In the 1980s, long before Nollywood was a global cultural force, a simple act of theft changed the fate of an entire film. Moses Olaiya, the legendary comedian known as Baba Sala, had just completed Orun Mooru, a film financed with a bank loan. Before it could earn a kobo, the master tape was stolen and illegally duplicated.
The film was screened everywhere, leaving the producer with debt, disappointment, and a bitter lesson that would echo across the next four decades: in Nigeria, the pirate often earns more than the creator.
That tragedy was not an anomaly. It was the beginning of a culture.
From the VHS era to the days of 10-in-1 DVDs on street corners to the present digital age of Telegram leaks and illegal streaming links, piracy has always evolved faster than the industry trying to fight it.
By the early 2000s, reports estimated that over 70% of Nollywood’s DVD sales were lost to piracy, costing the industry billions, and Alaba International Market became the unofficial headquarters of this underground economy. Stories abound of producers being chased, beaten, stabbed, or robbed while trying to retrieve their stolen work. The loss was never just money. It was the slow erosion of confidence, the quiet death of creativity and the collapse of dreams financed by personal loans and fragile hope.
Even today, Nollywood still loses billions annually. According to a 2022 Nigerian Copyright Commission (NCC) report, Nigeria loses over ₦150 billion annually to digital piracy across film, music, sports content, and broadcast, affecting nearly 80% of films produced. Yet the market thrives because pirates meet a demand: cheap, fast entertainment in a country where most people cannot afford cinema tickets or multiple streaming subscriptions.
But that explanation, while true, is incomplete. Piracy is often mistaken as a harmless shortcut, “just one link,” but experts say the consequences are far-reaching: it has evolved into a sophisticated criminal enterprise with tentacles in money laundering, cybercrime and illegal distribution networks that are difficult to trace.
In some cases, anti-piracy raids have uncovered evidence linking the trade to broader criminal operations. In others, entire platforms, such as the recently banned Moviebox.ng, reappear under new links within hours, mocking regulatory authority.
Nigeria is fighting not just piracy but a technologically adaptable adversary.
For over two decades, MultiChoice has been one of the few players consistently investing in anti-piracy efforts. From digital security enhancements to legal interventions, direct collaboration with the Nigerian Copyright Commission, and educational campaigns, the company has quietly funded some of the most effective (and expensive) anti-piracy work on the continent.
In past years, MultiChoice has supported several enforcement actions where authorities uncovered major illegal redistribution rings. Years later, investigations helped expose digital pirates monetising DStv content through unauthorised IPTV services.
More recently, MultiChoice-supported enforcement contributed to the shutdown of pirate platforms distributing premium channels and Nollywood content globally through illegal streams.
But enforcement alone has never been enough, not in a country where piracy has become normalised and, for many, the only accessible option.
Which is why something different happened last week in Lagos.
Recently, creatives, regulators, filmmakers, actors, producers, authors, media professionals and entertainment lovers gathered at Ikeja City Mall for a Walk Against Piracy led by MultiChoice Nigeria in partnership with the NCC and the Intellectual Property Law and Advocacy Network (IPLAN).
There were no fancy speeches at first. Just people wearing branded “Say No to Piracy” shirts, picking up placards, and stepping into the street with a simple message: Piracy is theft, and Nigeria must stop pretending otherwise.
Veteran actor Saidi Balogun spoke bluntly: creators invest sweat, debt, years of experience and sleepless nights, but piracy wipes all of that out in seconds. “We are losing too much as an industry. This thing is destroying careers and the economy,” he said.
Producer and director Obi Emelonye expressed deep concern for the next generation of filmmakers. If profits continue to vanish into illegal channels, what incentive will remain for young talent to invest in big stories, ambitious ideas or artistic risks?
Representing the Nigerian Copyright Commission, Charles Amudipe warned consumers that piracy is not a harmless shortcut. Many pirate platforms expose users to malware, data theft, and fraudulent schemes. He reiterated that distributing or consuming pirated content is a criminal offence that carries fines and possible jail terms.
MultiChoice’s Corporate Affairs Executive, Caroline Oghuma, explained why the company extended its anti-piracy advocacy beyond enforcement.
Only last month, the organisation visited Kuramo College for a school sensitisation campaign, “catching them young” by teaching students how forwarding illegal movie links or downloading pirated content is not innocent behaviour, it is a criminal act with real consequences.
Taking the message to the streets was the next step.
Hundreds of conversations happened during the walk: “So where do we watch legally?”, “What if we can’t afford cinema tickets?”, “Why is piracy wrong if everyone does it?”
The team didn’t dismiss these concerns. They explained: legal content is more accessible than people think, via GOtv, DStv packages across price segments, Netlfix & Showmax mobile plans, free-to-air broadcast partnerships, and community cinemas.
Piracy, on the other hand, might feel cheap, but its real cost is carried by the industry you expect to keep entertaining you.
For the first time in a long time, the anti-piracy conversation wasn’t happening in a boardroom. Creatives, regulators, and audiences stood shoulder to shoulder, acknowledging the same truth: Nigeria cannot build a globally competitive creative industry on a foundation that leaks profit, talent and opportunity.
Piracy is weakening Nollywood’s negotiating power, depressing wages, shrinking budgets, and cutting off investment. It is the reason why many beloved filmmakers are popular but broke. Veteran filmmaker Yemi Ayebo, popularly known as Yemi My Lover, recently spoke about how widespread piracy stagnated his career and led to his current financial struggles despite the success of his cult classic films like Yemi My Lover (1993) and Ode Aperin (2002). “People that pirated Yemi My Lover helped me in one way by spreading it, but in other ways, I didn’t see the money. Almost 90% of the money went to their pockets. I was just popular, but broke,” he said.
Piracy is the reason distributors hesitate to finance ambitious projects. It is the reason some cinema films vanish online before their opening weekend is over.
Most importantly, piracy ensures that Nigeria’s creative economy, one of the country’s strongest global exports, remains structurally fragile.
The fight will not end with one walk. But the walk marks a shift, a realisation that piracy is not only a technical or legal challenge. It is a cultural one. Nigerians must be persuaded, not only punished.
And this is where MultiChoice’s role becomes significant.
As one of the biggest investors in local content and one of the most affected stakeholders, the company is using its platform to reshape consumer awareness, support regulators, mobilise the industry, and take the conversation directly to the public.
If Nigeria is to build a creative economy strong enough to compete with the world, piracy must lose its social acceptance.
The industry cannot keep bleeding talent.
Consumers cannot keep feeding a system that destroys the very content they enjoy.
And regulators cannot keep chasing an enemy that evolves faster than the law.
The truth is simple: Nollywood will not survive the next decade if piracy continues at this scale.
But if creators, consumers, regulators and platforms unite, as they did on the streets of Ikeja, Nigeria may finally reclaim the future its creatives have long deserved.
