The wig, The grammar, The 5,000 naira she had no shame demanding for her ruined clothes. From the moment Dorcas appeared on screen, audiences were laughing, and Heaven Must Wait let them. It encouraged it, even. It needed you comfortable before it could make you uncomfortable.
Because here is what the film is actually about underneath the comedy: we as a society have a very specific way of treating people who look like Dorcas. People without money, without polish, without the right accent or the right shoes. We find them amusing. We keep them at a distance. We do not consider for one second that the most extraordinary person in the room might be standing right in front of us, wearing an oversized wig and carrying a secret that would bring us to our knees.
Nigeria is full of Dorcases. Brilliant, resilient, quietly suffering people that we walk past every day because they do not fit the aesthetic of someone worth taking seriously. Heaven Must Wait dares you to sit with that. It makes you laugh with the crowd, and then it turns the camera around and makes you ask, was I laughing at her, or was I laughing at myself?
There is a thin line between finding someone funny and finding someone beneath you. Nigerian social media has never been great at knowing where it stands on that line, and this film holds that mirror up without flinching.
Lota Chukwu gave us one of the most layered performances Nollywood has produced this year. The fact that it came wrapped in comedy is either the most brilliant creative decision of 2026, or the only way a story like Dorcas's could ever get a mainstream audience to sit down and listen.
Either way, the joke was never really about Dorcas.