Somewhere between the stubborn red soil and the searing sun, a farmer stands watch over a crop she knows may not make it. Across Africa, more than 41 million smallholder farmers perform this daily ritual, tending fields that feed a continent — and yet, it is they who go to bed hungry. It is they who bear the weight of failed rains, exhausted soils, and indifferent politics.
In their hands lies the promise of a future that science could unlock. But the science — biotechnology, genetic engineering, molecular innovation — remains shackled by politics that mistrusts its own salvation.
While nations like the United States, Brazil and China surge forward with biotechnology, Africa hesitates, falters, resists.
South Africa planted its first genetically modified (GM) cotton in 1998; today, only eight African countries have dared to commercialise GM crops: Nigeria, Malawi, South Africa, Ghana, Kenya, Ethiopia, Sudan and Eswatini. Three million hectares of biotech crops grow on African soil; a mere sliver of the 190 million hectares worldwide.
Uneasy intersection of power, mistrust and politics
Why such restraint? Why, in a continent that feeds 1.4 billion people, does this science remain at the margins? The answer lies not in the labs, but in the uneasy intersection of power, mistrust and politics.
It is the fear of foreign influence. The shadow of colonial legacies. The voices that call it “colonial science” in a new disguise. It is a fragile trust, splintered between politicians and scientists, between farmers and policymakers. And in that fracture, progress withers.
The tragedy is not merely the delay. It is the cost of delay. Every missed planting season, every policy bottleneck, every regulatory stalemate. It is not academic. It is a child’s empty bowl. A mother’s unfulfilled promise. A farmer’s shattered hope.
African scientists know this. Across Kenya, Tanzania, Nigeria, Ghana, Malawi, Rwanda, Mozambique and Ethiopia they have gathered, they have spoken, they have pleaded: depoliticise the research. Let the science breathe. Let the work proceed. Because they know that biotechnology is not a luxury. It is survival.
Drought-resistant maize. Pest-resistant cowpea. Biofertilisers that restore depleted soils. These are not abstract solutions. They are shields against a changing climate, a defence against hunger, an answer to the silent emergencies playing out in fields every day.
Yet their voices are too often drowned by louder, less informed debates. Political theatre turns science into spectacle. Policy inertia masquerades as caution. International funding arrives tied with conditions that deepen suspicion.
Unpredictable
Meanwhile, the rains grow unpredictable. The pests grow bolder. The soil grows tired. Hunger does not care for ideology; it devours. Poverty does not pause for political consensus; it persists.
We must do better. We must, as African scientists implore, make science and technology a non-partisan commitment. We must weave biotechnology into our national fabrics — not as foreign imposition, but as an African response. Science born of African questions, guided by African minds, answering to African needs.
Depoliticisation does not mean blind adoption. It means courageous leadership. It means regulatory systems that are strong but not strangling. It means funding research not merely to tick a box, but to change lives. It means making good on the promises of Agenda 2063: to invest 2% of GDP in research and development, to strengthen universities, to retain our brightest scientists.
Above all, it means building trust: between scientists and policymakers, between labs and farms, between knowledge and practice. The farmer standing in that field does not ask for a miracle. She asks for tools. For fairness. For a chance. DM