Franklin Orlando founder Ghetto Termites Film Production ./Photo; Franklin Orlando
On paper films are entertainment.
In practice, across Africa they have become something else entirely: classrooms, warning systems, mirrors, and sometimes the only public conversation people are having about issues that shape their daily lives.
In Kenya, emerging storytellers are using film not just to entertain, but to spark conversation, influence behavior, and shine a light on issues that official reports rarely reach.
By blending artistry with purpose, these filmmakers transform screens into mirrors of society, showing what is broken, what can be fixed, and how ordinary people can be part of the solution.
One of the comes from Nairobi, where a polluted river in informal settlements became the seed of a story that resonated across Africa.
Where fish once thrived, there was now nothing. Plastic and waste choked the water, leaving local communities that relied on it to adapt.
That stark observation became the foundation of Angry Hunger, a short film by a Kenyan grassroots filmmaker.
Franklin Orlando: Small People, Huge Impact
Franklin Orlando did not grow up in the spotlight.
He is a self-taught filmmaker, the founder of Ghetto Termites Production, a Nairobi-based production company composed largely of creatives from marginalized communities.
The name reflects both his origins and his vision: like termites, small but industrious, his team builds big impact through storytelling.
“The reason we call it Ghetto Termites is that I’m inspired by the termites, small insects that are hardworking. They make very big things despite their size. These are termites from the ghetto, making a huge impact through storytelling.”
“That’s how I see us small people making a very big impact through films,” he added.
Angry Hunger: A Disturbing Vision of Reality
Angry Hunger, one of his most recognised films, was shot in Kibera and Dandora was born from a simple, urgent question: where did the fish go?
Walking past a the polluted river, Olando realized the environment itself was “hungry,” and so were the people.
“We have a river passing by where I live and once upon a time, it had fish. I asked myself, where did the fish go? So it just felt like the river was angry, and that’s why we are hungry.”
The short film went on to win Best Short Film in Africa at the Don Bosco Global Youth Film Festival in January 2025, an acknowledgment of both its craft and its societal relevance.
Angry Hunger is not Olandos first film.
His early work, COVID-2020, tackled misinformation during the pandemic.
In it, a young boy seeks protection from a traditional healer, only to be handed sanitizer and soap, highlighting the gap between belief and science in a humorous yet educational way.
“It was my first film sponsored by the Ministry of Health,” Olando says.
“And it remains one of my most impactful works. I write scripts that are easily digestible because I want audiences to connect immediately with the story.”
Film as Social Infrastructure
Across informal settlements, short films are quietly stepping into a role that extends beyond entertainment.
They convey lessons about health, environmental stewardship, and community safety in ways that official systems often fail to reach.
Olando has observed firsthand the way visual storytelling captures the attention of young people in ways that written materials often cannot.
“Young people love watching more than reading,” he says.
“With a visual story, they relate immediately. It’s entertainment and education at the same time.”
It’s entertainment and education at the same time.”
In environments where government messaging is underfunded, films like Angry Hunger operate at the intersection of advocacy, community engagement, and artistic expression.
By transforming storytelling into a form of social investment, these films turn viewers into participants in local solutions rather than passive observers.
The ripple effect is also tangible. Stories identify and nurture talent, providing opportunities for aspiring actors, editors, and creative professionals.
“Like Ghetto Termites, we do open our doors to those who may need to sharpen their skills in areas related to film. With the sector having scarcity in placements, we try as much as possible to help each other out as much as we can,” said Olando.
The stories also help the community be ambassadors or advocates for social change in their immediate setting.
In Angry Hunger, local women running small businesses were trained for a few days to act.
“After seeing the film, they became ambassadors in their neighborhoods, telling others not to pollute, because it affects livelihoods,” he says.
Audiences not only learn about environmental and social issues, but are also encouraged to reflect and act, a hallmark of solutions-focused storytelling.
The Realities of Creative Labour
While the social benefits of films are clear, creating them is far from easy.
“My major challenge is equipment. We don’t have enough to consistently run productions. Hiring is expensive a single camera can cost between 2,500 to 5,000 shillings per day. Sound and lighting are similar,” he explains.
This “creative labor as social work” highlights the dedication required from grassroots filmmakers who aim to produce socially relevant work.
Unlike commercial films that prioritize profit, these productions rely on personal investment, passion, and a commitment to community impact.
Despite its potential, grassroots filmmaking comes with its own challenges, including equipment availability, which is often the first on the list.
“A single camera can cost between 2,500 and 5,000 shillings per day to rent,” Olando says.
Lighting, sound equipment, and editing add further expenses. Most funding comes from his own pocket.
Beyond equipment, the labor required is largely invisible.
“Production needs a lot of skilled people: editors, colorists, wardrobe, assistant directors,” he says.
“We lack many of these, so I end up wearing many hats.”
At Ghetto Termites Olando often takes on multiple roles, scriptwriter, director, and editor, while managing a small team of assistants.
“I am the scriptwriter, director, and editor. The gaffer is also the DOP. Our wardrobe is basic because we don’t have skilled personnel. It’s a challenge, but we’re growing,” he explains.
Kenya’s creative landscape also remains uneven.
Local awards often favor established filmmakers, leaving emerging voices marginalized.
“You have to build a brand before they recognize your work,” he says.
“They don’t let your work speak for itself. It’s something that should change.”
In response, Olando invests in people and processes, mentoring young creatives, teaching production skills, and creating opportunities for local actors.
These efforts, though small in scale, are significant in strengthening the social and creative fabric of his community.
” I’m self-taught and know ,” he says.
“If you have the opportunity to show someone the way, it may not feel like a win immediately, but personally, I see it as a win.”
The Bigger picture
Despite these obstacles, the collective remains committed to producing films that matter. Orlando sees filmmaking as more than a career:
“If it were about the money, I would be depressed. I love telling stories through acting, in stage plays, and in film. That passion I have for film is immeasurable.”
Local recognition, however, remains limited.
“One thing I would have considered an achievement is being known locally for my films,” Olando laments.
“Unfortunately, our films get seen more abroad than at home.”
This reflects broader systemic issues in the Kenyan creative sector, where grassroots talent often struggles to gain visibility without an established brand or commercial backing.
African Stories, Local Solutions
Angry Hunger is part of a growing movement of African films addressing urgent social issues through cinema.
Other examples include the documentary Khartoum (2025), completed in Nairobi due to the war in Sudan, which captures the city’s pre-war and wartime experiences, earning international acclaim at Sundance and Berlinale.
In Kenya, other short films follow similar paths.
Works addressing COVID-19 misinformation, femicide, and urban survival reveal the power of local stories to educate, spark dialogue, and create change.
Across Africa, these films prove that cinema can be a tool of civic engagement, especially where institutional outreach is limited.
Olando measures success not in awards, but in impact.
“If someone watches the film and flows with the story, reacts as I imagined, I take that as a success,” he says.
His films also identify talent, inspire communities, and turn audiences into advocates, proving that storytelling itself can function as invisible social infrastructure.
Social media has amplified this work further.
Angry Hunger will be screened in Japan thanks in part to online platforms, illustrating how grassroots films can transcend borders and connect global audiences to local realities.
A Storyteller for the Community
For Olando, filmmaking is civic engagement in motion.
“Apart from my films giving messages, at least they have identified abilities that we can manifest and make grow,” he says.
His work nurtures local talent, trains non-professional actors, and encourages reflection on pressing issues like pollution, food insecurity, and public health.
By blending artistry with advocacy, Olando and Ghetto Termites are demonstrating that storytelling is more than entertainment.
It becomes a form of investment, infrastructure, and empowerment.
In the absence of robust public systems, these films fill gaps, create opportunities for engagement, and equip communities to imagine and implement solutions.
Angry Hunger is more than a short film; it is proof that grassroots creativity, when paired with social purpose, can transform neighborhoods, amplify marginalized voices, and inspire change one story at a time.
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