An election promised the shift from military rule to democracy, with unofficial results and public sentiment declaring victory for the Social Democratic Party.

The public waited for months for the announcement of the results. After delay followed by delay followed by delay, the election was annulled as the government claimed “electoral irregularities.” Political unrest followed. The dictatorship was maintained. 

Akinola Davies Jr.’s debut feature film, “My Father’s Shadow,” details the journey of young brothers, Remi and Akin, as they accompany their father into the city of Lagos to collect his overdue salary on the day the election results are set to be released. The boys, ignorant to the politics of the time, navigate the diversity of the city during this time of instability. 

Davies tells a wonderfully uncomfortable story with some of the most beautiful cinematography I have ever seen. But, above all else, “My Father’s Shadow,” provides a raw, abrasive look at grief — anticipatory, collective and delayed grief. That was something I was not expecting from this film nor prepared for.   

There is a scene where Remi, the older of the two boys, sits beside his father on the beach of Lagos. His father, Kapo, tells Remi the story of his older brother drowning in that very same lake. For years following Kapo didn’t swim — his brother, a man who had done nothing but good, was swept away in the tides. The ocean, karmic forces, God, showed him no mercy. 

Kapo dreamt of his brother every night until Remi was born. He told Remi something like: “the memories that hurt the most now will bring the most comfort after they’re gone.”

Jesus! I was not ready for a spiritual awakening in AMC Newcity 14. 

I’m no stranger to death, but I have never experienced such a sudden loss. I’m not sure how anyone handles losing a loved one so unexpectedly. 

One thing I really loved about this movie was the contrast between the political unrest of Lagos and the “childish” perspective of Remi and Akin. Akin just wanted to buy ice cream in Lagos for God knows how long. “Ice cream,” “ice cream,” “ice cream” was all that was on his mind.  

Again and again the viewer is met with visual imagery of the massacre at Bonny Camp in Lagos. But, the boys were just happy to spend time with their father. 

How are kids expected to compartmentalize these things, if not from the perspective of a kid? It felt like an accurate portrayal of children growing up in such circumstances. 

Kapo was more complex than I expected. He kept pushing and pushing to get his salary and I wasn’t sure why. People were rioting in the streets, why keep going for this money? Why endanger the lives of his kids for this? 

I had no idea it was because he knew he was going to die. 

He had frequent nosebleeds throughout the movie, but it never felt like a warning to his fatal illness. His character was motivated to make Nigeria a better place for his boys and the next generation through the Social Democratic Party. But this doesn’t really become clear until his funeral. 

He took his boys into Lagos and spent the day with them knowing that he didn’t have much longer. It seemed like a last-ditch effort to know his boys — to be remembered by his boys. It breaks my freakin’ heart, seriously. 

A scene that keeps replaying over and over in my mind is Akin spitting out onions from food Kapo bought the boys. His dad didn’t know he didn’t like onions. It’s such a simple thing, but something a parent should know. It spoke to Kapo’s absence. 

It’s rare that movies have such forethought nowadays and there’s not a single mark Davies missed with this one. I want to watch it again and again and again. 

Davies took his individual experience and turned it into something relatable for people across the world. It’s no wonder this movie got a special mention at CIFF.

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