Research IS national security: calling all African nations: Part 2: Africa’s Ownership deprivations.

There is a question we are not asking.
Not in policy meetings. Not in university boardrooms. Not in government ministries where budgets for research are debated and often cut.
The question is simple: who owns what Africa creates?
It sounds straightforward. But when you follow the knowledge—from the communities who developed it, to the laboratories studying it, to the corporations patenting it—the answer becomes unsettling.

The knowledge we already have

Africa possesses a body of inherited ancestral knowledge accumulated over millennia of experience and interaction with the natural environment. This is not folklore. It is not nostalgia. It is technical knowledge: land management systems that sustain biodiversity, pharmacopeia derived from thousands of plant species, manufacturing techniques that transform raw materials into complex textiles and jewelry.
The continent holds more than fifty thousand identified plant species. Traditional ecological knowledge guides the restoration of fragile ecosystems. Indigenous technical knowledge manifests through mastery of materials—casting, hammering, setting, braiding—passed down through generations.
This knowledge is not abstract. It is practiced daily. In Zimbabwe, communities have long used Launaea taraxacifolia to soothe pain and inflammation. In West Africa, indigo dyeing techniques developed over centuries encode sophisticated chemical understanding. In the Democratic Republic of Congo, Kuba cloth patterns embed design logic that scholars now recognize as algorithmic.
But here is the problem: this knowledge was never protected.
Not because it lacked value. Because the system designed to protect knowledge was not built for us.

The system that excludes

The patent system was designed for individual inventors, written documentation, and mechanical innovations. It was not designed for collective knowledge, oral transmission, or techniques developed over generations.
This is not an accident. It is architecture.
As the African Regional Intellectual Property Organization (ARIPO) has documented, traditional knowledge faces specific threats: misappropriation of cultural expressions, biopiracy, and persistent lack of recognition of local communities' rights over their own knowledge.
What this means is simple: a foreign company can study an African textile technique, document it, patent a variation, and sell it back. They can isolate the active compound in a traditional medicinal plant, patent it, and own the rights to a remedy communities have used for centuries. They can reproduce Kuba cloth patterns on global runways without paying a single royalty.
This is not theft in the sense of breaking and entering. It is extraction within a legal system that was built to permit it.

The tools we are building

But the story does not end there. Because across Africa, a new legal architecture is emerging.
In 2024, the World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO) adopted a landmark treaty on intellectual property, genetic resources, and associated traditional knowledge. For the first time, patent applicants relying on traditional knowledge must disclose the Indigenous Peoples or local communities who provided that knowledge.
This is not perfect. Administering the treaty presents challenges—Africa's rich cultural diversity means traditional knowledge varies widely between communities, and multiple holders may exist for similar knowledge. But it represents a fundamental shift: the recognition that knowledge developed outside Western laboratories deserves protection.
Regional bodies are also moving. ARIPO has developed the Swakopmund Protocol, the first regional instrument globally establishing a detailed legal framework for the protection of traditional knowledge in its member states. The Organisation Africaine de la Propriété Intellectuelle (OAPI) operates a uniform system across its members.
The African Continental Free Trade Area (AfCFTA) is currently negotiating an intellectual property protocol. Scholars argue that this presents a timely, albeit arduous, opportunity for Africa to reconstruct its broken IP architecture by aligning fragmented sub-regional regimes with development-oriented aspirations. The negotiators are being urged to prioritize geographical indications, plant variety protection, and—crucially—traditional knowledge and traditional cultural expressions, which embody Africa's innovative and creative strengths.

The bridge between past and future

This is where the two threads merge.
The knowledge we lost—the textile techniques never patented, the medicinal compounds never claimed, the designs extracted without payment—is not gone. It is still practiced. It is still held. And now, for the first time, there are legal tools to protect it.
But tools are not enough. They must be used.
Countries like Kenya, South Africa, and Uganda have already enacted legislation to protect traditional knowledge. But implementation is weak. Documentation is incomplete. Enforcement is nearly nonexistent.
The Swakopmund Protocol exists. The WIPO treaty exists. The AfCFTA negotiations are underway. But these frameworks only matter if governments prioritize them, if researchers document the knowledge, if communities are empowered to claim what is theirs.

The opportunity we cannot afford to miss

There is a growing global market for what is called "traditional knowledge-derived products." Natural dyes. Indigenous fibers. Medicinal compounds. Sustainable materials. These are not niche markets. They are multibillion-dollar industries.
Africa has the raw knowledge. What we do not have is the legal infrastructure to claim it.
The good news is that we are building it. The bad news is that we are building it slowly, inconsistently, and often without the urgency this moment demands.
Because while we debate, the extraction continues.

The question that remains

Part 1 asked why our innovations leave. This Part asks why the knowledge we already had was never protected—and what we are doing, finally, to claim it.
But there is an even harder question. And it is the subject of Part 3:
If we have African expertise, why do we not buy African technology?
Because the evidence suggests we might hire African professionals, we might consult African engineers—but when it comes to machines, to patents, to systems, we still look elsewhere.
That gap—between trusting African minds and rejecting African machines—is where the next part of this series begins.

References

· Vargas-Chaves, Iván. "Protecting Africa’s traditional knowledge: an approach to intellectual property governance and ARIPO’s role." Frontiers in Human Dynamics, 2026.
· Chuma-Okoro, Helen. "Promoting Traditional Textiles from West African Rural Communities through Communal Intellectual Property Models." AIE Conference, University of Oxford, 2013.
· Sithole, Juliet. "Faculty and Young Researchers at Africa University Transform Indigenous Knowledge into Global Health Solutions." Africa University News, 2025.
· Adebola, T. "Mapping Africa’s Complex Regimes: Towards an African Centred AfCFTA Intellectual Property Protocol." African Journal of International Economic Law, 2020.
· Adams & Adams. "Africa's Hidden Treasures: The WIPO Treaty Revolution." 2025.
· Kongolo, Tshimanga. African Contributions in Shaping the Worldwide Intellectual Property System. Ashgate, 2012.

Research IS national security: Calling All African Nations: We dont lack innovation. We lack the will to keep it.

There is a story Africa is told about itself. It goes like this: we do not invent. We do not create. We consume what others build, adopt what others design, import what others manufacture. Our role is to provide raw materials and wait for technology to arrive from elsewhere.

This story is convenient—for those who benefit from it.

Because the truth is the opposite. Africa does not lack innovation. What we lack is the will to keep it.

The machine Nigeria built and forgot

In 2021, Nigeria’s Raw Materials Research and Development Council (RMRDC) did something remarkable. They developed and patented an automated rapier weaving machine for commercial Aso‑oke production. This was not a small achievement. The machine worked. It produced large quantities of fabric with more consistent results than handwoven Aso‑oke. The technical breakthrough was significant: they modified the conventional rapier head from single weft insertion to multiple weft insertions in a single shed. The RMRDC stated the project would “catalyse the establishment of automated weaving loom manufacturing industries in Nigeria with attendant huge investment and employment opportunities.”

That was 2021.

Today, there is no evidence the machine was commercialized. No evidence it was licensed to manufacturers. No evidence it was scaled. The patent exists. The prototype exists. But where are the Nigerian-made automated looms? Where are the jobs? Where is the industry that was supposed to follow?

This is not a failure of invention. It is a failure of will.

The mycelium Ghana showed the world

In Ghana, Zarouk Imoro developed something that should have made headlines across the continent. An environmental technologist, he created “Myco-Substitutes”—a system that uses fungi to treat faecal waste and produce mycelial thread as an alternative to cotton or synthetic thread, and fungal mycelia leather as an alternative to animal hide. The process is elegant: bacteriophages remove bacteria from faecal sludge; fungi feed on the remaining waste; toilet paper in the sludge acts as a carbon source for mycelial growth. Ten litres of sludge produces 500 grams of mycelia.

Imoro won the “One to Watch” award at the Royal Academy of Engineering’s Africa Prize. International attention followed.

But here is the question that no award can answer: has the innovation been patented? Not in Ghana, as far as the public record shows. Not internationally. The technology is visible, recognized, celebrated—and legally exposed. Anyone, anywhere, can replicate it, refine it, and patent it elsewhere. The knowledge may leave Ghana not because it was stolen, but because it was never protected.

This is not a failure of creativity. It is a failure of protection.

The pattern we refuse to name

These two cases—Nigeria’s abandoned loom, Ghana’s exposed mycelium—are not isolated. They are symptoms of a continent-wide pattern.

We fund research without funding scale-up. We celebrate innovation without securing ownership. We send students abroad on scholarships with no IP agreements, watch them develop patents in foreign institutions, and tell ourselves this is simply how the world works.

But it is not how the world works. It is how the world works for us.

Because other nations do not behave this way. Brazil, where Dr. Abdulrazak Ibrahim helped develop and patent a whitefly control technology, retained that patent because Brazilian public funding and infrastructure made it possible. The technology was developed on Brazilian soil, with Brazilian money, under Brazilian law. That is how research becomes national security.

Where is the African EMBRAPA? Where are the African research institutions with the capacity to host PhD students so they do not have to leave to access other facilities? Where are the patent offices funded to help innovators file claims? Where are the industrial policies that take a proven prototype and turn it into a factory?

We have the talent. We have the ideas. We have the prototypes. What we do not have is the system that turns invention into wealth.

The real deficit

The deficit is not in African minds. It is in African institutions.

Research without ownership is extraction. Innovation without industrialization is loss. Knowledge without protection is vulnerability. We are not losing because we cannot create. We are losing because we do not demand retention.

This is not a technical problem. It is a political one.

Governments fund roads, armies, and ports as infrastructure of sovereignty. Research is the same. A nation that does not fund its own research cannot set its own agenda. It cannot protect its own resources. It cannot develop its own industries. It cannot retain its own talent.

When we celebrate innovation that leaves, when we fund research without scale-up, when we send students abroad with no IP agreements, we are not supporting development. We are subsidizing extraction.

Where this leads

This series is not about why Africa lacks innovation. It is about why we allow our innovations to leave. It is about the systems—or absence of systems—that turn our knowledge into someone else’s asset.

In the next parts, we will ask harder questions: Who really owns what Africa creates? Why do we buy African expertise but not African technology? How did African textile knowledge build industries we do not own? And finally, what must governments do to build, protect, and retain what is ours.

But the first step is to stop telling ourselves the story that we do not invent. We do. We always have. The question is whether we will finally decide to keep what we make.


References

· Federal Ministry of Science and Technology, Nigeria. Raw Materials Research and Development Council (RMRDC) Automated Rapier Weaving Machine Project Report. Abuja: RMRDC, 2021.
· Imoro, Zarouk. “Myco-Substitutes: Fungal-Based Textile Alternatives.” Royal Academy of Engineering Africa Prize for Engineering Innovation, 2024.
· Ibrahim, Abdulrazak. “RNA Interference Technology for Whitefly Control.” EMBRAPA, Brazil. Patent filed 2018.
· Science Granting Councils Initiative. Policy Brief: Strengthening Science Granting Councils in Sub-Saharan Africa. 2025.
· African Union. Science, Technology and Innovation Strategy for Africa (STISA-2024). Addis Ababa: African Union, 2014