We Clicked ‘Apply Anyway’ and Found Ourselves Behind the Lens.

When the link was first posted online, I almost scrolled past it. I thought it was just another short-lived opportunity,  the kind that flashes across your screen, stirs a little hope, then fades away. But curiosity whispered, apply anyway.

So we did.

We showed up at AR Production offices like curious kids, ready to shake things up in the film world. Bright faces. Nervous laughter. Some of us clutching notebooks, others pretending to know what a boom mic really does. We were dressed in our Sunday best, not to impress anyone, but because it mattered to us. This was a chance, maybe the chance, and we wanted to meet it looking ready.

There were six lessons on the table; Editing, Scriptwriting, Photography, Makeup & Wardrobe, Sound, Videography, and Production Management. Each one felt like entering a new world. One day we were learning how to cut film, the next how to tell a story with silence. Every trainer had a story that made us want to keep going, stories of sleepless nights, of failed shots, of starting small and daring anyway.

We filmed on the beach, the coastal sun pressing hard on our backs as we held reflectors and tripods that grew heavier by the minute. We worked with zero budget, transforming office corners into bedrooms, building beds from wood scraps, arguing about lighting, and somehow laughing through it all. We danced on the road with Emelda, a scene that tested both our patience and our rhythm, and learned that sometimes the best takes come when you stop trying too hard.

There were days when the only thing that kept us going was mabuyu and samosas, and the constant joke, “Battery iko low.” On set, the rule was clear; “Nyamaza, tuko set!” shouted by Justin or Sera whenever someone forgot we were rolling. Doreen Zuchu filled the breaks with stories that wandered everywhere and nowhere, while the editors roamed around with earphones and laptops, lost in their own little worlds of sound and silence.

Somewhere in that noise and sweat, we stopped being students. We became something else, storytellers.

We started seeing stories in everything: the way light fell through dusty blinds, the way someone laughed off frustration, the quiet stillness before a take. We learned to listen, to observe, to collaborate, to fail gracefully. And without noticing, we built a small community of dreamers who believed in the power of film to say something true.

“I’ve learned the basics of all the units and how they connect,” said Iliham, one of us. “From scriptwriting to videography, my skills have been sharpened. There are things I used to do instinctively; now I finally know their names. Through Filamujuani, I realized I’ve done the work of a Production Manager before without even knowing it.”

For Habiba Wakio, who joined as a scriptwriting student, the experience changed everything. “From the skilled trainers to the warmth of the team, I gained a lot. Being a growing filmmaker, this opened my eyes to film technologies, jargon, and how to behave on set. The program should be a year long.”

And Rashid Hunt Odazee, from the videography class, said what many of us felt but hadn’t put into words: “The experience exceeded my expectations. It’s been inspiring to learn from people who have walked the path we’re just stepping into.”

Three months went by faster than we imagined. Somewhere between late-night shoots and early morning edits, between laughter and tired silence, we grew,  in our craft, in our courage, in how we saw each other. We learned that sometimes, film is less about perfection and more about presence.

As we dust the sand off the camera lenses, we carry gratitude, for the chance, for the doors that opened, and for the friendships that took root in the dust of Nyali’s roads.

What started as a random link online became a story we’ll keep telling, not because it was perfect, but because it was ours.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s what filmmaking really is: showing up with what you have, working with who you’ve got, and turning moments, however small,  into stories that live on long after the cameras stop rolling.