In a small lab on the outskirts of Kigali, a young Rwandan researcher carefully holds a fruit bat, its wings gently folded, a tiny scanner in hand. He’s checking for a chip—a Passive Integrated Transponder (PIT) tag inserted beneath the skin just weeks earlier.
Around him, colleagues record data: flight patterns, roosting locations, and possible signs of viral carriage. It’s meticulous work, part of a groundbreaking initiative to track zoonotic spillovers before they explode into pandemics.
Rwanda’s national bat-tagging program is a quiet revolution. It doesn’t make global headlines. It doesn’t come with billion-dollar price tags. But in a world where viruses don’t wait, this is what preparedness looks like.
The effort to tag and monitor bats—a known reservoir for viruses like Marburg, Ebola, and coronaviruses—isn’t an isolated scientific curiosity. It’s a core piece of Rwanda’s expanding One Health strategy, which recognizes that the health of humans, animals, and ecosystems are deeply interconnected. And it comes not as a reaction, but as a calculated move to stay ahead.
If the next global outbreak were to begin today, would Africa be ready?
This question loomed large in Kigali this week as scientists, innovators, and policymakers from across the continent closed the SBA 4.0 SynBio Africa Conference 2025 with a sobering consensus: Africa cannot afford to respond late ever again.
The conference served as a platform for fostering connections across sectors—bringing together industry leaders, academic institutions, grassroots community groups, and high-level policymakers under one roof.
From synthetic biology to artificial intelligence, from biomathematics to biomanufacturing, the forum highlighted the new frontier of bioscience on the continent.
These weren’t theoretical musings. They were urgent, applied innovations tackling agriculture, health, environmental management, and industrial development challenges—rooted in Africa, built for Africa.
Ironically, such an urgent conversation—arguably one of the most critical for Africa’s future—passed almost unnoticed. The energy in the rooms, the boldness of the ideas, and the sincerity of the young African scientists stood in stark contrast to the limited attention it drew.
There was no media scramble. No TV cameras. No trending hashtags. Even among local outlets, coverage was minimal.
This lack of traction reflects a deeper problem: when African scientists speak boldly about Africa’s future, few are listening.
The same could be said about sponsorship. The SynBio Africa Conference ran on the determination of its organizers and the goodwill of a few partners.
Unlike major global health summits flush with donor funds and corporate banners, this one leaned heavily on improvisation and commitment.
Researchers from across the continent pooled their resources to attend. A few presenters borrowed lab coats. Some couldn’t even afford full accommodation. It was brilliant science wrapped in scarcity.
And yet, the ideas sparked here were world-class.
Over four days, delegates grappled with a single shared imperative: how can Africa move from reaction to anticipation—how can the continent become a driver of global health, not just a casualty?
By the conference’s end, a consensus had formed—gritty and honest. Africa cannot afford to wait for foreign aid, foreign vaccines, or foreign validation. Africa must anticipate. Africa must act.
“Waiting is what cost the world so much during COVID-19,” said Dr. Nelson Ndahiro, a Rwandan-born biotech innovator who emerged as the conference’s defining voice. “We waited for vaccines, waited for information, waited for answers. Africa cannot keep waiting. We must create.”
Ndahiro, who holds a Ph.D. from Johns Hopkins and co-founded the biotech company Drül, has developed computational biology tools used today by giants like Regeneron and Genentech. But standing before a packed auditorium of African scientists—many from underfunded labs—he didn’t boast. He challenged.
“Why can’t these tools be invented, tested, patented, and scaled right here in Kigali? Or Accra? Or Kampala?” he asked. “Innovation doesn’t need to be exported to matter. We must stop exporting our brilliance.”
Yet it is precisely this kind of brilliance that Africa continues to lose. Scientists like Dr. Ndahiro thrive abroad because the ecosystems to support them don’t yet exist at home.
Most African researchers are forced to choose between returning to under-equipped labs or remaining in the West where their ideas can breathe.
The result is a quiet, relentless brain drain that steals not just talent—but solutions.
His words struck a nerve with the conference’s younger delegates. In side rooms and hallway conversations, early-career scientists shared stories of frustration: research projects stalled due to lack of reagents, field data trapped in Excel sheets because of missing grants, lab discoveries left unpublished. And yet, they keep showing up. They keep creating.
Rwanda’s own example came up often. During COVID-19, the country defied expectations. It didn’t rely on wealth.
It relied on trust. When vaccines finally arrived, communities didn’t hesitate. Public health messaging reached even the most remote villages—via radio, religious leaders, schoolteachers, and a well-organized network of community health workers.
“One of Rwanda’s greatest assets wasn’t a ventilator,” said a representative from Mount Kigali University, “it was the credibility of its public health system.”
This credibility is now being put to new use. Through partnerships with IBBIS, EASTECO, CEPI, and others, Rwanda is investing in predictive surveillance—targeting not just bats, but also migratory birds, domestic animals, and deforestation zones where the risk of pathogen jump is highest.
The conference created a space not only for showcasing ongoing field innovations, but also for navigating pressing policy questions.
Discussions tackled the gaps in legal and regulatory frameworks that continue to slow the deployment of synthetic biology and AI technologies. Delegates debated biosafety standards, biosecurity measures, and strategies for communicating risk and benefit to policymakers and the public alike.
“Preparedness is no longer a choice. It’s survival,” said Dr. Claire Standley, a global health expert and guest speaker at the event. “Viruses are not waiting for capacity-building workshops or global north summits. They mutate. They spread. Fast.”
Standley highlighted how climate change is accelerating the risk. Diseases that were once confined to deep tropical forests are now appearing in arid suburbs and crowded urban centers.
This shift demands not only new technologies but also bold policy and grassroots education.
Here, Dr. Lawrence Mugisha, a veterinarian from Uganda, brought the house down with a story both humble and profound.
“We train farmers using songs,” he said. “We teach them how to spot diseases in animals before those diseases reach humans. No tablets. No graphs. Just folk songs and drawings. It works.”
Mugisha’s work underlined a core truth: high science doesn’t always need high tech. What it needs is relevance. Informed communities are often the best early-warning systems—whether they’re reporting sudden livestock deaths or odd weather patterns that might signal a coming wave of disease.
This principle—science must serve people where they are—anchored many discussions at the conference. And it’s exactly what Rwanda’s bat tagging program is about. It’s not just research for journals.
It’s a bet on anticipation, on knowing what’s coming before it strikes.
At one field site, trackers recently noticed a change in bat migration patterns. They alerted researchers in Kigali. Samples were taken, analyzed, and found to contain a benign but unfamiliar strain of coronavirus.
It wasn’t deadly—but it was a warning. If it mutates, if it jumps species, it could be next.
Rather than panic, Rwanda acted. Protocols were reviewed. Communications to nearby villages were updated. The system worked—not because it’s perfect, but because it exists.
“We often talk about disease like it’s inevitable,” said a representative from CEPI. “But early action turns catastrophe into routine containment. That’s what Rwanda is quietly proving.”
By the final day of the SBA 4.0 conference, the mood was neither triumphal nor bleak. It was sober, focused, and driven by an emerging belief: Africa’s future in global health is not just about receiving aid. It’s about leadership, confidence, and control.
As one participant said as he waited for his flight home, “We don’t need pity. We need power. The power to protect ourselves before the world remembers us again in a crisis.”
Back in the Kigali lab, the young man scans the bat one last time. The tag registers. He smiles. It’s just one bat. One data point.
But it’s part of a system—an African-built system—for staying ahead. And in a world where viruses leap continents in days, that might be the most powerful defense of all.
