When I signed up for the iSEED program, I expected a crash course in biomedical engineering—labs, lectures, and maybe a few technical site visits. What I didn’t expect was to walk away with a deeper understanding of what it truly means to engineer for impact.
Week One was all about observation. We explored the challenges faced in healthcare and low-resource settings. We met people, listened to stories, and jotted down countless notes on problems that needed solving. It was humbling—and honestly, a bit overwhelming. But then came Week Two, and suddenly, the fog lifted.
We visited three very different, yet equally inspiring, places: Gearbox Kenya, Drop Access, and Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF). At Gearbox, the hum of machines and smell of solder told a story of possibility. It’s a place where PCBs (printed circuit boards) are born, where ideas become prototypes, and prototypes begin their journey to becoming life-saving tools.
Drop Access, creators of Vaccibox, showed us what it means to innovate with heart. Their solar-powered vaccine fridges aren’t just clever—they’re critical. Built for off-grid communities, they blend cutting-edge tech with the realities of rural healthcare. It’s Iron Man-level ingenuity—minus the explosions.
MSF reminded us why we do this. Their work in humanitarian medical response stripped everything down to the core: solutions must work, no matter the constraints. Whether it’s navigating regulatory hurdles or ensuring a device can be fixed with minimal tools in the field, the focus is always the same—people first.
Trying AR/VR for medical applications
And suddenly, engineering no longer felt like a distant, sterile thing. It felt human. It felt real.
Every conversation—whether about manufacturing logistics, regulatory pathways, or design feedback loops—brought us closer to understanding how engineering operates in the real world. I started seeing connections between the wires, circuits, and the very human lives they aim to support. Watching a prototype get refined through feedback wasn’t just exciting—it was emotional. I was reminded of why I chose this field: to build things that matter.
And yes, it wasn’t all wires and whiteboards. One night, we headed out to The Alchemist—a buzzing nightlife spot that felt like the UN of Nairobi. Locals and expats mingled over good music and better vibes. I met people from all over: Germany, the U.S., Australia. The DJs spun a perfect blend of Kenyan beats and global hits (trust me, your playlist needs some Sauti Sol and Drake). It was a reminder that connection doesn’t only happen in labs or clinics—it happens on dance floors too.
Looking back, that week wasn’t just educational—it was transformational. I came in thinking engineering was about building things. I left knowing it’s really about building solutions, for people, with purpose.
And that’s something worth falling in love with.