Confusion Na Wa 2013

The film opens with a reflective voiceover that sketches a web of fates in a city, using images that hint at the ending while quietly unpacking the moral chaos around its characters. Emeka Nwosu is trapped in a traffic jam sparked by the death of a pedestrian, and his evening plans collapse as a text from his concubine Isabella arrives, reminding him to come home early so they can enjoy themselves. On the crowded scene, two street-smart figures—Charles and Chichi—survey the moment and soon, in a burst of opportunistic aggression, Emeka’s phone is knocked from his pocket and stolen while he remains largely unaware of the personal storm brewing around him.

In a parallel thread, Bello is introduced as a principled civil servant who adheres to his own code in a corrupt world. His colleagues corner him with extra tasks after hours, and his insistence on integrity earns him the scorn of a boss who sees every rule as a tool to trim his own power. The tension at the office is not just about work; it foreshadows the larger moral drift that threads through the entire film.

As the stolen phone becomes the pivot for multiple plots, [Charles] and [Chichi] comb through the images, weighing what to do with the tech treasure. Their impromptu break-in to a publisher’s car—breaking the windshield to seize the stereo—provides a jolt of criminal bravado, funded by cheap drinks bought with the spoils. Their interpretation of The Lion King echoes a broader, uneasy joke about what “The Circle of Life” means in a society where power shifts hands with the crowd’s indifference. Emeka attempts to reclaim the device by calling the number, only to be met with a taunting claim that ownership has passed to them, a notion that inflames his sense of betrayal and fuses his fate with the thieves’ escalating bravado. Isabella tries to soften the blow, offering calm as the world around them spirals.

In the home front, Babajide, head publisher of the Righteous Trumpet Newspaper, hosts a telling family dinner that dives into the generational divide about crime, responsibility, and the state of the nation. His son, Kola, is studiously quiet, while a cascade of opinions—ranging from the parents’ to the grandparents’—fills the room with a debate about who bears the blame for the country’s decline. The dinner fades into a lesson on moral posture when Babajide, distracted and frustrated, drives through town and unintentionally splashes muddy water on [Bello], who responds with a jealous glare. The moment spirals into a moral parable about accountability, leading Babajide to insist they involve the police—a stark contrast to a society where accountability is often negotiable.

The consequences ripple through the day: Bello’s journey toward work is interrupted by a powerfully biased confrontation that ends with him in a police cell alongside Charles, a twist of fate that complicates the public expectation of virtue. Babajide reappears, bringing [Kola] into his world of editors and guidelines, urging him to channel his experiences into a piece about the nation’s moral erosion. The cell becomes a stage for a moral experiment, a chance to observe who can hold to principle under pressure and who bends toward expediency.

Back in the field, the personal dynamics intensify. [Isabella] informs Emeka that she is pregnant, a revelation that heightens the stakes in his already fragile marriage and invites a clash of loyalties between love, obligation, and pride. At the same time, the narrative follows the family of Bello as his wife grapples with the tension between desire and duty, while he steadily resists the pressure to accept a marriage burden that he doesn’t feel ready to bear, citing the absence of a shared sexual life as a core objection. The emotional temperature rises as messages and suspicions begin to surface, and Isabella’s phone becomes a source of troubling glimpses into hidden loyalties.

The circle tightens further when [Charles] and [Chichi] press their leverage on Emeka, planning a rendezvous to extract money under the guise of recovering the stolen phone. The duo’s path crosses with Muri, the drug dealer whose business is threaded through the night’s darker currents. The two thieves escort a new thread of danger as they head toward a staging point in Shayi’s—a place where past debts, present betrayals, and looming consequences converge in a way that will pull more lives into a spiraling storm. [Muri] offers a bleak counterpoint to the thieves’ short-sighted bravado, reminding the audience of the real costs behind each risk.

In a tense turn, [Kola] and his father encounter [Muri] at a bar, hoping to find relief from the day’s chaos. The dealer’s response—an offer to “cleanse” Kola of any same-sex confusion—forces a painful, controversial moment that exposes the film’s willingness to probe uncomfortable questions about sexuality, identity, and the lengths people will go to protect or police appearances. The tension shifts again when [Bello] arrives at a restaurant associated with the same web of people, narrowing the field of suspects and intensifying the sense that every character is both hunter and hunted.

The climax converges in a brutal, shocking moment: [Adekunle] appears in the scene as a figure who detains and confronts Emeka, an encounter that ends in violence when he fires at [Chichi]—mistaking him for Charles—before [Charles] can react. The misfire seals a brutal truth about the fragility of trust and the ease with which fear can tip into deadly action. The firestorm of retribution and misperception leaves no one unscathed, and the film closes on the murky aftermath, where the lines between right and wrong blur under the weight of a society that rewards cleverness over conscience.

Throughout, the film uses its ensemble to explore a society in which personal choices ripple outward, dragging others into the consequences of one night’s decisions. The city is a character in its own right—a place where ambition, desire, and desperation collide, and where loyalty, debt, and reputation can shift with the turn of a street corner. The ending does not offer a clean resolution; instead, it lingers on the unresolved tensions and the sense that the cycle of moral compromise will continue, echoing long after the screen goes dark.