A closed door is more than just a physical barrier. It can be a refusal, a rejection, or an unwillingness to let someone in. In T’egbon T’aburo, the image of the door plays a powerful role, representing Mojisola’s hardened heart and her refusal to grant her sister a chance at redemption. It takes something beyond the physical, a dream or perhaps a trance, for her to even consider reopening it. By the time she realises what she has done, the door might just be closed for good.

The short film begins with a radio broadcast delivering grim news. A woman has died in a bus accident caused by a drunk driver. As the report plays, Mojisola, played by the exceptional Carol King, rests. Whether she is asleep or merely lost in thought, the moment is interrupted by a phone call. It is from her sister’s husband, but she ignores it. Then comes the knock at the door. She opens it, and sees her sister. She’s holding back words, but one thing is for sure—she’s angry at her. This shows her reluctance to let her sister in, both literally and emotionally.

Mosunmola stands at the threshold, but the welcome is cold. What follows is an emotionally charged conversation that exposes years of pain and resentment. Mojisola’s son died while in Mosunmola’s care. This was not just any loss. It was the loss of her only child, the one thing she had left. The wound is made worse by their history. Mojisola sacrificed so that Mosunmola could have better opportunities. She attended a government school so her sister could go to a private one. She worked hard so Mosunmola could have a future. Despite all of that, Mosunmola failed her in the worst possible way.

Mosunmola pleads for forgiveness, but Mojisola refuses. To her, the door to reconciliation is shut. It is not only about the loss of her son. It is about the years of sacrifice, the unfairness of it all, and the feeling that she was repaid with grief. Mosunmola begs, not just for Mojisola to forgive her, but for Mojisola to forgive herself. But bitterness has built walls too high to climb. Even when Mosunmola says she does not want her sister to grieve alone, Mojisola remains unmoved.

Then the phone rings again. This time, she answers. It is her husband, delivering the news that Mosunmola died that morning, just as the radio had reported. Mojisola laughs, confused, turning to her sister, only to find she is no longer there. The realisation is devastating. The conversation was never real. It was a dream, or perhaps something beyond that, a final chance for reconciliation. Mojisola had shut the door once again. Now, it is closed forever.

T’egbon T’aburo does not present forgiveness as something simple or easy. It treats it as a deeply personal struggle, shaped by pain and time. The film suggests that while wounds may heal, scars remain, and they can make forgiveness feel impossible. Mojisola was given one last opportunity, a space outside of reality to reconsider. Her bitterness was too strong and her pain too raw. Now, all that remains is regret.

Carol King and Adeola Awodein’s performance is the heart of the film, capturing every flicker of anger, grief, and internal conflict. The emotions feel raw, unfiltered, and deeply human. It is no surprise that T’egbon T’aburo won Best Performance at The Annual Film Mischief awards in 2024. Every moment lingers, forcing the audience to sit with the same weight of loss and missed chances.

The film leaves us with a haunting question. What if Mojisola had opened the door just a little wider? What if she had allowed herself to listen, even if she was not ready to forgive? Life does not always give second chances. Sometimes, by the time we are ready to open the door, there is no one left standing on the other side.