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In 2019, when Karine Barclais launched Pavillon Afriques at the Marché du Film—the official industry market of the Cannes Film Festival—she was not an insider in the film world, nor did she have a background in African cinema. What she had was experience in high-level event planning, a well-honed instinct for business, and a willingness to leap before knowing where she’d land.
“If I had known then what I know now,” she said in a late April virtual conversation with me, “I would never have done it.” What she knows now is how isolating the work can be—how often she’d be left to carry the costs alone, financially and emotionally; how little continuity there is among institutions that say they support African cinema; how frequently participation is scattered, symbolic, or contingent on outside funding; and how quickly the weight of it all can fall on one person. But she did it anyway. Six editions later, Pavillon Afriques has become a central meeting ground for African and diaspora film professionals during the Marché in Cannes.
Born in Martinique and trained in international business, Barclais carved out a career managing global events, from a major import fair in China to a disability empowerment conference in Abu Dhabi. Pavillon Afriques didn’t begin with a clear roadmap. Its early days were unpredictable, filled with shifting collaborators, mismatched expectations, and people who expressed early interest or commitment but backed out. One early contact, she recalls, turned out to be a “scammer”—someone who used the idea of an Africa-focused event in Cannes to make false promises and solicit money. “I had to learn fast,” she said. “That was the beginning.” What kept it going was Barclais’s decision to move forward anyway. “I said, okay, I’m going to do it alone.”
At the inaugural edition, what caught her off guard wasn’t the logistics. It was the emotion. “People cried,” she recalled. “They said, finally, we have a home in Cannes.” That reaction changed everything. “It was just supposed to be an event,” she said. “But I knew then I couldn’t stop.”
From early on—starting with the project’s chaotic beginnings—Barclais learned to guard the space she was building. The “scammer” she first encountered wasn’t the last. Over the years, she’s dealt with people forging her signature, using her name to solicit funds, and falsely claiming ties to Pavillon Afriques. “So many scammers,” she said. But alongside the chaos, she’s also built a core group she trusts—people like Mark Walton, a media strategist and professor with decades of experience in multicultural broadcasting; Chike Nwoffiah, director of the Silicon Valley African Film Festival (SVAFF) and a cross-continental producer and advocate; and Lisa Osinloye, a U.S.-based writer and producer whose credits cross TV, music, and animation. They offer not just contacts but real commitment.
For anyone trying to build infrastructure around African media—whether it’s a funding platform, festival presence, or distribution channel—her experience offers an unvarnished look at what it actually takes to sustain an initiative year after year, with minimal institutional backing and maximum pressure.
The 2025 edition of Pavillon Afriques, opening May 13, aligning with the Cannes Film Festival, is a reflection of Barclais’ instinct for both structure and reinvention. The program begins with a tribute to the late Malian filmmaker Souleymane Cissé, who passed away in February 2025, featuring a screening of the documentary, “A Daughter’s Tribute to Her Father” and a conversation with his daughter, filmmaker Fatou Cissé. A panel on his legacy follows. “It’s important to begin with memory,” Barclais said. “Because we’re not just here to talk about strategy and technology—we’re here to acknowledge who made all this possible.”
Note: Akoroko is a media partner for Pavillon Afriques at the 2025 Marché du Film, and I’ll be moderating a couple of panels during the event, including the Opening Ceremony discussion, “Celebrating the Legacy of Souleymane Cissé.”
This year introduces dedicated theme days—Animation Day, Co-production Day, Artificial Intelligence Day, and Diaspora Day (with a Caribbean focus)—in addition to masterclasses, pitch sessions, and strategic networking events. “Some topics needed more depth,” she said, explaining the shift. “We were squeezing too much into 45-minute panels.”
She’s most proud of how the event has become a draw for filmmakers from around the world, especially from the African diaspora in the U.S., UK, and Caribbean. “Many Americans come to Pavillon Afriques instead of going to the American Pavilion,” she said. “Most of them, it’s their first time at Cannes.”
But diaspora turnout tells only part of the story. What’s harder, and more uneven, is sustained participation from the continent itself. “I have a handicap—I’m not African,” she said. “And for some Africans, they’re just like, oh, well, she’s not even African.” She knows this shapes how some people engage—or don’t engage—with the space she’s created. “I wish I had more Africans coming,” she added, not as a complaint, but as a reflection of how difficult it still is to gather people from across the continent and the diaspora in one place, under one roof, with shared purpose.
But building that kind of convergence—at the institutional or individual level—has never been easy. The space is expensive, the visas are hard to get, and the logistics demanding. For many professionals based on the continent, even those eager to attend, the cost alone can be prohibitive. Travel to Cannes is difficult for many in the global industry, but especially so for Africans, who face both financial and bureaucratic barriers. “When someone really wants to come and has a visa problem, they can contact me—I can often help through the Ministry of Foreign Affairs,” Barclais said. But access is unequal, and incentives are not always immediately clear. Delegations come and go. Some attend but stay on the sidelines. Others host separate events nearby but don’t engage directly.
She recalled one moment in particular. “South Africa could have celebrated Nelson Mandela’s anniversary with us,” she said, referring to the 2023 edition. “I asked. I begged. They said no. In the end, she did it anyway, organizing a modest tribute on her own. “And they still came,” she said.
Her core concern, however, is infrastructure. “People are talking about building physical studios across Africa to meet a need,” she said, “but training isn’t widespread and consistent, no cinemas, uneven local funding structures, where there are any. So you build something in Africa, and you have to go to Europe to finish the work. To this day, many African films are subtitled or post-produced in France. Why?”
Over time, Barclais has had to recalibrate. Countries now pay to participate. Filmmakers pay for screenings. And she’s set firmer boundaries around access. “If you go to a café in Cannes, it’s expensive,” she said. “People were just staying at the Pavillon all day, drinking juice and coffee, holding meetings. I had to change that.” It wasn’t just the cost. It’s that the informal generosity at the heart of the space wasn’t sustainable. “The early generosity was never about money,” she said. “It was about creating a space where people felt they belonged.” But sustaining that vision has required hard decisions.
What keeps her anchored is less about Cannes than it is about community. “We shouldn’t be looking for validation from others,” she said. “We have to stop thinking our natural partners are somewhere far away. Our neighbors—on the continent, in the diaspora—they’re the audience.” She’s seen the shift beginning: “Africans want to work with other Africans. But the ones with the money still go build something in Paris or London.”
She wants more distribution deals—“not formal partnerships, just responses, just respect.”
Her frustration mirrors a much larger structural problem Akoroko continues to track: African films often land at Cannes—and other high-exposure film festivals—but leave without real distribution, stuck in a cycle of visibility without access.
She’s wary of buzzwords. Her model isn’t glossy. It’s scrappy. It’s driven by commitment, not capital. “This is not a business that makes financial sense,” she says. “But it needs to be done.”
Two weeks ahead of the 2025 edition launch, when we spoke, Karine Barclais was still fielding visa problems, coordinating speakers, watching hotel prices climb. But she was also thinking beyond this year. There’s too much momentum now to walk away. She’s motivated less by optimism than by the urgency of not letting it collapse.
For her, continuing Pavillon Afriques isn’t about holding onto a legacy—it’s about making sure others don’t have to rebuild what’s already been built. “It’s not something I can hand over casually,” she said. “If I stop, it all risks disappearing.” Too much energy, time, and knowledge has gone formally undocumented in African screen sectors. She’s determined this won’t be one of those stories.
Pavillon Afriques, May 13-22, 2025 at the Marché du Film.