Their story started in high school, where they first met as teenagers before eventually becoming husband and wife. In 2022, after careers in banking and agricultural development, they founded Green Giraffe, a Zambian startup using AI and satellite technology to help smallholder farmers access premium markets. 

Ironically, the company only exists because an export deal collapsed after they failed to prove compliance with European food standards, a setback that forced them to build the technology themselves.

We continued our conversation in the lobby of the Somerset Westview Hotel in Nairobi’s Kilimani neighbourhood. They spoke about colonial trade patterns, the absurdity of African countries finding it easier to trade with Europe than with one another, why entrepreneurship can outlast development aid, and the lessons they have learnt from farmers, investors, rejection, and each other.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

If Green Giraffe never existed, what do you honestly think you’d be doing today?

Mukoma: My background is in finance, so I’d probably still be working in a bank, pushing paper and convincing myself I was helping people manage their money. But what we’ve built with Green Giraffe feels far more meaningful. In less than three years, we’ve changed how thousands of farmers interact with markets and food systems. I can look at myself in the mirror and say we built something that genuinely matters. I couldn’t say that after eight years in banking.

Simukoko: I’d still be doing something around smallholder farmers. I’ve worked with them since 2010, and my obsession has always been making markets work for them. That’s why we teamed up. Mwiche wanted to create markets through agro-processing, and together we evolved into solving the compliance barriers that keep African farmers out of premium markets. Green Giraffe is just the latest expression of a mission I’ve had for years.

How did you meet?

Simukoko: We met at university about twenty years ago. She studied finance, and I studied agriculture.

Mukoma: As you grow older, you realise many African countries suffer from the same problems. Sometimes trade fails because of something as simple as missing documentation. We came to Kenya and saw products like mabuyu (a popular snack in East Africa made from babob tree seeds) that we also have in Zambia, and I kept asking myself, “Why don’t we trade more with each other?” You start seeing that producers lose money, consumers lose choices, and everyone pays the price for systems that don’t make sense. Eventually, you stop asking why and start trying to fix it.

People assume entrepreneurs were always ambitious children. What were you like?

Mukoma: A troublemaker. My parents always said I wasn’t difficult; I was frustrated by systems that made no sense. I questioned everything, broke rules, and always believed there had to be a better way.

Simukoko: She likes calling herself a troublemaker, but in high school, she became the first student trusted to run the school tuck shop. Nothing went missing. As for me, I was usually several pages ahead of the teacher. I’d be staring out the window, the teacher would assume I wasn’t paying attention, ask me a question, and I’d answer it in detail. Sometimes I’d even be asked to teach the class. I was difficult to teach because I was constantly curious.

Mukoma: One thing I appreciate about him is his humility. He always asks whether there’s a better solution. He’ll listen to everyone before making a decision.

You’ve built a business helping African farmers reach global markets. Why does Africa still export raw produce while importing products made from its own crops?

Mukoma: A lot of our thinking has been conditioned over generations. We’ve inherited systems that tell us what our role in the global economy should be.

Simukoko: Colonialism didn’t really end. It simply changed form. Kenya is famous for tea, but who decided tea should define Kenya? European countries are famous for chocolate without growing cocoa.

We’re still using transport systems designed to move raw materials out of Africa rather than connecting African markets. Even our language reflects it. We call countries “landlocked” instead of “land-linked.”

Why is exporting automatically assumed to mean Europe? Africa is becoming the world’s largest market. Why aren’t we asking how to sell to Ghana, Mauritania, or Kenya before thinking about Europe?

The African Continental Free Trade Area exists, yet Africans still struggle to travel across Africa. Sometimes it’s cheaper and easier to fly to Europe than to another African country. That mindset has to change.

Mukoma: If we traded more with each other, we’d stop exporting raw materials and start exchanging finished products that create wealth on the continent.

What belief did you hold at 25 that you now think was completely wrong?

Simukoko: I believed development aid was the answer.

Today, I think entrepreneurship creates a more sustainable impact. Aid eventually runs out; businesses keep solving problems because customers pay for solutions. When organisations like USAID pulled back, younger me would have panicked. Today I see an opportunity. Every challenge creates space for an entrepreneur to build something useful.

Mukoma: Mine was believing that getting a good job would somehow change the world.

Entrepreneurship is different because you see a problem and fix it yourself. Too many solutions designed for Africa come from people who haven’t lived our realities. You can’t ask farmers without internet access to rely entirely on sophisticated online tools. We understand those constraints because we’ve lived them.

Seeing farmers improve their lives because of something you’ve built—that feeling is incomparable.

Imagine your younger selves walked into this restaurant today. What would surprise them most?

Mukoma: That farming could be this exciting.

Simukoko: Farming used to be seen as hard, dirty work. Today we’re talking about satellites, AI and large language models.

One farmer told me he used to ask workers to photograph themselves standing in maize fields so he could judge crop growth. Now he opens an app and instantly sees the condition of his farm, whether crops have been watered and fertilised, and how they’re progressing. People are literally having conversations with their farms because satellite imagery is combined with AI.

Mukoma: Technology also changes decision-making. Farmers can see demand before planting rather than guessing.

Simukoko: That’s why we built our virtual warehouse. Buyers specify exactly what they need before planting—crop variety, quality standards, even compliance requirements. Farmers already know who will buy their harvest.

Instead of growing maize for five kwacha, they might discover cucumbers or soybeans will earn forty times more. They sign contracts before planting, and payment is ready before the truck even leaves. When I started working in agriculture in 2010, this sounded like science fiction.

Mukoma: Neither of us imagined farming would become this technological. That’s probably what would amaze our younger selves the most.

Running a startup means hearing “no” far more often than “yes”. Which rejection hurt the most?

Mukoma: Our first major pitch. We finished fifth out of five finalists. I’d just left banking, convinced we were going to change the world, and suddenly I wanted to disappear.

Joe told me to stay in the room because someone there might still believe in us. He was right. We didn’t win, but one person began introducing us to other opportunities. Years later, that same organisation now uses our pitch deck to teach other founders. We lost, but we kept building.

Simukoko: I used to sit on the other side of the table, deciding which businesses received funding. So I never saw rejection as “you’re not good enough.” Usually it’s “not yet” or “not like this.”

Investors kept telling us to reach certain milestones first—more customers, stronger recurring revenue, more traction. Eventually, we realised fundraising had changed after COVID. What used to qualify as seed-stage now barely qualifies as pre-seed.

So we stopped chasing funding and focused on building the business. Now we ask investors for advice instead of money. That changes the conversation completely. Ironically, once we built something valuable, we even turned down investment because the terms weren’t right.

Mukoma: There’s a difference between building a company and becoming a professional pitcher. If you build something people genuinely need, the money eventually follows.

You work together every day. What’s one thing you’ve come to appreciate about each other only after building a company together?

Simukoko: I only recently admitted this to her. She’s an exceptional communicator. I used to think that because I could explain technical concepts, I could also communicate them well. They’re not the same thing. I can explain facts, but she connects people to the story behind the business. I had to swallow my pride and admit that when she speaks, people understand not just what we do, but why it matters.

Mukoma: What I value most about him is his humility and respect. Building a company means constantly disagreeing. Early on, someone told us, “You’ll get on each other’s nerves, but never lose respect for one another.” We’ve held onto that. We challenge ideas, but there’s always trust. Among the founders, I’m often the tie-breaker, and I never take that trust for granted.

What’s the most expensive mistake Green Giraffe has ever made?

Simukoko: I don’t call it a mistake. I call it an expensive lesson. Green Giraffe didn’t begin as a technology company. Mwiche left banking to export Zambian food products worldwide.

Mukoma: The dream was simple: take Zambian flavours global.

Simukoko: We even secured an order for plantain products from the Czech Republic. We had farmers, processors, airline partners and government export support lined up. Then the buyer asked one question: Can you prove every farmer meets EU organic compliance and provide full traceability? That’s when we discovered the real problem.

Large software companies quoted us tens of thousands of dollars for systems that were clearly designed for multinational corporations. IBM quoted us thousands of dollars every month. We weren’t exporting gold—we were exporting plantain.

Eventually we called our third co-founder, a Zambian software engineer based in the UK. He kept asking questions for weeks before quietly sending us a link and saying, “Try this.” He had built the first version of the platform himself. That’s how Giraffe AI was born. Instead of paying huge licensing fees, we offered him equity and made him a co-founder.

Mukoma: Looking back, that failed export order wasn’t really a failure. It forced us to solve a much bigger problem than our own. The snack business still exists and is profitable. We joke that we’re now simply its board of directors while Giraffe AI has become the new baby in the family.

You’ve watched agriculture up close. Who understands African farming best—the policymaker, the investor or the farmer?

Simukoko: The farmer. Every single time. Farmers already know when rain is coming. They understand their soil. They know when pests are coming. Stop building apps that tell farmers things they already know.

What they don’t know is what maize will be worth next season, who will pay the highest price, or whether another crop would generate far better returns. That’s the information they actually need.

Mukoma: Investors understand future markets. Farmers understand farming. The missing piece is connecting those two. A farmer shouldn’t plant maize simply because it’s familiar. If cucumbers or soybeans will earn significantly more and there’s already demand, they should know that before planting.

Simukoko: Policymakers often respond to lobbyists rather than farmers. In Zambia, I helped draft parts of the Comprehensive Agriculture Trade Programme. Certain value chains received enormous attention because influential producers pushed for them. A smallholder farmer outside those circles would never know those opportunities existed.

Mukoma: Farmers need information that helps them make decisions—not more bureaucracy. If policymakers listened to farmers as much as they listen to large commercial interests, agriculture would look very different.

Everyone celebrates founders after they succeed. Who quietly carried you before anyone knew your names?

Mukoma: My family. Leaving banking wasn’t an easy conversation. They could have pressured me to stay in a secure job. Instead, they said, “If this matters that much to you, go and do it.” That belief carried me through some very uncertain moments.

Simukoko: I’d say our mentors. When we first approached the Zambia Business Angel Network looking for funding, someone told us, “Forget the money. Find a mentor.” That changed everything.

Our mentor never dictated what we should do. He simply asked questions, listened, and encouraged us to keep experimenting. Years later, he admitted he’d spotted something in us from our very first pitch—even though we’d lost. Behind the scenes, he kept recommending us for programmes, incubators and accelerators before we even knew those conversations were happening. Sometimes you walk into a room, and everyone already knows your story. Later, you discover someone has been quietly opening doors for years.

If I opened your phone right now, what would I learn about you that doesn’t appear on LinkedIn?

Simukoko: Music. People assume I’m a complete nerd, but I’m obsessed with Zambian music and culture. I even played in a Zamrock band and later became a cultural critic on a television music competition. I spend ridiculous amounts of time collecting stories about Zambian musicians and preserving musical history.

Mukoma: Mine would probably surprise people even more. Birdwatching. I started hiking recently and became obsessed with identifying birds. There’s an app where birdwatchers upload sightings and discuss species together.

When I arrived in Nairobi, I spent an embarrassing amount of time staring at marabou storks while everyone else carried on with life. If Green Giraffe becomes wildly successful, I might just become a professional birdwatcher.

Suppose I made you agriculture minister for one year, with unlimited political support, but only one policy to change. What would it be?

Simukoko: I’d redesign the National Agricultural Policy.  Countries like Zambia can grow coffee, tea, palm oil, and countless other high-value crops, yet we rarely develop policies that help farmers diversify into these crops. We keep talking about our mining sector while overlooking enormous agricultural potential.

Mukoma: I’d abolish Zambia’s fertiliser subsidy programme. We’ve had it for more than two decades, and it has become politically untouchable, yet it hasn’t transformed agriculture.

The money could build processing facilities, strengthen value chains, and create far more value than simply subsidising fertiliser year after year. Sometimes the bravest policy is admitting that an old solution no longer works.

What’s the wisest thing a farmer has ever told you that had nothing to do with farming?

Simukoko: More than a sentence, it’s an attitude. I’ve spent years visiting villages, and every time I sit with elderly farmers, I’m reminded how much knowledge we’ve dismissed. People laugh when an old farmer predicts a drought by looking at mango trees or reading signs in nature. But somehow they’re usually right.

I once attended an agriculture conference in Malawi and visited a community-managed forest. Curious, I asked someone to take my photo in front of it. A local quietly whispered, “Don’t.” That moment reminded me there are layers of history, belief and local knowledge that outsiders rarely understand. The more time I’ve spent with farmers, the more I’ve realised humility is just as important as expertise.

Finish this sentence: “The day I’ll know I’ve become successful is the day…”

Mukoma: “…Africa trades with itself.”

Simukoko: “…I’m financially secure.”

Finally, success changes people. What’s one part of yourselves you’re determined not to lose as Green Giraffe grows?

Simukoko: Curiosity. Everything we’ve built started with a problem. Mwiche didn’t leave banking intending to build an AI company. She simply wanted to help her family earn more from farming.

One day she realised they were selling maize for about five kwacha a kilogram. Then she picked up a box of cornflakes in a supermarket selling for almost twenty times that amount. That simple observation led to an agro-processing business. Later, when our export order to Europe collapsed because of compliance requirements, we built Giraffe AI. Every major step in our journey began with asking, “Why does this problem exist?” That’s the attitude I never want us to lose. Stay curious.

Mukoma: I hope we never forget why we’re doing this. It’s easy to become obsessed with growth, investment, and valuations. But if you’re building something people genuinely need, the impact lasts far longer than the money. I think about M-Pesa. Most people see transactions. I see freedom. Someone can travel across borders, pay school fees, send money home, trade, and build a life because that infrastructure exists.

That’s the kind of company I hope we build. If, years from now, Africa trades more with itself because we played even a small part in removing barriers for farmers and businesses, that will be enough for me.

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