Everyone on that first film set wanted to be the Director. You know, the one yelling “Action!” like they were Kunle Afolayan on a million-naira budget. Me? I was just the assistant. Lugging cables. Adjusting lights. Dodging backpacks and scattered sneakers in a cramped hostel room in Abuja. I didn’t mind being invisible. Honestly, I was kind of hoping for it.

At the start, lighting terrified me. 

Redhead lights? Hot as oven coils. 

Reflectors? Flimsy and blinding. 

Diffusers? Basically stubborn bedsheets with attitudes. 

I’d watched a ton of tutorials, but nothing prepares you for the chaos of real people, real time, real screwups. 

Still, I was learning. Fast. Or… well, trying to.

Then my brain did this weird thing. It connected dots I didn’t know were dots. All those hours I spent gaming? Suddenly useful. No joke.

Timing. Positioning. Predicting where things move. Managing a dozen variables without losing your mind. Turns out, planning a raid in a game wasn’t that different from placing a reflector at the exact right angle to soften someone’s face. 

I low key upgraded myself. Started saying “Assistant Lighting” when someone asked what I did. But in my mind? I was the *Broker of the Golden Hour*. Dramatic, I know. But have you *seen* good lighting?

Here’s the thing - sunlight doesn’t care. It crashes in through thin hostel curtains like an uninvited guest. Brutal. Leaves lines across the actress’s face like someone drew with chalk. I spent what felt like hours holding a reflector just right. Swapping out gels, chasing that warm film look. 

Meanwhile, the director was tweaking camera angles. The actress kept forgetting her lines. And me? I was shaping light like clay. You don’t think lighting matters - until it does. Without it, everything’s just people mumbling in the shadows.

Let me paint the scene. 

- Room narrow as a hallway. 

- Ceiling fan whirring like a lazy bee. 

- Beds crammed everywhere like Tetris blocks. 

- Gear? Two Redhead lights. A few reflectors. Cables like spaghetti across the floor. 

The actress looked nervous. Hands trembling. Her voice is just barely steady. Every take felt like a near-miss.

I stayed quiet. Watching. Thinking like a gamer. 

Where would light fall? 

Where would it bounce? 

How do I soften this side of her face...without turning her into a ghost?

It was a puzzle. And puzzles are my thing.

Then - the flicker happened.

One of the Redhead lights started blinking mid-scene. Like an old horror movie. Shadows danced across the wall. Harsh lines sliced across the actress’s face. Everything we’d built? Gone. 

The director froze. 

The actress blinked. 

The room held its breath.

You ever feel time is slow? Not in a cool superhero way. More like a “please don’t screw this up” kind of way. 

This was a boss battle. I moved fast. But calm. Swapped the light’s position. Shifted gels. Used a handheld reflector to bounce and soften the flicker. 

Like dragging a stubborn game level across the finish line with 2% health left.

And somehow - it worked. The flicker faded. The light settled. The scene rolled on, quiet and golden.

The actress? Didn’t notice a thing.

Me? I felt like I’d just won a fight I didn’t know I was in.

When we finally wrapped, I leaned against the wall. My arms burned. My shirt stuck to my back. The room smelled like heat and nerves and cheap deodorant.

But everything looked... perfect.

The director glanced over. Gave a small clap. “Nice work.”

I didn’t say much. I never do. But inside?

I wasn’t just the guy lugging cables. 

I was the Keeper of the False Sun. 

Yeah, laugh if you want. I earned that title.