In Nigeria, a poignant prayer often heard from parents before embarking on their day is: “K’a ma rin nigbati ebi ba npa ona,” which translates to “may we not walk when the road is hungry.” This plea for safe passage resonates deeply in a nation where even the most devout recognize the inherent dangers of its highways. This precarious reality became starkly clear on the wedding day of Derin and Fola, as their joyous beginning was overshadowed by the unspoken threats of the road.

For many, the vulnerability encountered on Nigeria’s roads is a lived experience, where despite religious blessings, safety is never guaranteed. Travelers often find themselves at the mercy of kidnappers, whose motives range from demanding ransoms to inflicting fates with no return. This pervasive uncertainty is not an abstract concept for filmmaker Daniel Etim Effiong; it is the deeply personal inspiration behind his film, “The Herd.”

Effiong’s journey to telling this story began during a period of disillusionment with Nollywood, when his career felt unfulfilling. Faced with a choice to either leave the industry or tell his own authentic stories, he chose the latter. “You tell the stories you like to tell, tell the stories that you feel that you deserve,” he stated, setting out to create a narrative that truly mattered.

“The Herd” premiered against a backdrop of escalated kidnappings across Nigeria, particularly in the north-central region. Violent abductions have become a recurring threat, transforming routine activities like travel, schooling, and religious gatherings into high-risk endeavors. United Nations reports from November 17-30 indicate that 402 people, predominantly schoolchildren, were abducted across Niger, Kebbi, Kwara, and Borno states. More broadly, between July 2024 and June 2025, 4,722 individuals were kidnapped nationwide, with ransom payments reaching an alarming ₦2.57 billion. It is within this harrowing context that Effiong’s film gains its profound resonance, blurring the lines between fiction and the harsh reality faced by many Nigerians.

The film’s simple pitch – a man kidnapped en route to his best friend’s wedding, and his wife’s desperate struggle to bring him home – mirrors Effiong’s own painful past. At just one year old, his father was imprisoned by the military government under allegations of plotting against Ibrahim Babangida. His mother tirelessly fought for his release, ultimately dying when Effiong was four during one of her journeys from Benin to Kano prison. After his father’s release in 1993, Effiong cherished their road trips from Lagos to various parts of the country, seeing them as a form of reclamation after a childhood spent largely without his father. Today, however, these same roads, once repositories of precious memories, now harbor risks he deems too grave for his own children.

From its inception, Effiong envisioned “The Herd” as more than mere entertainment, aiming to tackle violence and moral dissonance with urgency. The narrative portrays a bride widowed instantly, a friend grappling with choices that test loyalty and sanity, and families thrust into surreal yet painfully familiar situations. The film intricately layers insecurity, prejudice, and religious contradictions: bandits pausing for prayer, pastors involved in organ trafficking, and a fleeting moment of identity shaming when Emeka mocks Gosi’s inability to speak Igbo. These juxtapositions highlight the rituals and identities people cling to amidst societal collapse.

Away from the forest, the film shifts to a subtler yet equally brutal form of cruelty. Adamma (Linda Ejiofor Suleiman), desperate to raise the ₦50 million ransom, confronts her in-laws’ caste prejudice because she is Osu. In an act of profound desperation, she offers to end her marriage to secure their support. In a film dealing with explicit violence and captivity, this socially sanctioned cruelty strikes with equal force, underscoring how deeply old hierarchies continue to define lives.

The film’s resonance has been undeniable, topping Netflix charts in Nigeria, Kenya, and South Africa. Viewers have praised its unflinching depiction of contemporary Nigerian life, with social media comments reflecting its impact: “that’s not just a movie it is someone’s reality as we speak,” and “It was a good and sad watch as it depicts the insecurities we’re facing in Nigeria.”

Much of this realism stems from rigorous research. Lani Aisida’s script was informed by survivor accounts, reports on kidnappings across Nigeria and the Sahel, studies of armed group migration patterns, and even bandits’ social media posts. Effiong further enriched this by consulting security agents and drawing from his personal family history.

Despite its critical acclaim, the film also faced criticism, with some accusing it of stereotyping an ethnic group and even calling for its ban. Bashir Ahmad, a former special assistant to Muhammadu Buhari, initially argued that the film profiled an entire ethnic group, claiming it depicted Fulani herdsmen as “armed kidnappers.” Effiong vehemently refutes these claims, insisting on the film’s complexity. He clarifies that Fulani herdsmen themselves are often victims whose cattle are stolen by bandits and used as a ruse. He maintains that “The Herd” was never intended as a tribal or religious indictment, but rather a study of Nigeria’s deep divisions, showing how intolerance manifests across various groups. His broader intention was to create a film that reflects society’s present while offering a vision for its future. Ahmad later softened his stance after watching the full film, calling it “truly an incredible one.”

Effiong’s diverse background – with a father from Cross River, a mother from Edo, born in the North, raised between Benin and Lagos, educated in the East, and married to a Yoruba woman – informs his detribalized perspective. He explains that the title “The Herd” has no connection to herdsmen; instead, it symbolizes a collective ideal: “that we are one people and should have one voice” to tackle differences rather than perceive an “us and them” divide. “Yes, we are different, but we are one nation.”

The film’s emotional intensity is profound, forcing viewers to pause and absorb its raw depictions: Derin’s agony confronting Fola’s mutilated body, Gosi’s machete swinging, the kidnappers’ cold rage, Adamma’s desperation, the exhausted inertia of security forces, and families suspended between dread and hope. This violence, though impactful, is not gratuitous. Effiong carefully balanced truth-telling with audience protection, aiming for honesty without recklessness. “We were hard-hitting with the facts, but we were careful not to be too graphic. We wanted the film to be accessible, and we didn’t want to push the audience past a certain threshold or traumatize them.” He stresses that storytelling must be sincere, factual, and responsible in how much it chooses to show.

Though three years in the making, “The Herd’s” release coincided with yet another surge in kidnappings, underscoring its urgency and validating the risks Effiong took as a storyteller confronting national trauma and as a first-time feature director. His path has been non-linear, from abandoning engineering for theatre arts, to working as an engineer, then pivoting to creativity, studying film in South Africa, and gradually building his career. “The Herd” marks a culmination of these efforts, but Effiong hopes it serves as more than a personal milestone. He wants it to rouse those distant from the depicted violence, exposing how interconnected the country remains even in its fractured state. He urges audiences “to be bothered, to be concerned, to lend your voice in whatever way, to support people who have been kidnapped, to support people who are suffering and to fight for the soul of Nigeria.” It’s a call to action, to “wake up to the reality, to wake up and smell the coffee.”