On a long thing...

An angel investor once asked to see me. After a few weeks of calendar clashes, we finally met. As we talked through this new deal on his table, he told me about the time he funded a family member’s movie.

“I'm doing a film. Nollywood. But cinematic Nollywood. Not those ones where the ghost is wearing Timberlands. This is different. Netflix-quality. International festivals. Red carpets. Think Black Panther, but make it authentic African." His cousin said.

This kind gentleman hears "Netflix," "international," and "red carpet" — and before his brain can finish translating those into actual due diligence questions, his heart already signed the cheque.

He went to the premiere. Sat in the audience. Watched the opening scene.

And he told me — laughing, but not really laughing — that he wasn't actually watching the movie. He was looking at his money roaming around with every frame, every scene change, every actor's line: ₦238 million up on the screen.

He sat there, quietly hoping that it would come back out the other side with some returns.

It didn't.

The money stayed stuck in the film — beautifully lit, well-acted, but gone. The film was actually good. Critics loved it. It won an award at some festival in Berlin that nobody can pronounce. But no money.

He still laughs as he tells it. But underneath the laughter is one of the more expensive lessons in his portfolio. Funding someone you love, in an industry you don't understand, and evaluating with your heart instead of your thesis, is not investing. 

It's family support.