IFA 2025 : Blue Adekunle Discusses the Layered Meaning of “Ranti Ronu”, Her Latest Work

In 2023, Blue Adekunle’s Man and Masquerades won the Best Student Film at Africa International Film Festival (AFRIFF) Globe Award. In 2025, she released Ranti Ronu which won the Best Storytelling award at the Ibadan Indie Film Awards (IFA). The centering of Nigerian and African culture is one of the relationships between Man and Masquerade and Ranti Ronu. When Culture Custodian quizzed the director about this, she acknowledged her interest in intentionally developing a specialty in narrative steeped in African culture. 

“I come from a place where culture, faith, memory, are already layered with meaning, so it would be dishonest for me to make work that pretends otherwise. I lean into African narratives not to represent a continent, but because it is the only emotional truth I can write from” Adekunle stated. The director isn’t interested in translating Africa into something easier to consume. Importantly, she is more interested in letting it exist in its own complexity and contradiction. “That,” Adekunle shared, “is where my voice feels most honest, and that is the space I want to keep building from.”

This interview has been edited for clarity. 

Ranti Ronu came after your AMVCA-nominated short film, Man and Masquerades. When did you decide to make this film and as a storyteller, what does Ranti Ronu represent to you in your pursuit of your voice and identity? 

I decided to make Ranti Ronu right after Man and Masquerades. I was in a phase of questioning what kind of stories I wanted to tell next and what my voice really stood for. Ranti Ronu was my way of re-imagining an existing African folklore, and experimenting with a more unique storytelling style while placing myself firmly under the arthouse space. For me, it was about testing my voice and film telling style.

Ranti Ronu tackles heavy themes: migration, greed, ethnic profiling, and others. In the writing and directing process, which of these themes do you view as the primary catalyst in the narrative? 

The main catalyst was tribalism and ethnic profiling, that was the core conflict in the story, the theme of greed drove the tragedy. With other themes like migration, betrayal, as supporting layers. The film is multi-layered and designed to spark relevant conversation that can even expose hidden themes. 

Migration, for many Nigerians, is motivated by decades of governmental failure and apathy towards their responsibilities. How did you approach the psychological and moral complexity of Ranti and Ronu who must choose between staying in an “uncomfortable” environment and pursuing a better life elsewhere?

I treated it as a split in desire between them. Ranti wanted to leave, Ronu wanted to stay. Neither of them was right or wrong. I wanted the audience to feel how that difference slowly pulls them apart, how love does not always survive when two people imagine the future differently. The hunger to escape, to own something better, to arrive somewhere else, that desperation moved every choice in the film.

The film brilliantly referenced the Nigerian Civil War as one of the harbingers of the ethnic tensions in Nigeria. What subtle messages, if any, does your film offer about national healing or conflict resolution?

Healing starts with memory. When a nation refuses to remember, it repeats its pain through its children. The civil war in the film is not just history, it is a wound that never fully closed. If we don’t address this problem as a nation, the tribal tension and conflict that have now become a culture, we will keep going nowhere fast.

The film is also about the Japa wave and young Nigerians’ response to it. What do you think about the growing migration number and loss of friendship and identity to it? 

Unfortunately, the “Nigeria dream” is to leave Nigeria (what an irony),  I understand it completely. But it hurts. Friendship becomes temporary, identity becomes luggage, dreams now come with goodbyes, roots become optional. This situational irony is also evidenced in the Ranti and Ronu relationship dynamic as portrayed in the film.

Also, I’m curious how these ideas that Ranti and Ronu have —about staying and leaving Nigeria, resonate with you and how you’re grappling with the everyday violence in Nigeria. 

Don’t get me started with the violence in Nigeria, it is too sad to put into words. Making the film was my way of sitting with the tension I live with that conflict every day. Ranti is me, Ronu is also me. The desire to leave and the pull to stay both sit in my chest at the same time. Nigeria is loud, violent, beautiful, frustrating, and sacred to me.

Ranti Ronu carries the Yoruba essence in its characterization, setting, language and worldview. Can you walk us through the writing and directing of the film and why it was important to retain this cultural essence? 

I approached the film with the Yoruba worldview as the roadmap for every decision. In the script, dialogue was shaped by how Yoruba people actually speak, indirect phrasing, proverbs, silence, and restraint. I know I only scratched the surface. However, retaining the essence was important because once you remove that, the story becomes dishonest. Every creative choice passed through that lens, from performance to atmosphere to symbolism.

You had mentioned how Ranti Ronu taught you patience and important lessons. Do you want to talk about this “waiting” period and its importance to the film and you, as a filmmaker? 

Patience and humility. The film refused to be rushed. Some decisions only became clear because I had to rethink, reedit, and sometimes unlearn my first ideas. It was uncomfortable, like the film’s story. I lost friendship in the process of making the film. The waiting period came with a lot of self doubt. There were moments I questioned the story, my choices, and even my voice as a filmmaker. Over time, Ranti Ronu became more than just a film, it became my friend, an artwork with his own consciousness. 

You won the Storyteller’s Fund for Ade Ori. Tell us about the project and future projects. 

Ade Ori is a deeply personal story about inheritance, identity, and the connection we carry through hair. Ade Ori is a 2026 Project. The goal is to continue exploring African narratives with depth and nuance, focusing on intimate, culturally rooted stories that resonate beyond borders. It’s part of a broader path I’m carving for my work, telling stories that balance personal truth with cultural specificity, while experimenting with style and cinematic language in the arthouse space.