Plan B (2016): Ending Explained

By Luna Sterling

In the dim undercurrents of Nairobi's bustling streets, where the humid air clings like unspoken regrets and the distant hum of traffic mirrors the pulse of hidden desires, Plan B (2016) unfolds as a tense psychological drama laced with the sharp sting of consequence. Directed with a keen eye for the shadows of human ambition, this Kenyan film weaves a tale of love's wreckage and desperate reinvention, leaving viewers suspended in a fog of moral ambiguity. As Lisa navigates the fallout of an impulsive night, the story builds a suffocating tension around themes of agency, deception, and the fragile illusions we build to reclaim control. If you've just watched and are left pondering the final frames—those lingering shots of rain-slicked windows and hesitant glances—let's peel back the layers of this evocative ending.

Quick Recap

Plan B centers on Lisa Waweru, a young woman reeling from a painful breakup with her boyfriend, Ethan. In a moment of vulnerability, she has a one-night stand with a mysterious stranger, only to discover she's pregnant shortly after. The fog of uncertainty thickens when Lisa learns the man is Dele Cooker, a charismatic Nigerian CEO whose Nairobi-based company is expanding like a shadow across the city. The air grows heavy with possibility and peril as Lisa, alongside her sharp-witted friend Joyce, devises a calculated scheme: to confront Dele and force him to acknowledge the pregnancy, turning an accidental conception into a lever for security and revenge against her shattered past.

As the narrative pulses forward, the women's plan unfolds amid Nairobi's vibrant yet claustrophobic chaos—market stalls buzzing with haggling voices, the metallic tang of street food mingling with the scent of impending rain. Lisa grapples with her body's betrayal and the psychological weight of her choices, while Joyce's pragmatic edge sharpens the plot's tension. Ethan's lingering presence adds a layer of emotional residue, his calls echoing like ghosts in Lisa's mind. The story builds inexorably toward a confrontation, exploring how one impulsive night ripples into a web of manipulation, where trust erodes like wet pavement underfoot.

What Happens in the Ending

The final scenes of Plan B descend into a visceral confrontation that crackles with restrained fury and unspoken dread, set against the muted glow of Dele's sleek office overlooking Nairobi's twilight skyline. Lisa and Joyce, their faces taut with the strain of rehearsed lines, arrive unannounced, the elevator's mechanical hum amplifying the knot of anxiety in the air. Lisa, her hand instinctively cradling her abdomen, lays out the truth—or at least their version of it—confronting Dele with the pregnancy test clutched like a talisman. The room feels smaller, the air thick with the faint, acrid scent of his cologne mingling with her nervous sweat, as Dele's initial shock hardens into calculated denial. He paces, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through the glass walls, insisting the encounter was fleeting, anonymous, a "mistake" he won't own.

Tension peaks in a raw exchange where Joyce's fiery accusations clash against Dele's polished deflections, the camera lingering on beads of perspiration tracing down Lisa's temple, heightening the psychological standoff. In a twist that slices through the atmosphere like a sudden downpour, Dele reveals he suspected the ploy from the start—his company's reach had already uncovered Lisa's background, including her breakup with Ethan. Yet, instead of outright rejection, he proposes a cold bargain: financial support in exchange for silence and discretion, no emotional strings attached. Lisa hesitates, her eyes flickering with a storm of regret and resolve, as the screen fades on her solitary walk into the rainy night, the patter of drops on her skin blurring with tears, leaving the pregnancy's future—and her "Plan B"—hanging in unresolved limbo.

The Meaning Behind the Ending

At its core, the ending of Plan B symbolizes the illusion of control in a world dictated by chance and consequence, where personal agency collides with systemic power. The pregnancy itself serves as a potent metaphor for unintended burdens—something visceral and irreversible, growing within Lisa like the city's encroaching sprawl. Dele's office, with its sterile chrome and panoramic views, contrasts sharply with Lisa's grounded, sensory reality, underscoring themes of class disparity and the commodification of vulnerability. The bargain he offers isn't redemption but a transaction, highlighting how women like Lisa must navigate patriarchal structures, turning their bodies into bargaining chips in a game rigged from the start.

Psychologically, the finale delves into the erosion of identity: Lisa's initial plan, born of desperation, morphs into a mirror reflecting her own fragmentation. The rain in the closing shot evokes a cleansing yet futile release, washing away illusions but leaving the soul sodden and exposed. It's a subtle indictment of "Plan B" not just as a contraceptive fallback, but as life's improvised escape routes—often leading deeper into moral quicksand. The ending whispers that true resolution lies not in external validation, but in confronting the internal shadows we cast.

Character Arcs and Resolution

Lisa's arc culminates in a poignant fracture, evolving from a heartbroken woman seeking stability to someone forced to reckon with her complicity in deception. Her journey, steeped in the tactile unease of nausea and whispered confidences with Joyce, resolves not in triumph but in quiet defiance; walking away from Dele's offer intact, she reclaims a sliver of autonomy, though scarred by the psychological toll. It's a resolution that feels raw, her silhouette against the storm symbolizing resilience amid ruin.

Joyce, the catalyst of cunning, sees her arc peak in protective ferocity, her loyalty a anchor in the narrative's swirling tensions—yet the ending hints at her own vulnerabilities, as the plan's partial failure exposes the limits of friendship as a shield. Dele, revealed as more predator than paramour, arcs toward a chilling pragmatism, his CEO facade cracking just enough to humanize his detachment, tying back to the film's exploration of immigrant ambition in Nairobi's cutthroat landscape. Ethan's shadow lingers unresolved, a reminder of lost innocence, ensuring no character emerges wholly victorious, only weathered by the ordeal.

Alternate Interpretations

The ending's ambiguity invites multiple lenses, particularly around Lisa's final decision. One reading sees her rejection of Dele's deal as empowerment—a psychological break from dependency, stepping into motherhood on her terms, the rain a baptism into self-reliance. Alternatively, it could signal deeper despair: the walk into the night as a descent into isolation, where the "plan" crumbles, leaving her to face societal judgment alone, the pregnancy a metaphor for inescapable entrapment. Some might interpret Dele's awareness as a twist implying manipulation from his side—perhaps the one-night stand was no accident, subverting the narrative into a conspiracy of control, where Lisa's agency was illusory from the outset. These layers keep the tension alive, mirroring the film's moody ambiguity.

Themes and Symbolism

Plan B reinforces themes of female solidarity amid betrayal, with the ending subverting romantic redemption tropes by embracing gritty realism—the plan's unraveling underscores how deception, even well-intentioned, frays the bonds it seeks to mend. Symbolism abounds: the pregnancy test as a fragile artifact of truth, Nairobi's rain as emotional catharsis laced with melancholy, and the office's glass walls as barriers to genuine connection, reflecting the psychological distance in modern relationships. Broader motifs of cultural fusion—Nigerian ambition clashing with Kenyan roots—highlight identity's fluidity, while subverting the "happy ending" expectation, the film critiques the myth of easy fixes in a world heavy with unintended ripples.

Final Thoughts

This ending works masterfully because it resists tidy closure, immersing us in the humid unease of real-life dilemmas and leaving a lingering chill, much like the film's pervasive Nairobi nights. It's not a thunderclap revelation but a slow-burn exhale, evocative and true to the psychological depths it probes. For audiences craving depth over escapism, Plan B's finale lingers like a half-remembered dream—unsettling, profound, and achingly human—reminding us that some plans are merely preludes to the unknown. If it left you breathless, you're not alone; it's the kind of conclusion that demands rewatches to unpack its moody intricacies.