Lights, Camera and Gratitude
The Goethe Institut auditorium has been a generous host to me. In 2011, it ushered me into the world of film festival programming, and in 2014, it witnessed the launch of my first book, Invisible. This hall has also been the home of the OUT Film Festival, a festival I co-founded and had the privilege of programming for nine of its thirteen editions. What an unforgettable journey it has been.
The festival period has always been a blend of excitement and anxiety. Each day of the screenings felt like a triumph. Yet, there was always that lingering fear—what if Gava or others with ill intentions disrupted the event? Thankfully, we pulled it off without incident every time. We learned to operate under the radar, toning down publicity and blending into the prevailing environment like chameleons—an art we perfected to ensure the festival’s survival.
In the festival’s early years, only a handful of people attended some screenings. But over time, the sight of full houses validated the festival’s mission: to create a space for queer cinema in a country where LGBTQI narratives are given little to no room. For many queer individuals in Kenya, life is a constant negotiation between fear and self-expression. If you’re not living in fear, you’re muting yourself — mastering the art of shape-shifting to avoid drawing unwanted attention.
Yet, I’ve realised that our invisibility is also our strength. It has allowed us to experiment, create, and innovate — pushing individuals and collectives to break out of the pupa stage and become butterflies.
OUT is not your typical film festival. There are no calls for submissions, no accolades for technical prowess, no red carpets, and no celebrity juries. Instead, it offers a space for expression — through film and through panel conversations that address the realities of queer life in Kenya. The COVID-19 pandemic pushed the festival into a virtual realm, allowing it to spread its wings beyond Nairobi. Satellite screenings in Eldoret, Mombasa, and Malindi made the festival more accessible — especially for those uncomfortable in openly queer spaces.
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The LGBTQI community has embraced OUT. Audiences have become younger, more diverse, multicultural, and even multigenerational. The festival has become an opportunity for individuals to find community, wear rainbow-coloured outfits, and be themselves. One year, when the festival coincided with World AIDS Day, the auditorium doubled as a venue for HIV testing and condom distribution. One of its after parties showcased the dazzling drag and cultural performance by the ISHTAR Dolls, who hadn’t had the opportunity for a public event. OUT has been a space not only for queer expression and discovery but for unfiltered queer joy.
Despite its modest scale, OUT has brought films that would never grace mainstream theatres to Kenyan audiences. Thanks to the festival, films like Milk, Moonlight, and Inxeba found their way to local screens. However, one of my greatest regrets is not being able to screen Kenyan films like Stories of Our Lives, Rafiki, and I Am Samuel — even though they have been celebrated globally. A time will come when these stories will be honoured at home without needing court orders, as Rafiki required.
Over the years, the festival has seen a surge in African queer cinema — stories directed and produced by African queer creators. This year, films in Kinyarwanda, Sesotho, Kiswahili, and Otjiherero graced our screens. The entire selection was drawn from the Global South for the first time, with debut entries from Colombia, Lesotho, Namibia, Tanzania, and Rwanda. It was heartening to see so many Kenyan queer filmmakers in attendance, eager to see what their peers across the continent were creating.
The festival’s inaugural edition in 2011 featured two Kenyan films: Fluorescent Sin and Mine Only. Though worlds apart, both films marked significant milestones. Fluorescent Sin, by sisters Amira and Wafa Tajdin, was a visually striking depiction of a drag queen’s nervous breakdown at Nairobi Railway Station. Mine Only, created by students from the Kenya Institute of Mass Communication, was a rough but commendable example of allyship. OUT has consistently recognized the value of raw, novice filmmaking, championing stories that, despite their imperfections, amplify underrepresented voices.
Sitting in the audience during the 2023 edition, watching a film on Kenya’s Trans community in the charged silence of the auditorium, I had an eureka moment. I realized I had been given the most incredible job of my career — not just curating a festival, but creating a space where individuals could see and hear themselves, discover new possibilities, and experience queer joy.
Nigerian filmmaker and activist Pamela Adie beautifully states, “Film not only has the power to show us the reality that we are living in, it can also give us a future to imagine.” It has been an honour and a pleasure to birth and nurture East Africa’s first LGBTQI film festival and witness the blooming of a crop of new filmmakers from the continent who are harnessing their power of storytelling and imagining new futures.
