The Serious Pursuit of African Science

“Get out of shot!” My cameraman is shouting at me. I leap back, startled at my own stupidity. I would never have dared to walk in front of the camera on other shoots, but I’ve done it more than once here in Kenya. I am making a film about Alexis Nzila, an African scientist who has been awarded the first Royal Society Pfizer prize for his work on malaria. Nzila has discovered a new way to battle drug-resistant malaria, a finding that could benefit millions of people. It’s an honor to tell his story. But there are so many other people crying out for attention, it is impossible not to be distracted.

Today we’re near Kilifi, one of the poorest parts of Kenya, filming Nzila and a colleague handing out malaria nets to a family living on the roadside. The schedule is tight and we have only a few minutes to get these shots. But my full attention wanes. Standing beside me is a four year-old boy with a cheeky grin. He wants to play. I can’t resist picking him up, and in doing so stick my arm in front of the camera.

The little boy’s family is in desperate need of the nets. They are among the hundreds of millions in Africa who fight the ravages of malaria every day. The disease kills more than a million Africans every year, most of them children. Bed nets are a simple but effective weapon against the disease as they can reduce transmission by 50%. Insecticide-treated nets (ITNs) have been shown to reduce all-cause mortality by about 20%.

But I’m not making a film about malaria or poverty, I have to remind myself again. I’m here to make a film about an award-winning scientist and his work. The science groupie in me is thrilled to spend a couple of weeks with Nzila and his team, Abdul, Leah, Stephen and Brisson. These four young Kenyans are just starting out on their scientific careers. They’re doing a brief stint of research at the Kilifi branch of the Kenyan Medical Research Institute (KEMRI) before, inevitably, they fly off to the US or Europe to do their PhDs.

It’s been two days since my road-side blunder. We’re shooting footage at the lab. None of the vibrant colours of the town outside have made it in here – barring the loud yellow “toxic” stickers and stray test tubes of faintly coloured solutions. The rest is a familiar visual monotony of sterile whites, greys and pale blues, just like so many of the other labs I’ve filmed in. There is of course one key difference – I’ve never been in a lab where there are so many brown faces.

I film the team having lunch in the hope of capturing the camaraderie that is often present in such labs. They are a lively bunch, with genuine affection for each other, and I have no trouble getting the footage I want. However, the light-heartedness disappears abruptly when I ask them about their work. I am surprised by the intensity with which Brisson tells me: “If we were in it for the sake of money, we would want to go to the West. But it’s about offering something to society, and committing your life to the better cause of helping humanity. I feel that every young African scientist should come back here and help our people”.

I feel my focus veer off course again as Brisson talks of African scientists “coming back.” Because he knows that he and his young colleagues will have to leave Africa if they are ever to become successful. They are keenly aware that science here suffers from poor infrastructure and a tragic lack of investment. African countries spend on average 0.3% of their GDPs on research and development, compared with 1.8% in EU countries and over 2.6% in the US and Japan. Africa is home to about 13.4% of the world’s population but just over 1% of the world’s researchers. Universities in most of Africa simply do not have the resources to turn out well-trained scientists. Alexis tells me that most research labs could not function without international collaboration, lacking equipment “like mass spectrometers, which even undergraduate students in the West take for granted”.

It’s not just physical resources they’re lacking. There are around 30,000 PhD holders of African descent living and working outside their home countries, far more than the number of African scientists working in Africa. But I detect no resentment towards the scientists who have left Africa. The frustrations inherent in doing science here are obvious to everyone and, as Stephen tells me, they all understand the need to make a living. But this group certainly is different.

I’ve been filming scientists for more years now. Whenever I get the chance, I ask them why they do what they do. Invariably, their responses are personal accounts of the satisfaction they gain from finding out how the world works. “Curiosity”, “wonder” and “the excitement of discovery” are phrases that turn up with predictable regularity. But not here. In Africa, I meet scientists, science teachers and even high school students who do not trot out the usual clichés. I They unashamedly state that science is a force for progress. That it is the mark of an advanced culture.

It’s my last day in Kenya. I am filming in the market outside the lab when I see Abdul walking into work. Unlike the senior scientists at Kenyan Medical Research Institute, most of whom are white, he has no car and lives in the local village. He stops to chat to a woman selling fruit and seems to be in no hurry. I am still struck with the intensity of our discussions the previous day. I’ve never met young scientists who are so focused, dedicated and far removed from any Western stereotypes of the goofy science geek graduate student.

Abdul, Leah, Stephen and Brisson will not feature much in my completed film. Neither will that little boy on roadside or his family. But I am inspired by their desire to do science that will help their homeland; I am inspired by that boy who still smiles and wants to play despite struggles for basic survival. I hope these Africans will be able to be able to help each other rise above the challenges that engulf their homeland.