Fatimah Binta Gimsay’s “Black Market” and What it Means to be a Nigerian Film Critic

One of the unnerving fortunes of being an active film critic in Nigeria is being inventive. From YouTube, streaming, to cinema, a film critic is inundated with the same dull material that imposes a sour taste on the mouth and drowsiness on the mind. Thus, to avoid monotonous reviews, the critic must be inventive with their lexicon and argument. Today, the critic focuses on the film’s politics; the subject it contends with. Tomorrow, when the film’s political narrative is bad, the critic’s attention shifts towards the Nigerian state and its apathy towards quality education and institutional funding of the film space. After wearing this argument out, the critic contends with how unaccommodating the Nigerian geographical space is to our stories. Houses and cities are constantly and violently modernized thus inhibiting filmmakers’ creativity. Discussing the Nigerian economy also strays itself into a review. Thus, the critic spends a larger portion of his reviews diagnosing issues rather than discussing the art and act of filmmaking and cinema. The film  critic spends  more days thinking of the following than they do staying with the art of creation in a reviewed film.

These  have  been my thoughts after rewatching Fatimah Binta Gimsay’s Guinness World Record-setting Black Market. Watching it during itsTafawa Balewa Square Guinness World Record-setting attempt, there are observable issues with the storytelling. But, courtesy of my reviewing experience, it was hard articulating these issues. Thus, a second watch was inevitable. The second watch which stunned me into silence only confirmed my suspicion and afforded me the leisure and legitimacy to accurately discuss the  film. 

Co-written and directed by Gimsay, with Nora Awolowo and Nicole Ofoegbu as producers, Omowunmi Dada as co-producer and star, and Ladun Awobokun as executive producer, Black Market follows five market women who run a cross-border smuggling network during a period of intense fuel scarcity and economic pressure. For working class Nigerians, surviving the Nigerian economy and politics is akin to hovering around the mouth of a shark. The shark is patient enough to swallow you. But, to survive, the average Nigerian has to be skillful (code word for conniving). Thus, criminal activities, in the case of the film, smuggling, becomes a learnt skill. A survival of the fittest, the most skillful citizens makes money just to be distanced from the patient shark. This metaphor explains the logic behind the criminal activities of the Black Market women and men. Led by the Igbo-speaking Zimuzo (Linda Ejiofor-Suleiman) the women gang comprises Aramide (Scarlett Gomez), Adesua (Omowunmi Dada) and later Jumai (Susan Pwajok), and Folake (Teniola Aladese). The male gang, led by Junior (Lateeef Adedimeji) has Leather and Mo. Both groups are trying to survive the supposed economic hardship that has enveloped the country. But, as previously stated, some people are just too skillful. The more skillful group is the women group. They, almost mysteriously to Junior and his group, escape being arrested by the criminal-seeking Border control service led by Officer Victor (Uzor Arukwe).

This is a simple story until the storytelling starts stabbing the film. This self-imposed scar mars the brilliance the film should possess. As stated, Nigeria is a haven for poverty. That Nigerians are poor and conniving isn’t news. Read the news, scroll through social media, and walk through low-income earning environments, tragic images abound. In Black Market, it’s narratively and logically impossible to convince viewers of characters’ poverty and suffering courtesy of the supposed economic hardships. The writing of this story and building of its storyworld make it impossible to understand the severity of this economic hardship on its characters. The writing doesn’t even attempt to convince us of the characters’ motives. We are repeatedly told, by the characters and a redundant narrator, how bad the economy is. But, we can’t see or empathize with it. Thus, that the narrative repeatedly fails in fulfilling its storytelling function makes the character appear as toddlers (the case of Zayn and Jumai) and bullies (Junior and his gang) making ill-informed choices. 

When a character’s daughter gets kidnapped, it’s impossible to feel empathy, not because it isn’t tragic but because, again, the writing has given the audience nothing to work with. As humans, we understand how tragic and psychologically damaging kidnapping is, but within this film and its storyworld, we don’t understand or empathize with it. There’s nothing remarkable, on multiple levels, about the characters. We know they are smugglers, Ankara-loving (they’re often adorned in bright Ankara prints), plant loving (their house is beautified with well-positioned plants), and bond together. But, we don’t actually know them. They’re just shadows that carry no significance. Thus, when Adesua’s daughter gets kidnapped and their bond gets threatened by the imposing Junior, empathy isn’t what one feels but indifference. 

I started this review articulating the complexities of being a  Nollywood film critic. This review which has attempted civility in articulating its dislike of Black Market is another proof of how the average mainstream filmmaker disrespects its audience. It’s becoming increasingly the case to watch films and TV series from seasoned Nigerian actors, screenwriters, producers, and directors and end up being frustrated at how trite they are. When the acting isn’t bland, the script, as demonstrated in Black Market, disregards storytelling principles and the audiences’ intellect. And, this, my readers, is the reality of being a Nollywood critic who has seen Black Market.