They gave us joy, laughter, tears, and unforgettable screen moments. For decades, they brought characters to life, creating stories that helped shape Nigeria’s cultural memory. But when the camera stops rolling, and the fame fades, many Nollywood veterans are left with little or nothing to fall back on.
It’s a painful irony that the stars who once entertained millions now often end up begging for support in old age or during illness. Their names may still spark recognition, but their bank accounts tell a different story.
Too many once-prominent actors now rely on public donations. Their faces go viral again not for a movie premiere, but for desperate pleas for medical aid or rent assistance.
These cases surface often, drawing sympathy and donations, then disappear until the next one.
We have seen this happen repeatedly
• Pa James (Ajirebi Kayode Olasehinde) received help from actress Funke Akindele after flooding ruined his home.
• Baba Suwe battled illness for years before he passed, depending on public support.
• Mr Ibu (John Okafor) has been in and out of hospitals, with fans donating to cover his bills.
• Prince Jide Kosoko once opened up about colleagues who quietly suffer because they fear embarrassment.
• Enebeli Elebuwa died in 2012 after battling stroke, with his final months marked by fundraising appeals.
• Bruno Iwuoha and Victor Olaotan also experienced similar struggles before their deaths, and a host of others.
The pattern is clear. And it’s becoming a stain on one of Africa’s most respected entertainment industries.
Fame doesn’t fund retirement. Unlike civil servants, teachers, or even private sector workers, Nigerian actors work without structured financial safety nets. There is no regular salary. They get paid per project, and when the projects stop coming, income dries up. For many, this happens without warning. Old age or illness slows them down, and the industry moves on fast.
What makes the situation worse is the lack of a proper support system within Nollywood. Bodies like the Actors Guild of Nigeria (AGN), Theatre Arts and Motion Pictures Practitioners Association of Nigeria (TAMPAN), and the Directors Guild of Nigeria (DGN) exist to support professionals in the field. But their role in long-term welfare remains inconsistent and often limited to crisis response.
While these guilds sometimes step in to assist ailing actors or bury the dead, the support is rarely structured or guaranteed.
There is no official pension scheme, no compulsory savings program, no insurance-backed fund that kicks in when an actor retires or falls sick. Support is usually emotional, moral, or crowdfunded and it comes too late.
Imagine if a Nollywood pension scheme existed. Actors would be required to formally register with guilds like AGN or TAMPAN to access the system. A small percentage of their earnings from movies, series, endorsements, and appearances could be deducted monthly and saved in a personalized pension account. The guilds could work with pension administrators and trusted banks to ensure transparency and long-term sustainability.
The scheme could include an emergency medical fund to provide fast, private healthcare support without resorting to public pleas. At a reasonable retirement age, monthly payments would begin. It wouldn’t make anyone rich but it would offer dignity and peace of mind.
This idea isn’t just possible it’s overdue.
Nollywood has grown. From the days of home videos sold in plastic sleeves at Alaba Market, the industry now commands global attention. Films make it to Netflix, Prime Video, and international cinemas. Actors are brand ambassadors, influencers, and entrepreneurs. The industry’s economic value is undeniable.
READ ALSO: Forgotten Nollywood Icon Yemi Ayebo Appeals for Support: ‘I Need Help’
But that growth hasn’t reflected in how it treats its oldest and most vulnerable contributors.
If actors like Pete Edochie, Taiwo Ajai-Lycett, Jide Kosoko and some other notable actors were to face financial difficulty tomorrow, the whole country would react in shock.
But the truth is that the shock comes only because we assume fame equals wealth. It doesn’t. And it never has especially in Nollywood, where payments are inconsistent and long-term contracts are rare.
It’s time the guilds stepped up not just with condolence messages or public prayers, but with structure. It’s time to move from sympathy to sustainability.
Industry leaders, both on-screen and behind the scenes, must drive this change. Veteran actors, active producers, big-name directors, and streaming platforms should collaborate to create a system that works. It’s not enough to praise legends after they’re gone. We must protect them while they live.
This responsibility extends beyond actors. Cinematographers, makeup artists, location managers, editors, sound designers all deserve security. Every part of the value chain matters. If the entertainment industry truly wants to claim global respect, it must clean up its internal welfare structure.
This isn’t charity. It’s dignity. And it’s long overdue
A structured pension scheme will not only secure the future of Nollywood veterans, but it will also send a message to upcoming actors: that this is a real career path, one that doesn’t end in poverty or pity.
Every time a Nollywood legend cries out for help, it echoes a deeper truth we have built an industry on dreams, but we have ignored the need for systems.
Let’s stop waiting for the next viral photo of a frail actor seeking help.
Let’s create a Nollywood where veterans are respected and remembered not pitied or abandoned.
Let’s build a system that guarantees one thing: that those who gave everything to entertain us will never be left with nothing.
If the industry can produce stars, it can protect them too.