When you find out your truth is not the only truth, it's a humbling moment
Across generations, the wounds of Nigeria's 1967–1970 civil war have been carried in silence — passed down through family myth, whispered in fragments, and largely absent from the nation's classrooms. Now, Grammy-winning filmmaker Meji Alabi and his uncle Leke Alabi-Isama have turned their camera toward that silence, producing a BBC Africa Eye documentary that draws on unseen footage and survivor testimony to reckon with a conflict that killed up to three million people — and with their own grandfather's contested role within it. The film arrives as a quiet act of courage: the kind that asks a family, and a nation, to hold complexity where comfort once stood.
- A war that killed millions has survived mostly as rumor — whispered in homes, absent from schools, and almost entirely undocumented by Nigerian filmmakers willing to look unflinchingly at both sides.
- The filmmakers' own grandfather commanded federal forces accused of war crimes, and the documentary's most shattering moment comes when archival footage of starving children makes a decorated soldier's voice tremble for the first time in his son's memory.
- Survivors now in their seventies and eighties — some speaking publicly for the first time — are the film's moral center, their testimonies a race against the erasure that comes when a generation quietly disappears.
- The documentary is landing into a Nigeria where the civil war was only recently restored to the school curriculum, making its release both a cultural provocation and a potential turning point in how the country faces its own history.
Meji Alabi built his reputation directing music videos for Beyoncé, Burna Boy, and Stormzy, winning a Grammy for his work on Brown Skin Girl. But nothing in that career prepared him for the documentary he made with his uncle Leke Alabi-Isama — a film that required him to look directly at a war he had grown up knowing almost nothing about.
Surviving Biafra: Voices from the Nigerian Civil War, produced by BBC Africa Eye, draws on previously unseen front-line footage from Nigeria's 1967–1970 civil war — a conflict triggered by military coups and the massacre of Igbo people in the north, which drove roughly a million people south and led three states to declare themselves the independent Republic of Biafra. The federal government's response, including a blockade that severed food and supplies, produced mass starvation. Estimates of the dead range from 500,000 to three million, many of them children, in what became the world's first televised humanitarian disaster.
For Leke, the war was not abstract — his father, Godwin Alabi-Isama, served as chief of staff to a brigadier in the federal army's 3 Marine Commando, a unit against which war crimes allegations, including civilian executions, have been leveled. Leke grew up hearing his father described as a liberator. It was only in his early thirties, after his own research, that he encountered the images of starving children and began to understand the full weight of what his father's unit had done. When he showed his father that footage during filming, he heard something he had never heard before: his father's voice shaking.
Meji, who grew up in Texas largely unaware of the war, came to the project understanding that most Nigerians inherit this history through family stories rather than formal education — the civil war was absent from Nigeria's national curriculum for more than a decade before 2025. The filmmakers found almost no Nigerian-made documentaries willing to confront the conflict honestly. "It's a topic that is whispered," Meji said.
The film centers survivors now in their seventies and eighties, including two former female soldiers who fought on opposite sides, some speaking publicly about their experiences for the first time. With a score composed by Ray Michael Djan Jr. and historical guidance from Igbo scholars, the documentary aims to be both a preservation effort and a provocation. "This generation is slowly fading," Leke said. Both filmmakers hope it moves Nigerians toward an honest reckoning — and encourages more survivors to speak before the chance is lost.
Meji Alabi has spent his career directing music videos for some of the world's biggest names—Beyoncé, Burna Boy, Davido, Stormzy. Five years ago, he won a Grammy for co-directing the visual for Beyoncé's Brown Skin Girl. But when the 37-year-old London-born filmmaker, who grew up in Texas, decided to make a documentary about Nigeria's civil war with his uncle Leke Alabi-Isama, he found himself in territory no amount of commercial success had prepared him for.
Surviving Biafra: Voices from the Nigerian Civil War, produced by BBC Africa Eye, draws on previously unseen footage from the front lines of a conflict that tore through Nigeria from 1967 to 1970. The war erupted after military coups and massacres targeting Igbo people in the north drove roughly a million of them south, where three states declared themselves the independent Republic of Biafra. The Nigerian federal government responded with force. Between 500,000 and three million people died—many of them children—in what became the world's first televised humanitarian disaster, with graphic images of starving civilians broadcast into living rooms across the globe.
For Meji and Leke, the documentary was also deeply personal. Their grandfather, Godwin Alabi-Isama, was a former army commando who served as chief of staff to a brigadier in the federal army's 3 Marine Commando during the war. Growing up, Leke heard war stories from his father—he had 23 siblings, all raised on narratives of their dad as a liberator, a hero who had freed towns and villages. It was not until Leke reached his early thirties that he began researching what actually happened. That was when he discovered the mass starvation in Biafra, his father's controversial role in the conflict, and the allegations of war crimes—including civilian executions—leveled against the 3 Marine Commando. "The first time I saw those clips of people, children starved," Leke said, "it was horrific."
Meji had grown up knowing almost nothing about the war at all. "I just grew up not knowing much about the war, or who was fighting who," he recalled. Most Nigerians learn this history through family stories passed down across generations. For more than a decade before September 2025, the civil war was not formally taught in Nigeria's national school curriculum. For Leke, it had been "a line or two lines in a book." The filmmakers realized there were remarkably few Nigerian-made documentaries about the conflict, and those that existed often lacked truthful accounts. "It's a topic that is whispered," Meji said. "It hasn't been attacked head on and presented from an inquisitive younger generation like this before."
Making the film meant confronting family mythology directly. The BBC's editorial team conducted the interviews with their grandfather, pushing him on the war crime allegations. Leke described the moment he showed his father black-and-white footage of emaciated children—in his 43 years of existence, he said, he had never heard his father's voice shake. During that same interview, their grandfather revealed something he had not known at the time: that during the war, his unit had been served food by villagers in occupied Biafran territory, and he had unknowingly eaten human flesh.
The documentary draws on survivors now in their seventies and eighties, recounting experiences from a period that shaped millions of lives and still reverberates through Nigerian society. It features first-hand accounts from some who have never spoken publicly about their trauma before. Two of the central figures are former female soldiers who fought on opposite sides. The filmmakers also secured Ghanaian composer Ray Michael Djan Jr., who worked on the Black Panther: Wakanda Forever soundtrack, to create the score. They worked with the BBC's Igbo service and Igbo historians to ensure the account was comprehensive.
The federal government's blockade of Biafra—cutting off seaports, airfields, and foreign supplies—created a famine that killed hundreds of thousands. "This generation is slowly fading, and if we do not preserve their testimonies now, we risk losing not only their memories, but the chance to fully document this history in a way that can contribute to understanding and healing," Leke said. Both filmmakers hope the documentary will push Nigerians to confront the darker chapters of their shared past with honesty and empathy. "We really hope this documentary encourages more survivors to tell their stories and document our history further," Meji said. "It's up to us to do it."
Notable Quotes
It's a topic that is whispered. It hasn't been attacked head on and presented from an inquisitive younger generation like this before.— Meji Alabi, filmmaker
This generation is slowly fading, and if we do not preserve their testimonies now, we risk losing not only their memories, but the chance to fully document this history in a way that can contribute to understanding and healing.— Leke Alabi-Isama, filmmaker and co-founder of PriorGold Pictures
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why did it take a Grammy-winning director and a filmmaker to tell this story? Where were the documentaries before?
That's the question that haunted them both. There's a silence around this war in Nigeria—it's whispered about in families, but it's not confronted publicly. For decades it wasn't even in schools. Most people only know what their parents told them, and those stories are often incomplete or one-sided.
Your grandfather was a war hero in the family narrative. What changed when you actually researched what happened?
Everything. When Leke was in his thirties and started digging, he found out about the starvation, the blockade, the allegations against his father's unit. He saw footage of starving children and realized his family's truth wasn't the only truth. That's humbling and painful at the same time.
Did your grandfather deny the allegations, or did he acknowledge them?
The BBC team made sure the interviews were rigorous. He was pushed on the war crimes. And he revealed things he'd never spoken about before—including that he unknowingly ate human flesh during the war. Leke said his father's voice shook when he saw the footage of the children. In 43 years, he'd never heard that.
Why does this matter now, in 2026? The war ended in 1970.
Because the survivors are dying. This generation holds the testimony. If we don't preserve it now, we lose not just their memories but the chance to truly understand what happened and maybe heal from it. And Nigeria still hasn't fully reckoned with its own history.
What do you hope happens after people watch this?
That more survivors feel safe telling their stories. That Nigerians stop whispering about this and actually confront it—with honesty, reflection, and empathy. That's the only way forward.