When veteran actress Omotola Jalade-Ekeinde, fondly called Omosexy, took to Instagram to say she hasn’t received any residuals for over 30 years of work in Nollywood, she wasn’t just venting. She was telling a truth that many actors quietly live with. She shared proof too—her Hollywood experience. Just four years, two test projects, and she receives monthly residuals. She even posted SAG-AFTRA payslips. That’s structure. That’s what Nollywood still lacks. But while we agree that the system is broken, we also need to ask the hard question: What have the OGs done to fix it?
What Are Residuals and Why Do They Matter?
Residuals are payments actors, writers, and directors receive when their work is reused. This includes rebroadcasts on TV, streaming, or DVDs. It’s income that keeps creatives afloat after the job is done. In industries like Hollywood, it’s a given. In Nollywood? It’s still begging to be part of the conversation. And that’s the real problem. Even our most celebrated stars like Omotola have nothing to fall back on after decades in the game. That’s not just sad, it’s a red flag.
AVRS Says Join the System—But Where Are the Advocates?
The Audio Visual Rights Society of Nigeria (AVRS), chaired by Mahmood Balogun, responded to Omotola’s claims saying she probably didn’t get paid because she’s not registered with them. AVRS is the collecting body for royalties when films are played in hotels, buses, or on TV. But here’s the thing—even those who are registered hardly get paid anything meaningful. So while AVRS exists, it’s still struggling to become truly effective. Balogun called it a “new phenomenon,” but at what point do we stop using that excuse? Nollywood is over 30 years old. That’s enough time to have gotten something right.
It’s Not Just About Hollywood vs Nollywood
Beverly Osu hit the nail on the head when she said this isn’t about comparing Nollywood to Hollywood. It’s about dignity. The idea that creatives should be able to live off the work they’ve already done. Whether it’s one thousand naira or one million, that money should still find its way to the artist. It’s not luxury. It’s basic.
But Let’s Be Honest—Where Are the Builders Among the Legends?
This is where we need to be brutally honest, but not disrespectful. Nollywood’s problems are not new. We’ve known them for years. So the question is, what have those who benefited the most done to fix the system? Let’s talk about it.
Omotola, Genevieve, Jim Iyke, and many of the top actors from the early 2000s, these people were the face of Nollywood. They dominated our screens. They were loved, paid, and given platforms. But what have they built? How many actors have they mentored? How many sets do they currently run? How many writers, makeup artists, or camera operators have they employed?
It’s not about dragging them. It’s about holding them accountable. Because while they were shining, others were building.
Look at the Difference
Funke Akindele is a force. Not just because she acts, but because she has created employment for hundreds. Her productions feed families. Ruth Kadiri is doing it too—funding and producing back-to-back projects while hiring and paying people. Niyi Akinmolayan built a whole post-production studio from scratch and opened up training for young creatives. Mo Abudu is behind entire channels, partnerships, and Netflix deals. Kunle Afolayan turned his creative vision into a business empire with KAP Film Village and Academy.
These people aren’t perfect, but they are building. They didn’t sit back and complain about the lack of structure. They became the structure. That’s what leadership looks like.
This Industry Will Not Build Itself
We need to stop acting like things will magically fix themselves. Nollywood is not a baby anymore. We need more people who will build with their hands, not just sit on Instagram and point fingers. Omotola speaking up is valid. She has every right to be angry. But that’s just one side of the conversation.
Because you can’t be passive for 30 years and then expect the system to have grown on its own. It takes community, activism, and long-term commitment to change.
Residuals Don’t Work in a Vacuum
Residuals won’t suddenly start appearing because people are angry. They will only come when the entire ecosystem—producers, broadcasters, streaming platforms, copyright agencies, and performers—agree to follow due process. Contracts must be clear. Legal support must be accessible. Platforms like Netflix, YouTube, and Amazon must be made to reveal their data and share profits with creatives.
AVRS and others must also step up and stop being silent. Even when they pay, it’s a whisper, not a movement. We need boldness. We need unity. We need pressure from within.
The Real Way Forward
Put Residuals in Contracts: No more handshake deals. If you’re a producer, make room for royalties. If you’re an actor, don’t sign away your rights.
Join Rights Bodies—but Demand More: Creatives should register with AVRS or any credible body. But they should also push for transparency.
Use Lawyers: Entertainment law is not a luxury. It’s survival.
Regulate Streaming Platforms: Government and copyright regulators must demand accountability from the platforms making billions off Nigerian content.
Build Strong Guilds: The actors, directors, and writers guilds must become more active and aggressive in protecting their members.
Legacy Isn’t What You Say—It’s What You Leave Behind
Omotola’s story is sad, but it’s not new. And it’s not just about her. It’s a lesson for everyone in the industry. If someone like her can say she’s got nothing from her decades of work, then the rest of us better wake up.
This industry has fed the world with entertainment. Now, it’s time for it to feed its own. The applause is nice, but it’s not enough. We want systems, paychecks, and policies.
If you’re a veteran in Nollywood, don’t just tell your story. Help build the next one.
