But Nollywood has already proven its capacity to thrive under pressure. With focused investment, partnerships, and an openness to learning from successful global industries, Nigeria’s film industry can turn its current limitations into a springboard for global success, just as it did before.

1. A tale of two museums

Every November, Lagos transforms itself from Nigeria’s commercial capital to its cultural capital. The hustle and bustle of the financial district give way to art exhibitions and cultural festivals, from Art X to the African International Film Festival. But last year, things were a bit different. While the festivities were happening in Lagos, the ancient city of Benin hosted one of the most significant events in Nigeria’s arts and culture.

The Museum of West African Art (MOWAA) was previewing its purpose-built building. The two-day event, titled Museum in the Making, featured the building’s hard hat opening, creative workshops, panels, and social gatherings. Marking the start of the museum's first annual programming season, it led up to MOWAA’s inaugural exhibition, which will be held later this year.

Thousands of miles away in Egypt, the Grand Egyptian Museum had opened the doors of some of its galleries for a trial run of 4,000 visitors. The museum, near the Pyramids of Giza, will showcase more than 100,000 Egyptian artifacts, including treasures from the tomb of King Tutankhamun. The billion-dollar museum, initially scheduled to open in 2012, had suffered repeated delays due to political turmoil, cost overruns, and the COVID-19 pandemic, but was now finally preparing for its opening.

Both museums had something in common; at their inaugurations, they showcased expansive collections of traditional African art, a significant part of which had been repatriated to the continent in recent years. But their openings also marked a new chapter in a decades-long movement.

2. A long way home

The movement for repatriating African artifacts to the continent has been gathering steam for years. It represents a significant shift in global cultural relations between the continent and the rest of the world. These artifacts—most of which were taken during the colonial era through looting, forced sales, or duress by European powers in the late 19th and early 20th centuries—hold deep cultural, spiritual, and historical significance for their communities of origin.

The growing momentum for restitution is a result of the continued efforts of African nations that have long campaigned for the return of these priceless artifacts. Countries like Nigeria, the Republic of Benin, and Ethiopia have been at the forefront of the movement, and their efforts have begun to yield results. In 2022, the Smithsonian Museum returned 29 Benin bronzes to Nigeria. More recently, the German government handed over a cache of 22 artifacts to Nigeria. In total, 117 African artifacts were publicly returned to the continent in 2024.

Also, Western countries that hold these artifacts have increasingly begun to recognize that retaining them raises serious ethical concerns. In 2020, France passed critical legislation paving the way for the return of artifacts to the Republic of Benin and Senegal. The repatriation movement has sparked changes in museum policies and national laws across Europe and beyond.

But beyond the cultural importance of repatriation, there’s also an economic significance. Africa's art market is valued at $1.8 billion, with classical art pieces like the Benin bronzes underpinning this market. A 2021 report on the African art market found that 96% of collectors preferred to collect classical art pieces, while only 20% preferred newer contemporary pieces. However, this is just a small fraction of the $65 billion global art market.

The African art market could be larger, but a significant percentage of the value is captured outside the continent. For instance, when the Ohly Head, one of the looted Benin Bronzes, was sold for $10 million in 2016, none of the proceeds went to Nigeria. The British Museum, which houses 200,000 African art pieces, received over five million visitors and generated £11 million for the British government in 2023. Unsurprisingly, the British Museum has held on to its collection, refusing to return any of the artifacts but instead opting to lease them back to their home countries.

3. Rules for return

There have been several attempts to create an international framework for the repatriation of artifacts, the most significant of which was the 1970 UNESCO convention on the means of prohibiting and preventing the illicit import, export, and transfer of ownership of cultural property created the first guidelines for the repatriation of cultural artifacts. This was followed by the 1995 UNIDROIT convention that required the return of illegally exported or excavated cultural objects. It went on to define cultural objects as those that are important for art, history, literature, science, archaeology, or prehistory.

However, these conventions failed to have the required effect. Both were not retroactive, meaning that they took effect from the time they were enacted and did not cover artifacts that had been looted before then. Also, most of the signatories to the conventions are countries in the global south. Western countries like the United States and the United Kingdom, where most of these artifacts reside, have refused to ratify these conventions to date. Instead, some countries including Germany, Netherlands, and Belgium have set up individual national guidelines to process artifact claims.

4. Maximizing the return

For the most part, discussions about repatriations have focused on what Western countries and institutions are doing to return wrongfully acquired artifacts back to their home countries. Those discussions have yielded results and the artefacts are coming home.

African nations can best utilize them by:

1. Digitizing the artifacts: African countries can maximize the value of repatriated artifacts by using digital technology to make these treasures accessible to a global audience. This includes creating high-quality digital replicas, 3D models, and virtual tours, ensuring cultural treasures can be experienced and appreciated worldwide, even by those unable to visit the physical locations. A notable example African nations can emulate is the Smithsonian Institution’s Open Access Initiative, which offers free digital access to millions of cultural assets, including 3D scans of artifacts. This has expanded the Smithsonian's audience and encouraged innovative uses of its collections, such as virtual reality experiences and academic research. African museums could adopt similar open-access policies for digitized artifacts, enabling scholars, artists, and cultural enthusiasts worldwide to engage with their collections. Work has already begun in Nigeria, with the launch of the Digital Benin project, an online database of Benin Bronzes held by museums across the world.

2. Cultural tourism: African nations can design their tourism strategy around the returned artifacts. Beyond just displaying these artifacts in the museum, countries can create immersive experiences by taking tourists through the historical sites where the artifacts were gotten from. For instance, when visiting the Acropolis Museum, which houses artifacts from ancient Greece, tours go beyond the museum to local artisan workshops, traditional tavernas, and contemporary art galleries. This provides visitors with an understanding of how ancient Greek culture influences contemporary life. African countries could adopt similar strategies by linking repatriated artifacts to cultural sites and festivals. For example, Nigeria could showcase some of the returned Benin bronzes in The Museum of West African Art paired with tours of the ancient Benin Kingdom’s historical sites like the Oba's Palace and the Ancient Benin Walls.

3. Creative industry stimulation: Returned artifacts can serve as creative resources that contemporary artists tap into in creating new artworks. But first, the artists have to understand the history around these artworks, and that's where education programs come in. The key here is to create a supportive ecosystem that helps artists translate cultural heritage into contemporary creative products while maintaining cultural authenticity. For instance, the Benin Bronzes could teach about pre-colonial African societies and their achievements. They can also be used in STEM education, showcasing the sophisticated engineering of the Bini civilization. An example of this strategy in practice is Nigerian musician Rema, who wore a replica of the Queen Idia mask during his 2023 performance at the O2 Arena, incorporating traditional Bini culture into his art. The key here is to create a supportive ecosystem that helps artists translate cultural heritage into contemporary creative products while maintaining cultural authenticity.

5. Bottom line

One of the major arguments Western countries use to justify holding on to looted African artifacts is that African countries cannot properly manage these artifacts when they receive them, and even though it is not the place of these Western countries to determine how well Africa manages its artifacts, there is some truth to this assertion.

In 2021, France returned 26 looted artworks to the Benin Republic. In 2022, Benin Republic held a temporary exhibition for the pieces, attracting over 200,000 visitors in just a few months. But since then the artworks have been off limits to the public, locked away in a storage room in the country’s presidential palace, awaiting the completion of museums to display them.

The fact is that a lot of African countries cannot yet handle the artifacts that are being returned to them. But what is important is that ownership of these artifacts is transferred to their rightful owners. Then while African countries are developing the capacity to properly utilize the artifacts, the artifacts could go on tours to other countries or even remain in the countries that took them, helping raise revenue and international awareness of their home countries. Initiatives like MOWAA and the Grand Egyptian Museum, are laudable but there is still a lot of work to be done on the part of the African countries requesting these artifacts.

1. Little Italy

I’ve been thinking a lot about food—about the ways a meal could taste in one part of a country in comparison to how it tastes in another simply because the ingredients readily available are different. How the same meal cooked with so much spice in one region could be a lot milder in another. How a group of outsiders can come into a community, take inspiration from their local dishes, and then adapt ingredients to suit their taste. How people are forced to adapt recipes (use different vegetables, soup bases, meats, etc.) whenever they move into a new country. Or how the influx of a new group of people into a community comes with new culinary flavors.

In essence, food is one of the best ways to understand the spread of culture globally. Take a cue from the Italians.

Towards the end of the 19th century, there was a massive influx of Italian migrants into the U.S. This wave of migration, according to The Atlantic, “was ultimately responsible for pasta’s becoming a staple of the American middle class.” But it took a while for this to catch on. More than five million Italians moved to America between 1880 and 1921, and when they did, the food they brought along with them and consumed (pasta, hard cheese, vegetables, fruit, and garlic) turned many people off. The Italians went as far as growing vegetables and herbs they could find in America and importing “appalling sums” of hard cheese. Today, Italian food is a huge part of American culture and global cuisine. Some of the recipes have changed, some have adapted their ingredients to their new environment, but a lot has also stayed the same.

2. What does food have to do with this?

A few weeks ago, U.S. publication Variety reported that a TV series adaptation of Chinua Achebe’s “Things Fall Apart” was in the works, with Idris Elba attached as a co-producer and star. The show would be developed by studio A24 and backed by other producers such as Yoruba Saxon, a production company founded by David and Jessica Oyelowo, Emmy Award-winner Ben Forkner, African media investor Dayo Ogunyemi, and Achebe Masterworks, the author’s estate.

The announcement was followed by an uproar and think pieces questioning Elba’s selection to play Okonkwo, the story’s protagonist. A lot has been said about this already, some of which is right and helpful, much of which isn’t.

“Things Fall Apart” has been adapted twice before—first as a movie in 1971, then as a TV series in 1987. The latter, starring Nigerian film icon Pete Edochie, was a national hit and the more popular of the two. It is perhaps the adaptation that evokes the strongest emotions and draws deepest from the wells of nostalgia. But it was hardly an economic success, given that the local film industry was still in its infancy. A 2024 adaptation of “Things Fall Apart” will be significantly more expensive and lined up against far more stringent benchmarks than either of the previous versions.

For one, “Things Fall Apart” is now a global product, having been translated into over 60 languages, including Arabic, Basque, Greek, Hindi, Italian, and Swedish. Therefore, it makes sense that a 2024 adaptation will appeal to a wider, global audience. This strategy will require making hard decisions, such as bringing on investors, actors, and crew members who are neither Nigerian nor speak Igbo, the language of the book’s locale. Furthermore, it is impossible to ignore the financial limitations of Nigeria’s film market.

For instance, the highest grossing Nigerian movie of all time, “A Tribe Called Judah,” has brought in 1.4 billion naira ($853,000). The top five movies have brought in a combined 3.5 billion naira ($2.2 million)—that’s less than it would cost to even get a star like Elba onboard the “Things Fall Apart” ship.

Turning a book into a film or TV series is hard work. Take the proposed 2D movie adaptation of Cyprian Ekwensi’s “The Passport of Mallam Ilia” for example. This project has been in the works for at least five years now. Although the project is nearing its completion, it’s still some way off its final form. One of the biggest challenges has been finding investors. Right now, the project is listed on WeFunder, with an investment goal of $500,000. Only about $65,000 has been raised so far. The goal is to secure a licensing deal of about $4 million and box office revenue of $13.5 million, amounting to returns of nearly 800%, more than investors would get from most tech startups on the continent. Still, this fundraising goal has been incredibly difficult, and this is largely due to the absence of dedicated creative economy investment firms with comprehensive understanding of the landscape.

3. Ruminating

Knowing this then, it makes sense that the developers of the new “Things Fall Apart” series will look to amplify the book’s status by primarily looking to the global market for funding, casting, production, distribution, and generating returns on investment. What this means is that the Nigerian audience (with its strong cultural ties to the story and its significance) has to accept the reality of these. Elba’s selection to play the main character is one of several decisions that will be polarizing. But these choices will set the show up for international success, and that could lead to more open doors for similar projects.

That said, everyone who feels strongly about this has the right to. Afterall, there have been many instances in the past where culturally iconic products have been watered down for the sake of global appeal. Once a product leaves the shores of its home country, it becomes subject to several other cultures’ interpretations—this happens with food, music, and fashion. It will happen with “Things Fall Apart” and many other stories. Exporting a cultural good means accepting that it is no longer exclusively yours.

However, the fact that you can export a cultural product also means you have the chance to benefit from it, economically and socially. Even though people will modify your culture to suit their reality, you can still have a say in how it is expressed, especially if you do so with a collective voice. You can and should correct inaccurate and watered down representations and uses of your cultural products. But you must be flexible enough to allow them to spread organically. Therein lies the tension with “Things Fall Apart.”

1. The Awakening

It’s 3:20 PM on May 25. I’m standing at the back of the Terra Kulture Arena in Lagos, watching on as a teenage girl from southeastern Nigeria belts out notes to a song in fluent Korean. For three minutes, she performs “CHANGGWI (창귀)” by Ahn Ye Eun to an audience of hundreds of other kids (and a handful of adults). I listen in equal doses of awe and bewilderment as her voice undulates with the song’s pitches. I knew the Korean cultural wave was sweeping through urban Nigeria, but I had not fully realized the extent of its ubiquity.

Her performance is part of a singing competition at the K-Pop Festival organized by the Korean Cultural Center Nigeria. The center is located in Abuja, Nigeria’s capital, and has been operating for over 14 years, hosting Korean language classes, dance and cooking classes, and teaching taekwondo while curating other events like the K-Pop Festival.

I visited it in March 2023—partly out of curiosity, but primarily to understand what it did and why it existed. There are thirty-one others worldwide, and they are essentially extensions of the Korean embassy and the country’s Ministry of Culture, Sports, and Tourism.

That visit made it a thousand times clearer to me why Korean culture was gaining global traction.

The Korean Wave (or Hallyu), which began in the early 1990s, now has the world in a chokehold. Korean music, movies, TV shows, and food have become so popular that an East Asian country of just about 52 million people has become a cultural giant.

2. The Interlude

I first interacted with Korean culture in 2016 through Bong Joon-ho’s “Memories of Murder,” a neo-noir crime thriller easily one of the best movies ever made. I’d long resisted the urge, despite spending four years in the university with friends who wouldn’t keep quiet about “Boys Over Flowers.” I thought they were doing too much, that Korean shows were corny and beneath me. Oh, what a fool I was! Time has proved me wrong, and I’ve spent the last few years falling into a rabbit hole.

The deeper I’ve gone, the more interested I’ve become in figuring out Korea’s playbook, how it succeeded, and how its success can be replicated. I’ve also asked myself what other countries we can learn from. Is there a formula? What does it look like?

In 2021, I wrote an essay highlighting how important cultural goods could be for the economy using Nigeria as an example:

“We often think and speak of things Nigeria can export in tangible terms. We talk about oil; we talk about rice; we talk about wheat and other agricultural products. Sometimes, we talk about intangible things, but perhaps not often enough. We talk about how Nigeria can export some of its services to the world, especially in the financial industry. But there are far more options to explore. Stories, culture, and talent are three of Nigeria’s most priced assets, and they have been for many years. From the moment Nigerians realized they could package culture into stories and develop themselves into world-class talent, the door opened up for immense opportunities.”

I concluded that essay by saying:

“There is a lot more that Nigeria can offer the world and benefit from at the same time if it actively invests more in these assets.”

I can think of many other African countries that this idea applies to. But how can that happen?

3. The Framework

In 1986, UNESCO introduced a “cultural statistics” framework designed to systematically understand the “production, distribution, consumption of, and demand for cultural goods and services.” The framework was redesigned in 2009, and it covers six domains:

• Cultural and national heritage (museums, tourist attractions, historical landmarks)

• Performance and celebration (festivals, theater, dance)

• Visual arts and crafts (paintings, sculptures, handcrafted objects and other artifacts)

• Books and press (literature and the media)

• Audiovisual and interactive media (film, TV, video games, digital art)

• Design and creative services (architecture, advertising, marketing, the creator economy)

Each of these domains has something that can be packaged as a product and sold locally — or exported. UNESCO’s framework examines how well countries are exporting their cultural goods. It then ranks the countries using certain metrics.

Korea has featured prominently on the list alongside other countries like France, China, the U.S., the U.K., and India. But what do they all have in common? The ability (and willingness) to export their culture in neatly packaged, well-designed boxes.

France, for instance, spends about $1.4 billion annually to export its culture through a smorgasbord of initiatives. One is Alliance Française, an organization created in 1883 to spread French culture, first to its colonies, and then to other parts of the world by teaching the language, promoting its films, and operating libraries with educational resources. It also exports its national curriculum through schools, reaching hundreds of thousands of students annually.

The UK, another country with a history of colonialism, has also used the same playbook by continuing to spread its culture worldwide through entities like the BBC World Service and the British Council.

Other countries like China, India, and the US have succeeded in exporting their cultures through film, music, food, and sports.

Conversely, African countries have been unable to do the same. At least, not with overwhelmingly positive results.

How can we change that?

4. The Playbook

African countries aren’t homogenous. So, for illustration, I will focus on Nigeria and South Africa, two of the continent’s biggest cultural entities.

Both countries already have significant global footprints via their music and film, but they haven’t successfully expanded that in ways that benefit them economically, politically, and socio-culturally.

Nigeria, particularly, had a chance in the late 1990s and early 2000s to build upon the momentum of its film industry, which at the time was starting to gain continental ascendency. It had another window in the early to mid-2010s, then another in 2020. The industry has achieved some level of success, but whatever it has accomplished pales in comparison to what more it could have. The same goes for Afrobeats, a music genre that has enjoyed massive global success since 2017. Sadly, the growth of these two industries has happened separately, and not as part of one grand plan to make their home country a global cultural icon. Therein lies the gap.

Look at South Africa too, which is further along in maturity than Nigeria. According to Spotify, Amapiano, the country’s biggest music genre, was streamed about 1.4 billion times in 2023. 55% of those streams came from non-African countries. That is significant in any context.

Beyond movies and music, there’s language, fashion, and visual art, and they all provide materials for both countries to export. But this needs to happen as part of a much larger and deliberate plan, not separately.

There are a few ways to make this work:

• Funding: Korea, France, the US, and the UK have annual budgets for exporting their cultures. They also raise funds from partners such as foundations, wealthy individuals, and political allies. The UK does this well through its ‘Friends of the British Council’ model. African countries can take a cue from this.

• Institutionalization: Two vital parts of this equation are permanence and consistency. There must be a deliberate attempt to create a global network of cultural touchpoints that last a very long time. Cultural exportation needs physical reference points, something that people can often come back to and immerse themselves in.

• Messaging: This is good old-fashioned branding, and all successful cultural exporters have done it. It begins with deliberately outlining the image you want people to embrace, and then creating products and policies that align with that image. However, it is impossible to pull this off without buy-in from the government.

• Partnerships: Both Nigeria and South Africa have significant diaspora communities, and this is a good material to build upon. Their governments need to work with them to curate festivals and events integrating multiple cultural touchpoints. So, instead of a standalone Afrobeats festival in the UK, for instance, there could be a series of more robust festivals integrating Nigerian music, food, film, and art on multiple continents annually.

5. The Sell

A significant part of this equation is incentives. Why is it important to export cultural goods? And what are the benefits?

A. Economic growth

Korea was already reaping the rewards of cultural exports by the early 2000s. Here’s an excerpt from a New York Times report:

“The size of South Korea's entertainment industry…jumped from $8.5 billion in 1999 to $43.5 billion in 2003. In 2003, South Korea exported $650 million in cultural products; the amount was so insignificant before 1998 that the government could not provide figures.”

In March 2023, the Bank of Korea reported that the income from exporting audio and video content reached $1.7 billion, up nearly 48% from the previous year.

So, there is a clear economic benefit from exporting culture. What else?

B. Soft power and global cultural relevance

Soft power is a country’s ability to influence people’s perceptions of and relationships with its citizens without force or coercion. Yet another excerpt from the same New York Times report:

“The booming South Korean presence on television and in the movies has spurred Asians to buy up South Korean goods and to travel to South Korea, traditionally not a popular tourist destination. The images that Asians traditionally have associated with the country -- violent student marches, the demilitarized zone, division -- have given way to trendy entertainers and cutting-edge technology.”

When done right, cultural export can change how people perceive a country. A nation of “scam artists” and “brash individuals” could very well become a nation of creative, smart, and enterprising people. This change in perception spills over into how said people are treated at airports and embassies, and it impacts how others describe them on the Internet.

6. The Question

Nigeria and South Africa have the resources to pull off cultural exports at scale: vibrant youth populations, an abundance of creative talent, pop culture icons, appealing artistic expressions, a willing global market looking for more interesting products, and the technology to produce and distribute at an unprecedented level.

The real question is, how willing are these countries to leap? How willing are they to aggregate all they have into singularly focused and coherent plans? How willing are they to make the necessary investments and sacrifices? The opportunities are abundant, but can they take advantage of them?