Why do we relax with the very relationship chaos we would run from in real life? Explore our strange love for toxic African TV romances, Nollywood drama and fictional relationship disasters.
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There is something deeply suspicious about the way we relax.
You have survived work. Your boss has tested your patience. Traffic has nearly introduced you to a new level of spirituality. Your phone has 27 unread messages, three people want money from you, and somebody in the family WhatsApp group has started another argument. Naturally, you want peace.
So what do you do?
You make yourself comfortable, grab something to eat, switch on the television and watch two fictional lovers spend the next two hours lying, cheating, manipulating, shouting, crying and making decisions that would have made any sensible person leave the relationship three episodes ago.
Peace, apparently, was never really the plan.
Welcome to the African premium package.
For years, Nollywood and other African film industries have perfected a particular kind of relationship drama. There is the suspicious husband, the emotionally unavailable boyfriend, the girlfriend who knows she should leave but somehow stays until Episode 17, and the mother-in-law who appears to have made marriage her full-time career. Then there is the secret child, the fake pregnancy, the ex who returns at exactly the wrong time and, of course, the character who says, “I can explain,” immediately after doing something that requires at least six witnesses and a lawyer.
We complain about these stories.
Then we watch them.
Sometimes, we watch them twice.
The strange thing is that most people do not actually enjoy drama in their real lives. Nobody wakes up thinking, “I hope my relationship becomes complicated today.” Nobody wants to discover that their partner has another partner. Nobody wants their mother-in-law investigating their marriage like a parliamentary committee. Nobody wants to spend Saturday evening crying because someone they trusted has been secretly betraying them.
Yet fictional chaos is different.
From the safety of your couch, somebody else's disaster becomes entertainment. You can pause it. You can laugh at it. You can shout at the television. You can tell the character exactly what they should have done.
“Leave him!”
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About the Author
S
Sadat Moh Ali - Ice
Journalist at Ghana Ntentan
Sadat MohAli (Ice) is a Ghanaian writer, filmmaker, and Pan-African creative with a passion for stories that inform, challenge, and connect people. His writing experience spans platforms including OneCannaNews, Labariafrique, and LuckyNews, where he has explored culture, society, entertainment, and contemporary African life. Through words and film, he brings a distinctly African perspective to stories that deserve to be seen, heard, and remembered. Connect with Me on all social media platforms.
We become relationship experts very quickly when the relationship belongs to fictional people.
And perhaps that is part of the attraction.
There is a certain comfort in watching chaos when you know it cannot physically touch you. That sounds strange, but it makes sense. After a stressful day, your own problems may be too close to examine. Watching someone else's problems gives your mind somewhere else to go.
Instead of thinking about your unpaid bills, difficult boss or complicated relationship, you are suddenly emotionally invested in whether Abena will discover that Kojo has been secretly meeting his ex.
For two hours, Kojo's problems become more important than yours.
That is quite the bargain.
Your subscription has effectively purchased temporary emotional relocation.
African relationship dramas are particularly good at creating that escape because they often feel familiar. The family arguments. The aunties. The neighbors who know everybody's business. The pressure to marry. The suspicion around friendships with the opposite sex. The complicated relationship between love, money and family expectations.
Even when the story is exaggerated, the emotional ingredients can feel recognizable.
You may not have experienced the exact situation on screen, but you probably know someone who knows someone who has.
And that is where the laughter sometimes becomes uncomfortable.
Because occasionally, while laughing at a character making terrible romantic decisions, you realise you have seen versions of those decisions in real life.
Perhaps even in your own life.
There was a time when watching a film meant watching a film. Now, watching African relationship drama can become a group activity without anyone leaving their house.
One person posts a clip. Someone else comments, “Ladies, please run.” Another says, “Men will never understand.” Then somebody enters the comments with a completely different interpretation.
Before long, strangers are debating fictional characters as if they are discussing real members of their extended family.
Social media has made this even more powerful. A dramatic scene can escape the film and become a meme, reaction video, relationship lesson or argument. The audience no longer simply consumes the story. We participate in it.
We choose sides.
We diagnose characters.
We predict endings.
We search for villains.
And sometimes, we become more invested in the fictional relationship than the people who wrote it.
There is also a simple psychological pleasure in watching problems that eventually get resolved.
Real relationships rarely offer neat endings. People misunderstand each other. Apologies come late. Some relationships end without closure. Some betrayals are never properly explained. Sometimes you simply have to move on.
Fiction gives us something real life often refuses to provide: resolution.
The cheating husband gets exposed. The manipulative girlfriend is discovered. The innocent partner finally learns the truth. The person who spent the entire movie suffering eventually gets their moment.
Even when the journey is stressful, the audience knows there is supposed to be a destination.
That predictability can be comforting.
It also allows us to experience intense emotions without actually being in danger. We can feel anger without confronting anybody. We can cry without explaining ourselves. We can experience betrayal without checking our partner's phone. We can scream at a character and then calmly return to our snacks.
That is a remarkably efficient emotional workout.
But there is another reason we keep coming back.
Sometimes, we watch these stories because they give us permission to talk about things we struggle to discuss directly.
African societies have changed considerably, but conversations about marriage, infidelity, emotional abuse, family pressure, money, gender expectations and intimacy can still be complicated. A fictional couple can say the things real people are afraid to say.
A character can leave an unhealthy marriage. Another can confront an unfaithful partner. Someone can challenge family pressure. Someone else can admit that love is no longer enough.
And suddenly, viewers are debating those issues in their living rooms and online.
The film becomes the safe distance from which difficult conversations can begin.
That may be one of the most useful things African popular entertainment does, even when it is wrapped in exaggerated drama.
Perhaps the bigger lesson is that our fascination with toxic fictional relationships does not necessarily mean we secretly want toxic relationships.
It may simply mean we are fascinated by human behavior.
We want to know why somebody stays. Why somebody cheats. Why someone forgives. Why money changes affection. Why families interfere. Why intelligent people sometimes make spectacularly bad romantic decisions.
And, occasionally, we watch because watching somebody else's romantic disaster makes our own situation feel slightly more manageable.
At least your boyfriend only takes three hours to reply.
On screen, somebody has discovered that her husband has a second family in Kumasi.
Perspective is powerful.
So the next time you finish a long day and announce that you desperately need something “light” to watch, be honest with yourself.
You may not want peace.
You may want premium-quality chaos, professionally filmed, beautifully lit, with dramatic music and a character who absolutely should have left in the first 20 minutes.
And honestly, there is nothing wrong with that.
Just do not become too comfortable shouting, “Leave him!” at the television while ignoring the giant red flags sitting comfortably in your own relationship.
Because the funniest plot twist would be discovering that the person we have been judging on screen was actually us all along.
