“After 30” has nothing to say — and says it anyway

The sequel fails to live up to the original and tarnishes the beloved“Before 30” legacy.

When I first watched “Before 30” (2015), I was in my early twenties and largely unbothered by the marital pressures the series tackled. But I was hooked. The writing was sharp, the characters grounded, and the romantic subplots delightfully messy. Most importantly, the friendships between the four lead women — Temi, Nkem, Aisha, and Ama — felt authentic. Unlike old Nollywood portrayals that often leaned on negative stereotypes, “Before 30” offered complex, emotionally honest relationships between women that weren’t solely built around competition. It was refreshing.

So when a sequel was announced nearly a decade later, I was cautiously optimistic (don’t blame me, Nollywood has a hard time getting sequels right). I rewatched the original and, this time in my 30s, it hit even harder. Now, I could relate to the tension of societal timelines — the countdown to marriage, babies, and career success. I was ready to see how the women had grown. I was rooting for a story that would reflect the real, layered experiences of Nigerian women navigating life after the big three zero.

Then vs. now: The promise of a sequel

It started great. All four original actresses — Damilola Adegbite, Beverly Naya, Meg Otanwa, and Anee Icha — are back, reprising their roles. That earned my cautious respect; continuity is a luxury in sequels worldwide. The film even begins with a moving tribute to the late actor Karibi Fubara, whose character Akin was Temi’s romantic choice at the end of “Before 30”. It’s a heartfelt and touching nod, and co-writers Bibi Ukpo, BB Sasore, and Omorinsojo Spaine (who also directs) deserve credit for that.

With those two green flags in the first ten minutes, I settled in. But an hour and 51 minutes later, all I felt was regret and confusion.

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Wasted potential 

In the original, we had four distinct, compelling women navigating a shared societal pressure: beat the “before 30” deadline and get married. It was simple but relatable, with enough texture to feel realistic. Now that they’re actually after 30, what happens next? The premise had so much potential: explore motherhood, grief, divorce, sexuality, stagnation, and second chances. But instead of digging deep, “After 30” skims the surface, serving a patchwork of undercooked plotlines that either go nowhere or collapse under lazy writing.

Take Aisha (Meg Otanwa), for example. Her storyline begins as a quiet unravelling under the weight of motherhood, societal expectations, and marital discontent. At first, the film seems poised to explore postpartum depression, and the pressure to keep having babies simply to please your husband and his family. It’s a familiar struggle for many Nigerian women — often endured in silence. I am even more delighted when she finally opens up to her friend about her ordeal because it feels like we’re getting somewhere. However, the plot fumbles.

Aisha travels to Switzerland to get her tubes tied in what’s treated like a dramatic, irreversible act of defiance. Except — it isn’t. Tubal ligation is reversible. A hysterectomy might have made more narrative sense if the filmmakers wanted to raise the stakes. Instead, the subplot begins with such emotional weight and ends up feeling shallow and sensationalised. It’s all shock, no substance. Thankfully, Meg Otanwa delivers a solid performance and brings some grace to an otherwise mishandled arc.

Then there’s Ama (Anee Icha), whose journey toward exploring her queerness is briefly intriguing. After a string of emotionally bankrupt heterosexual relationships, she finds herself drawn to Alice (Celestina Aleobua). For a moment, I thought we were witnessing something rare: a Nollywood film handling queerness with the care and complexity it deserves. However, just as quickly, the storyline is dropped. Ama rejects Alice’s kiss, walks away, and it’s never revisited. Rather than examining sexual fluidity, fear, or internalised shame, the film frames Ama’s interest in women as a trauma response — a byproduct of straight-man exhaustion. It’s a missed opportunity and a disappointing attempt at representation. Queer characters deserve more than to be used as narrative seasoning.

I have a friend who absolutely hates voice-overs. I never really understood why — until now. One of the most glaring issues in the series is the voice-over narration. Temi (Damilola Adegbite’s character) presumably delivers the voiceover, which does all the emotional heavy lifting that the plot avoids. Instead of nuanced scenes, we get summarised introspection, rushed plot twists, and a gnawing sense that the writers didn’t trust the audience or the actors enough. For the first time, I finally see why my friend hates voice-overs so much.

The film doesn’t seem to trust its audience or characters. Each of the four women, once dynamic “Before 30”, now feels like a watered-down version of themselves. They stumble from one bad decision to the next without growth or self-awareness. It’s drama for drama’s sake; no one evolves..

Even the friendship that was once the soul of the story in “Before 30” begins to rot from within. Admittedly, there are moments of truth-telling and vulnerability, but too often they’re undermined by petty fights, sabotage, and emotional detachment. The group devolves into a messy public argument in one scene meant to celebrate Ama’s business launch. No resolution, no apology — just vibes. What happened to sisterhood? This is perhaps the biggest letdown of the sequel. 

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The ending offers little reprieve — Temi, still bewitched by Ayo (OC Ukeje), dumps her current partner so they can be together, only for his ex to show up pregnant. Her response was to leave a note and fly over to reunite with her ex-fiancé. It’s confusing, emotionally unearned, and completely inconsistent with their supposedly enduring love story.

A legacy undone

This is exactly what makes the plot frustrating. Time and again, the film edges toward real storytelling — toward something meaningful — then turns back, afraid to commit. It flirts with ideas but never claims them. And by the end, you’re left with nothing but a glossy reel: beautiful people in beautiful outfits saying…nothing.

It’s been 10 years, but “Before 30” still holds up. It had heart, tension, and emotional resonance. “After 30, on the other hand, is a stylish but empty sequel. No one finds love, no one finds peace, no one even finds themselves.

But hey, at least the costumes were nice.

 

Author

  • Inem is the Features Editor at Marie Claire Nigeria. A multimedia storyteller with an insatiable curiosity, she is always in search of a good story. She can often be found with her headphones on, lost in music or having fascinating conversations with strangers.

    View all posts Features Editor
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