There was a time when Nigerian comedy was like good jollof rice — spicy, well-layered, and satisfying to the soul. The likes of Basketmouth, Ali Baba, and AY once ruled the stage, tickling ribs with clever wordplay, relatable storytelling, and culturally grounded humour. But today, the comedic stage has been replaced by a smartphone screen. The microphone has been swapped for a ring light. And laughter — that sincere, belly-deep guffaw — is now a shallow emoji beneath a skit.
So, we ask: is comedy still comedy? Or has it morphed into a caricature of itself — a circus where noise wears the crown, and vulgarity has become the new punchline?
A World Gone Viral
Nigeria’s skit-making industry has exploded in the last five years. According to a 2023 report by Dataleum, Nigerian skit makers collectively recorded over 3.5 billion views across platforms such as YouTube, Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook in 2022 alone. Names like Sabinus, Brainjotter, Taaooma, and Mr. Macaroni have amassed millions of followers — and rightly so. Their creativity, consistency, and digital savviness are commendable.
In fact, the same report ranks Nigeria as the second-largest skit-producing country globally, only behind the United States.
But here’s the caveat: Quantity isn’t always quality. And while the industry is booming in numbers, it’s gasping for breath in originality, substance, and moral direction.
The Death of Intelligent Humour
Back in the day, a comedian could take a mundane family dinner and spin it into a hilarious masterpiece with metaphors, impersonations, and real-life wit. But now? A skit often begins with a half-naked woman, a loud slap, a sugar daddy, or a fake pastor. That’s not comedy — that’s chaos in costume.
Today’s skits often follow a tired formula:
Guy chases girl
Girl slaps guy
Guy falls into gutter
Girl turns out to be a “runs babe”
End credits roll with dance and hype music
It’s like watching a broken record skip, again and again.
Worse still, it is now fashionable to trade creativity for clout. Many skit makers bank on vulgar language, misogyny, or crass innuendos to “go viral.” As if shock value is the new currency of humour.
When Did Vulgarity Become a Joke?
A quick dive into the content of Nigeria’s top 10 Instagram skit makers reveals a disturbing trend: over 60% of their most viral videos in the past year featured sexual content or gender-based stereotypes (Source: NOI Polls Media Survey, Dec 2023).
Is this the new definition of humour — objectify, exaggerate, rinse, repeat?
Even satire, which once served as the conscience of the nation, is losing its edge. Mr. Macaroni’s “Freaky Freaky Daddy” character, though initially brilliant in its social commentary, has now been watered down to a predictable punchline. The message has been muffled by the moaning.
Comedy as a Mirror, Not a Mask
Comedy is not just for laughs — it’s a powerful tool for social reflection. The late Julius Agwu, the legendary Papa Ajasco series, and even newer names like Josh2Funny, once used humour to highlight social ills, question norms, and provoke thought.
Today, many skit makers would rather trend than teach. The artistry has taken a backseat to analytics. Likes over legacy. Clout over craft.
It’s no wonder then, that many of Nigeria’s most decorated stand-up comedians have retreated from mainstream attention. They’re craftsmen in a marketplace now obsessed with microwave humour — hot, fast, and forgettable.
Hope on the Horizon
Yet, not all is lost.
Creators like KieKie, Layi Wasabi, and OGB Recent have shown that it is possible to blend comedy with cultural intelligence, character development, and subtle wit. These few are swimming against the tide, choosing to craft rather than copy, to provoke laughter without stripping decency naked.
Additionally, platforms like YouTube Shorts, Amazon Prime, and even Netflix are beginning to spotlight more structured, scripted comedy shows, offering hope for a more refined comedic renaissance.
Final Thoughts: The Joke Is on Us
So, is comedy still comedy in Nigeria?
Yes — but only in pockets. In too many places, it has become a parody of its former self — shallow, repetitive, and at times, borderline offensive.
If we are not careful, we’ll laugh ourselves into moral numbness — where everything is funny, yet nothing is meaningful.
The time has come for creators to return to the drawing board — to remind us that laughter isn’t just noise. It’s therapy. It’s culture. It’s resistance.
Because if we keep trading depth for digital reach, we might wake up one day and find that the only thing funny… is how far we’ve fallen.
