There’s something quietly devastating about the way African parents show love. It doesn’t always come dressed in affection or validation. Sometimes, it’s a pestle raised in warning, a goat chased down in protective madness, or a daughter who believes her mother is wicked until the truth rewires everything.

My Mother is a Witch, directed by Niyi Akinmolayan and produced by Anthill Studios and FrameFlixHQ, leans hard into this tension. It’s a film soaked in emotion, memory, and the kind of trauma we joke about but still carry. With Efe Irele not only leading as the protagonist but also serving as executive producer, this film is a blend of personal investment, cultural honesty, and emotional complexity. It’s layered and lived-in, driven by a story that reflects on pain, sacrifice, and forgiveness.

Unfolding Truths in a Familiar Storm

My Mother is a Witch follows Imuetiyan (Efe Irele), a fashion editor who returns to Benin from London, tricked into coming home under the lie that her mother is dead. She’s been estranged from the woman she calls wicked for most of her life. But the return drags open the past. Through flashbacks and fraught conversations, the story slowly untangles what really happened between Imuetiyan and her mother (Mercy Aigbe), especially what causes her to call her mother a witch.

The plot is emotional and sharply layered, but the storytelling device used for the big reveal, where Imuetiyan explains everything to a doctor (played by Timini Egbuson), feels cliché. It’s an example of expository framing, where the character tells another person (and the audience) what happened. And while it helps move the story forward, and gets the job done, it feels like a shortcut. The emotional weight is there, but the device is overly neat. Instead of letting the past unravel through more layered, visual storytelling, the film chooses a tidy monologue. It’s not ineffective, but it’s safe.

When Parenting Fails Softness

What makes the My Mother is a Witch land is the emotional honesty at its centre. Mercy Aigbe plays the mother with a raw, unpredictable edge. She is hilarious one moment (especially in the scene where she chases a group of boys—and a goat—with a pestle and she wields it with a stance of a kung fu warrior), and heartbreaking the next. You laugh, then you want to hug her. She’s both the overbearing African mother and a woman silently bearing pain and masking it with overprotection and toxicity. It’s this duality that drives the film’s emotional undercurrent. And the film makes no excuses for her mistakes.

There are layers of bitterness and misunderstanding. Imuetiyan’s resentment is real. From her point of view, her mother is cold, even cruel. But as the film peels back those assumptions, it exposes something more honest: a parent who acted out of flawed love, one who never felt safe enough to explain her decisions. And when that silence hardens into trauma, the damage cuts both ways. Imuetiyan sees a mother who hurt her deeply. But the mother sees a child who cannot grasp the sacrifices made in her name. And that tension carries real emotional weight.

The use of the Edo language i the film is a standout. Nollywood is often heavy on Yoruba, Igbo, or Hausa. But here, Edo carries the dialogue with authenticity. It grounds the film in a cultural specificity that strengthens the emotional pull. It’s refreshing to hear it fully embraced in a Nollywood drama, not just for flavour but as part of the story’s soul. It anchors the film in place and culture, letting the audience step into Benin without translation filters.

Performances that Carry Pain and Wit

Mercy Aigbe pours into this role. She doesn’t just play a character—she embodies a truth many Nigerian children know: the parent who believes their pain justifies their behaviors. Efe Irele’s performance is restrained and layered. She holds back just enough to let the pain leak through naturally.

Timini Egbuson, in a quieter supporting role, acts mostly as a narrative springboard. His role as the doctor could have easily slipped into romantic subplot territory, and the film flirts with that idea. But wisely, it never crosses the line. That restraint is one of the film’s smartest decisions that strengthens the story. This isn’t a story about romantic love. It’s about parental wounds, and the hard journey toward healing. The film respects that.

Technical Flourishes That Speak With Care

The score is one of the film’s strongest elements. It doesn’t manipulate the audience, it aligns with their emotional rhythm. It lets the sadness breathe, and heightens the moments that need it. It knows when to swell and when to disappear. The cinematography is mostly appreciable, with some standout creative choices—like the use of mirrors to reflect character tension. It gets a little indulgent, but the idea works more often than not.

Final Thoughts

My Mother is a Witch is deeply moving. It’s a film about broken relationships, the limits of parental sacrifice, and the dangers of silence. It asks viewers to consider what love looks like when it’s expressed in flawed, misunderstood ways. It demands we rethink parenting, confront silence, and extend grace to the people who raised us even when they failed to do it gently. Healing doesn’t always look tidy. But this film reminds us it’s worth chasing.

Verdict

A heartfelt meditation on misunderstood love, and generational pain. A tender and culturally grounded drama that reminds us the scariest legacies are the ones we inherit in silence.

Rating: 3.5/5