Most of us left the university with a degree and a vague idea of what might come next. Norah Kimathi, a graduate of informatics and computer science from Strathmore University, Kenya, is leaving with a company, a growing list of awards, and robots that could change how deaf students learn science. When we spoke over a video call, she was between university deadlines and startup meetings, slipping effortlessly from discussions about artificial intelligence to stories of dismantling household electronics as a child. Instead, she spoke with the matter-of-fact certainty of someone who has spent years solving problems that most of us never notice. The conversation kept circling back to one moment. During her mentoring of young people in STEM, she met deaf students struggling through STEM classes because qualified sign language interpreters were scarce. It struck her as an engineering problem as much as an educational one. If technology could automate factories, navigate roads, and diagnose disease, why couldn’t it bridge one of education’s oldest accessibility gaps? That question became ZeroBionic, the startup she co-founded in 2021. What began as a robotic hand assembled from recycled plastic inside a university workshop has evolved into AI-powered humanoid robots capable of translating spoken language into sign language in real time, technology that could soon find its way into every classroom. We spoke about curiosity, building with whatever is within reach, the optimism required to create hardware in Africa, and refusing to accept that accessibility should always come later. This interview has been edited for length and clarity. Before the robots, the awards, or the conference introductions, what kind of child was Norah, and what part of her rarely makes it into a media profile? My entrepreneurship journey began when I was 15. I was always fascinated with tech, engineering, math, and generally STEM-related courses. Where we stayed in Kenya, I constantly saw the struggles people faced whenever it rained. Roads would flood, and there was no way to alert family to take different routes. At that time, I didn’t have a phone to warn anyone. So I decided to make my own phone using Lego bricks. I tinkered around, and though it obviously didn’t work—I was just 15—it actually looked like a real phone. When my parents saw it, they realised I had a passion for engineering and innovation at such an early age, so they registered a company for me. I was my very own CEO at 15. What people rarely see is the part where I spend sleepless nights in the lab, probably three or four days in a row. You’d find I’m there at night, the next day, the next night, the next day; it’s like a continuous loop. This is not something that’s ever been done in Africa. We are the ones laying the foundation, and by 2028, we hope to open-source billions of parameters. We need more time than a normal human being has, and that’s a side people don’t get to see. But at the end of the day, if you see the output, that’s what matters. How much did you actually know about accessibility and assistive technology before your encounter with deaf students during that STEM mentorship? I always had a passion for building technological solutions, and I never wanted to see people suffer, whether from climate issues, disabilities, or marginalisation. Seeing that I had tech skills on one hand, and on the other hand, I didn’t want people to suffer, the first encounter I had where a solution was needed was with deaf students. That’s when I knew I’d use my skills to bring a solution. I wouldn’t say I had any background in assistive tech or accessibility. It was more about growing up and seeing persons with disabilities sidelined from STEM, which shouldn’t be a privilege but a right. I just realised I needed to find a solution, and I did find one. It was more the environmental and surrounding impacts I saw at an early age. Looking back, what assumptions about education did that encounter overturn, and what did it demand of you as an engineer that you weren’t trained for? Most people take education for granted, as something that starts at five and ends when you graduate and start working. It’s normal for them. But I came to realise that for some, it’s normal; for others, once they get it, they take it as an honor. My end lesson was that people shouldn’t take something for granted; they should regard it with all the honor it deserves. Because when you get access to education, you don’t realise it’s what gives you employment, opens doors, and puts you on big stages. But some people don’t get access simply because they’re differently abled or lack resources. Be grateful because you never know how much somebody else would want to be in your position. Those are the doors we want to open, so it’s not a privilege but a right, just like for all of us who can see, hear, or talk. Image source: Norah Kimathi. Sophistication and speed are usually the bedrock for robotics companies, but you decided to go the climate way, building with recycled materials. Why? What came about that? When we started, we were targeting students in marginalised areas, schools without internet, without roads, disconnected from urban settlements. These schools couldn’t afford humanoid robots, going for hundreds of thousands of dollars. We realised we were building for a target market that wasn’t there. So we started looking for ways to subsidise the cost. Also, many people asked about the environmental impact of using metal, which is one of the biggest pollutants. We didn’t want that either. Conserving the environment was at the forefront of everything, but we didn’t know how to offset it. When the idea came to subsidise costs while conserving the environment, it was a win-win. Using recycled plastics for the outer casing reduced costs by over 60%. It was affordable for us to build at a
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