Recently, Etim-Effiong sparked conversation after revealing that he prays before every kissing scene on set.
For him, it’s not just ritual, it’s reverence. “I get all my inspiration from God,” he said during an interview on Channels TV’s Rubbin’ Minds. “I go on my knees and pray before I go to set and kiss.”
It’s a statement that might sound unusual in a film culture where romantic scenes are often treated as routine, or worse, a marketing strategy.
But Etim-Effiong’s approach reminds audiences that behind every carefully choreographed moment of onscreen chemistry is a performer navigating real moral and emotional terrain.
For Etim-Effiong, acting isn’t merely a profession; it’s a calling. A few years ago, the 37-year-old left a promising career in engineering to chase a creative path he describes as “purpose-driven.” “My family is my garden, then my work,” he explained. “Acting feels like a calling to me, a way to worship through storytelling.”
That perspective shapes how he approaches his roles, especially the romantic ones that have made him one of Nollywood’s most recognisable faces.
From Plan B to Therapy, and the now-infamous Summer Rain, Etim-Effiong has mastered the language of subtle passion.
But it was Summer Rain, particularly his onscreen kiss with actressBolaji Ogunmola, that made him a target of public scrutiny. Social media users dissected the scene, debating whether an actor of his standing should even accept such roles.
Etim-Effiong’s response was graceful but firm. “The fact that I play a lot of romantic roles means I get to have kissing scenes sometimes,” he said. “But the question should go to the producers; why are they expressing affection only one way? There are other ways to show intimacy.”
His comment touches a deeper nerve in Nollywood: the creative decisions behind romantic storytelling.
For decades, Nigerian producers and screenwriters have leaned heavily on the visual shorthand of physical affection, especially kissing, to signal love or tension. It’s cinematic grammar borrowed from Hollywood but often transplanted without nuance.
“The average Nollywood script says, ‘kiss passionately’ because that’s what sells,” Etim-Effiong observed. “But I believe there are braver ways to explore affection on screen.”
He’s not wrong. Producers often argue that audiences “expect” romantic expression to look a certain way: a slow-motion kiss, a bed scene, a lingering touch, because that’s what feels “international.”
Yet, as Etim-Effiong points out, love can be communicated through silence, body language, gaze, or even absence.
Perhaps the challenge, then, lies not with the actors performing those scenes, but with the filmmakers writing and directing them. Why does Nollywood so often equate love with lip contact? Why do so few producers trust their audience to feel a connection without a kiss?
Etim-Effiong’s perspective also opens up a wider conversation about boundaries on set, an area Nigerian cinema is only just beginning to navigate more consciously.
In Hollywood, intimacy coordinators are now standard; in Nollywood, that framework barely exists. Actors often rely on personal principles, mutual respect, and direct communication to maintain professionalism.
For faith-driven performers like Etim-Effiong, prayer becomes both preparation and protection, a spiritual grounding that allows them to serve the story without compromising their beliefs.
“I go on my knees and pray,” he said plainly. “It keeps me focused, keeps me aligned.”
That balance between art and ethics is what gives his performances their quiet power.
