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.
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 young age and for institutions to purchase. We want these robotic arms in every classroom, and we know the environmental impacts can be great, so how can we offset that? We collect plastics from the environment and use them to ensure we’re conserving the environment. It’s a circular economy loop where, at no point, are we polluting while advancing technological solutions.
What does Norah do to chill out when she’s not in the lab or in class?
I think researching is the way I keep my mind active. I watch documentaries of people who’ve built solutions that helped humanity. It might not be how others chill out, but for me, it’s like watching a movie, except it’s a movie that enriches me. Honestly, I need to do more things, but I live by the notion that you either enjoy now and suffer later, or suffer now and enjoy later. You might find it hard to believe, but even on Sundays, I’m still in the lab.
Before ZeroBionics, what do you believe Africa was missing in terms of assistive technology and accessibility?
I would say interest. People always included conversations on assistive tech only as a metric to check off boxes, making sure they had one person representing this, or chairs that looked a certain way to pass tests and be called inclusive. But they never really saw differently-abled people as deserving a seat at the table. Interest was never there. But in the past two to three years, I’ve seen an increase in interest in funding and in being invited to conversations. The largest assistive tech conference was held in Kenya a couple of weeks ago, and you’d never have heard of something like that five or ten years ago. People are increasingly getting interested, which is amazing because it’s bringing room for innovators and startups to get solutions. Previously, even getting funding for assistive tech was difficult because no one was showing interest.
At what point did you realise this was going to make a huge difference in the disability community?
That would be the first time we ever piloted our robotic arms. I met a student who came to me and said, “My dream of becoming a deaf pilot can finally come to fruition.” That’s why I use the example of a deaf pilot so many times; every time I mention it, I’m constantly remembering that same girl. When she told me that, I realised it’s not just her; we have so many people like her being represented who feel the same way.
They are the ones who give us the push to be better every day, to continue having those sleepless nights. Even when things get tough, we just remember her and continue. It wasn’t about the numbers being many; it was when I knew that one life, representative of many, was being touched and had the potential of becoming something great.
Your parents helped incorporate your first company. How do they feel about what you do currently?
The company is still there; it’s called Clyteds. Although it’s not actively operational, it’s still a dream I hold dearly. My main goal isn’t to have multiple companies just sitting there; I’m constantly thinking about how I can solve a problem for humanity. Being young, it might be difficult to juggle more than one company, but as I grow and establish myself, I believe I can handle two or even three. I put it on hold because ZeroBionics was a bigger need—something that required someone to stand up and say there’s a change for this, and with the rise of robotics and AI, there was no better time.
My parents always knew I would make a massive change, not just in Kenya but globally. They tell me that every day, every week, every month. Seeing me do everything now, they say, “We knew you would do this.” But what they keep insisting on is to make sure I carry along the people I’m building for. They’re the people I consult the most. When things were picking up, they told me to always be in touch with the users; they are my best friends and closest allies. Some of my best friends are people we’ve built for who actively use our technology.
You’ve talked about spending nights in the lab and being there on Sundays. How do you combine your education and being an active builder of robots?
I get that question a lot, but when you have a passion for something, you always find a way. The good thing is I’m just about to graduate, so school isn’t that much of a hassle. But I also love reading—since primary school, high school, and now university, I’ve always been top of the class. I’ve always had a passion for knowing, learning, and research.
Reading for exams has never been a burden—I literally do it for fun. Coupling that with working on something I love—I feel the beauty of life is doing something that excites you, that excites you to wake up in the morning or gives you satisfaction to see it come into action. You never feel tired doing it. Sometimes I even need the extra nudge: “It’s been three days of sleeping in the lab, you need to go home.” It’s because I just love what I do.
How did your first testing go? Did it meet your expectations?
When we started, we built two robotic hands out of recycled tyres—they were black. We took them to schools. The students’ first impression was shock—they were used to seeing a teacher do signs for them, but now they had a robotic hand doing sign language. It was a mixture of shock and amusement. The amusement is the beauty of students—they’re always curious to know, understand, and learn. But as we continued, we realised the students were very young and needed something that looked like them.
So we started tinkering with something that has a head, a face with eyes, a mouth—a semi-autonomous humanoid robot with hands, face, chest, and a screen. On the screen, students can ask questions and provide feedback, channelled back to the teacher. The teacher doesn’t need to be in the same room or know sign language. A teacher at Machakos Institute of Technology (MIT), for example, can teach a robotics concept via a 2G network into the students’ schools, and the robot converts it into sign language.
When students ask questions or provide feedback by pointing to the screen, it relays it back to the teacher in audio output—speech to sign and sign to speech. Neither the student nor the teacher needs to know the other’s language. We’re bringing advanced knowledge closer to home. We recently released AF1, Africa’s First, and we’re testing it in schools. We hope these humanoid robots will work like teachers, look like students, and feel like home.
How hard is it to build in this field of assistive tech and robotics?
I won’t lie that it’s easy—it actually is hard, especially considering we didn’t have any pacesetters to tell us how it should be done. We are the ones setting the pace. But what has made it easier is a really supportive network—our school, ecosystem enablers who were in the assistive space long before us, and my parents. It’s about having a network of people who tell you not to give up. Also, investing in a really good team—I have an amazing team of engineers who believe in my vision. After winning the STEM Enabler Award by the Global Learning Council, it really opened doors for us, especially in Western countries, helping them see we’re trying to enable STEM in Africa. Recycling plastics for the external casing makes it much more affordable—we can now do ten units for what we previously did five.
At 22, people expect you to be living the life of someone pretty young, but you chose to build. What did you wish you had been told earlier, and do you share that with the people you mentor now?
Every minute, an average of 254 people are born across the globe. Out of those 254, probably 100 have been given the same idea to solve a problem. Whoever actuates it first is the one who gets to be called a problem solver, who gets to put a smile on someone’s face. So you shouldn’t wait to feel ready—if you do, you’ll wait forever. I believe the greatest risk is playing it safe. Playing it safe is a slow death.
For me, it’s always: pick a hard problem, learn by doing, work 80 or 90-plus hours when others are scrolling, ignore the critics, and move fast. Moving fast is the key to everything. You can break things, but you’ll fix them later and iterate. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve broken things while trying to fix a single finger of the robot. The future will not be handed to you—we have 251 people born the same minute you were. Be rational enough to believe you can change the world and put a smile on someone’s face.
What problem did you underestimate most when you started building assistive tech robotics?
The cost factor. I think, especially as we continue to scale, we’ve had to think about different ways of doing things cheaper and more affordably—using recycled plastics, getting more affordable components, and designing arms to take up less material. We underestimated the cost factor, especially seeing that there’s no community of people building the same thing where we could borrow or join components.
Funnily enough, after we bought several 3D printers, we realised another challenge was that people in the ecosystem couldn’t access expensive equipment. So we decided to open up a maker space for founders and builders who want to work on robotics. Our office space is partially our team and partially a team of founders working on robotics. We’ve already started the mission of bringing people into space.
If ZeroBionic succeeds beyond your expectations, what role do you hope it plays in Africa’s future?
Our main goal is that by the end of 2027, leading up to 2028, our technology would have impacted one million-plus individuals—we currently stand at 510,000 beneficiaries, both directly and indirectly. If we surpass that, it means our technology matters, that people see its usefulness, and we’re not just building for ourselves but for a community that’s using it. It would be my greatest joy to reach those numbers—one, because of the impact, and two, because now the technology is scaling.
It would mean we could enable the dreams of deaf pilots and deaf engineers, and show that the impossible has become possible, inspiring a new generation of innovators in Africa. A robotics company that started and flourished in Africa is something that hasn’t been heard of yet, but we can make it happen.
Ultimately, we’ll be able to open source that dataset to be used by every institution. Learners won’t need to rely on seven hours of lessons—just like AI is enabling you and me to take one or two hours on our tasks, these robots and software systems will also enable deaf students to take one or two hours in their education systems.
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