Fadhili Elly

For decades, the Kenya National Drama and Film Festival (KNDFF) stood as a beacon of creative excellence—a platform that nurtured talent, provoked thought, and pushed the boundaries of storytelling. From dusty school grounds to national stages, this festival birthed legends, stirred conversations, and shaped a generation. But now, beneath the glitz of performance and the flood of lights, lies a haunting truth: the very soul of the festival is at risk.

1. Scriptwriting and Training: What Are We Teaching Our Children?

The heart of any performance lies in the script. It is the vessel of our message, the foundation of our art. Yet in recent years, the quality and intent of scripts have come into question. What are we saying in these scripts? Are we just entertaining, or are we educating, challenging, and inspiring?

Many scripts today fall into predictable tropes—overdramatized plots, shallow themes, or unoriginal narratives. The festival has seemingly drifted from its initial mission of value-based storytelling toward a chase for crowd-pleasers and shock value.

Even more troubling is how trainings are handled. Workshops are hurried, poorly coordinated, and rarely prioritize the refinement of message. Trainers focus more on “how to win” rather than “what to say,” thus reducing art to strategy. Where is the room for authenticity, creativity, and purposeful storytelling?

2. The “Mamluki” Question: Outsiders or Backbone?

The term “mamluki” (loosely meaning mercenary) has become the dark label slapped on external trainers—professionals who, although not TSC-registered teachers, pour sweat and skill into the success of schools at the festival. These artists, playwrights, and coaches are called upon to script, train, and direct some of the best items in the country. Yet when victory is secured, they are ostracized, sidelined, and stripped of recognition.

This hypocrisy must be addressed. If the festival system heavily relies on their expertise, then it must also offer them respect and protection. You cannot have it both ways: using their skills and then disowning them when it comes to accolades and reward.

3. The Politics: Dark Meetings, Twisted Arms, and the Gospel of Mpesa

Behind the scenes of the drama festival lies a script darker than any performed on stage. Arm-twisting, hidden meetings, and whispered alliances have hijacked the process. Decisions are no longer made in the adjudication room—they’re made in backdoors, lodges, hotel lobbies, and on Mpesa messages that light up phones in the dark.

This rot has bred a culture where merit is undermined. Where teachers, trainers, and even students lose faith in the process. Where talent is sacrificed at the altar of connection.

If a school can “buy” a slot at nationals, what message are we sending to the learners? That excellence is transactional? That your sweat only counts if your teacher knows someone in the committee? This is not just unethical—it is destructive.

4. Adjudication or Auctioneering?

Adjudication is meant to be the guardian of quality, fairness, and artistic growth. But today, it has become a playground of friendships and fear. Certain schools receive praise not for their work but for their reputation. Others are dismissed, not because they lack quality, but because they pose a threat to established “favorites.”

Whispers of “We can’t allow School X to proceed—they’ll sweep at nationals,” are becoming too common. Good items are buried, and subpar pieces are rewarded, not because of merit but because of networks and name-dropping.

In this environment, many brilliant trainers have walked away. Some of the best creative minds no longer participate—not because they lost their passion, but because the playing field is poisoned.

5. “The Call from Above” – Death by Delegated Injustice

The most dreaded phrase in the festival: “We’ve received a call from above…”

When decisions are reversed due to “orders” from the mysterious committee, it makes mockery of the entire adjudication process. If a panel of qualified judges sits through a performance and gives a verdict, only for a phone call to override it, then what are we doing?

Who is “above”? Why are they never accountable? Why does the festival bow to invisible powers while dismissing the sweat of students and trainers?

This “committee” interference has dealt a fatal blow to the integrity of the festival. Instead of nurturing art, we are nurturing apathy, manipulation, and resignation.

Time to Choose – Reform or Ruin

The Kenya National Drama and Film Festival is at a crossroads. One path leads to reform—a return to purpose, fairness, and excellence. The other leads to irrelevance and decay.

We must restore dignity to the scripts, honor those who build them (regardless of title), purge the politics, and protect adjudication from influence. This is not just about a festival—it is about the future of Kenya’s creative voice.

Let the stage return to what it was always meant to be:
A space for truth, talent, and transformation.