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Daily Maverick
19-05-2025
- Business
- Daily Maverick
Warp brings SA's AI industry up to speed with Xibon AI acquisition
It takes guts to pivot. But in a rapidly shifting tech landscape, that's exactly what one South African-founded tech company is doing — snapping up machine learning expertise and building its own private cloud infrastructure from the ground up. The SA-founded tech company Warp Development has made a strategic pivot to embrace the private cloud trend, and its acquisition of the machine learning startup Xibon AI and new infrastructure will fuel its global expansion. Warp's first big move was acquiring Xibon AI. For co-founder Adriën Erasmus, this wasn't just about staying current and on trend. It was essential. 'Everybody needs to implement AI into their businesses,' said Erasmus. Rather than building from scratch, he opted for 'a bit of a hack … to get to market quickly and gain a customer base immediately'. The scent of opportunity The deal came together after a collaboration with Mike Scott — the former CEO of Cape Town-based Nona Digital — who now heads up operations in Australia. Through that relationship, the company acquired Xibon and its co-founder Gaurav Devsarmah, who now leads AI strategy and solutions. 'It was a no-brainer,' said Erasmus. 'Finding that kind of talent would've been a stretch. AI is still new, and people with real depth of experience are rare. Gaurav's knowledge of the frameworks is next level.' Claiming the SuperBrain Xibon's crown jewel is SuperBrain, a platform that stitches together multiple layers of data to build highly contextual, personalised AI solutions. It doesn't just process info — it learns how different pieces connect to give users intelligent, tailored outcomes. Devsarmah describes it simply: 'The more info I record, the more context the SuperBrain starts to form.' That tech has now become a core part of the company's plan to embed machine learning into every unit of the business. More humans, not fewer The team sees AI not as a replacement for people, but as a tool to remove monotony and unleash more creative thinking. AI might reduce the need for manual effort, Erasmus admits, but 'there will always be a need for humans'. The focus is on efficiency, freeing up time for strategic work and modernising legacy systems. Backed by a team of more than 100 in South Africa, the strategy combines acquisitions, traditional hiring and upskilling, including support for master's degrees in AI. Rewriting the cloud playbook Equally ambitious is the company's pivot away from public cloud giants like AWS and Azure. Three years ago, it committed to building its own private cloud, cutting infrastructure costs by up to 60% along the way. Warp's chief technology officer and co-founder, Rudi Mostert, said the goal was to match the scalability and resilience of the public cloud while ditching the unpredictable billing and restrictive architecture. They went with OpenStack — open source, well-documented and already in use at major enterprises like Walmart and Deutsche Telekom — and partnered with OpenMetal to make it happen. So why private cloud? It's a trend gaining traction, especially among companies looking for more control and less vendor lock-in. Private cloud lets you build only what you need, customise everything and avoid the ever-rising costs of public platforms. OpenMetal made it easy to spin up that infrastructure quickly and securely. And because the company owns all of it, there's no need to pay for bloated extras or worry about usage surprises. Plus, the tech teams now have more room to innovate. 'It's created massive growth opportunities,' said Mostert. 'We've got incredibly talented people here who are hungry to learn.' And why Amsterdam? That first private cloud deployment now lives in a data centre near Schiphol airport in Amsterdam. The location wasn't just convenient — it was strategic. Amsterdam offers top-tier connectivity (more than 210 network providers), renewable energy and strong data protection laws. It's also a base for other South African-rooted players like Prosus (via Naspers) and BCX. The AMS3 facility also provides redundancy and availability guarantees, giving the setup the kind of reliability needed for global operations. While the Netherlands has placed restrictions on new data centre builds, this deployment focused on leveraging existing infrastructure — no permits or delays required. Eyes on the world With infrastructure in place, the company is expanding fast — it's now registered in Australia and has a satellite office in Atlanta, Georgia. Erasmus says the US market moves faster and more decisively than Europe. 'Build trust there and you'll have loyal customers,' he said. But speed isn't everything. 'We're not competing on being cheap or fast. We're positioning as expert services.' Operations now stretch across three time zones — Asia-Pacific, South Africa and the US — allowing for round-the-clock delivery. What this means for you Private cloud is no longer just for tech giants. More companies are moving away from public cloud providers like AWS and Azure. Why? Cost control, data ownership, and the freedom to build exactly what they need, without surprise billing or vendor why Warp built its own private cloud infrastructure with OpenMetal, cutting costs by up to 60% while unlocking greater flexibility and security. Amsterdam isn't just windmills and tulips, it's a digital gateway to Europe. With its unmatched connectivity, data protection laws, and sustainable infrastructure, it's the ideal base for companies going global. It's no coincidence that other SA-rooted firms like Prosus and BCX have a presence there too. The big win? Warp's not keeping this just for international clients. They're now bringing the same world-class cloud tech to South Africa, meaning local startups and SMEs could soon get access to enterprise-grade infrastructure without paying enterprise prices. In short: better tech, more control and lower costs might soon be coming to a data centre near you. SA still at the core Despite going global, the business still runs deep in South Africa. With two SA offices and a growing team, Erasmus speaks passionately about the entrepreneurial grit of South Africans. 'People here have grit and willpower — they're like Jack Russells,' he said. 'There's a great work ethic, strong skills and a dedication that gives us an edge.' At a recent global leadership event in Hawaii, South Africa received accolades across leadership categories. And Cape Town's chapter of the Entrepreneurs' Organization is among the fastest-growing worldwide. Plans are already in motion to replicate the Amsterdam cloud infrastructure locally, bringing world-class cloud tech into South Africa. Big opportunity for SMEs There's also hope that smaller South African businesses can benefit too. As public cloud costs grow more unsustainable for scaling companies, Erasmus sees a 'massive opportunity' for local SMEs to explore virtual private cloud alternatives — lower cost, more predictable and tailored to their needs. Yes, the country's tax burden is high. 'We pay an awful lot of tax,' he said. But the talent, resilience, and potential in South Africa make it a great place in which to build. DM
Japan Times
09-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Japan Times
AI resurrecting the dead threatens our grasp on reality
A cruel twist of fate led Jason Gowin to make a novel parenting decision. Days after his wife gave birth to their twin boys in 2019, she had a stroke. The doctors gave her two or three years to live. Gowin and his oldest son were devastated, but worse was to come. Months later, Gowin found out he had stomach cancer. Facing the prospect of leaving three children without parents, he got an idea from watching the Superman movie "Man Of Steel," where the caped hero walks into the Fortress of Solitude and talks to a simulation of his father. There was something comforting about that possibility, of he and his wife leaving behind talking replicas of themselves for their children. "I thought, I bet someone has already come up with this,' he remembers. A Google search led Gowin, a 47-year-old actor in Pennsylvania, to about 10 different companies offering to train AI models on personal data — text messages, videos and other digital traces — to create virtual likenesses of people. He signed up as a beta tester with a provider called "You, Only Virtual,' and today his 9-year-old son occasionally talks to a chatbot they call Robo Dad, an AI simulation that sounds eerily like Gowin. Recently, when his wife mentioned something about putting the dishes away, Robo Dad made the same joke moments after Gowan himself did. Artificial intelligence is beginning to offer a startling new proposition: the chance to keep talking to the dead. While only a small subset of people have tried so-called grief tech tools so far, the technology heralds a profound and disturbing shift in how we process loss. The price of the comfort from these tools could be a further erosion of our collective grip on what's real and what isn't. Despite AI's explosive growth, digital resurrections remain rare. "You, Only Virtual' has about 1,000 users, according to Chief Executive Officer Justin Harrison. A similar firm called "Project December' reports 3,664 people have tried its service. A few thousand in China have "digitally revived' their loved ones through an AI firm called "Super Brain,' using as little as 30 seconds of audiovisual data. These numbers pale against ChatGPT's 300 million weekly users. But as AI becomes cheaper and more sophisticated, these early adopters may signal a change in how we deal with death. The idea isn't totally unprecedented. Millions already seek companionship from chatbots like Replika, Kindroid and drawn by one of generative AI's most surprising capabilities: simulated empathy. These interactions have proven so emotionally compelling that users have fallen in love with their AI companions or, in extreme cases, allegedly been driven to suicide. Others have tried speaking to digital simulations of their older selves to help plan for their future, with more than 60,000 people now using one such tool called Future You. It's easy to see the allure when so much of our communication today is text-based and AI has become so fluent. If Gowin's story doesn't move you, ask yourself: Would you chat with a digitized version of a deceased friend or relative if it was trained on their speech? I would struggle to resist the opportunity. But using generative AI to process grief also encroaches on something inviolate in our values as humans. It's not just the potential of muddying our memories with those of a "fake' loved one: Did Grandma really say she loved pumpkin pie or just her avatar? The risks include consent: What if Grandma would have hated being recreated in this way? And it's not just about impermanence or the idea that, when we die, we leave space for the next generation to fill the public discourse with their own voices. The core danger is how grief tech could accelerate our growing disconnect from the present, a phenomenon already fueled by social media's quantified metrics of human worth and the rise of fake news and echo chambers. Now comes an assault on our appreciation of finality, as technology encroaches on yet another corner of our most personal experiences. Grief tech betrays "our fundamental commitment to reality,' says Nathan Mladin, a senior researcher at Theos, a London-based think tank. He argues that while humans have always kept relics of the dead — like photos and locks of hair — AI simulations cross an existential boundary because they're interactive and underpinned by data from across the internet. In a 2024 study, Mladin also warned about the exploitation of grieving people for profit. "Some people go on these apps for a while, but others stay hooked and continue interacting like that person is still there.' While grief tech remains fringe, its normalization seems plausible. That means it will need guardrails, like temporal limits that make AI replicas fade over time, mirroring natural grief. They could also benefit from being integrated with human counselors to keep an eye out for unhealthy dependency. Gowin is grappling with these boundaries. Robo Dad can't discuss sex, but questions for his family remain over how it will handle future, big-subject conversations about relationships and alcohol or what happens if his son becomes too attached to the system. For now, Robo Dad is good enough for Gowin, even if it does lead to intermingling recollections of the real and digital dad. "Honestly, human memory is so patchy anyway,' he says. "The important thing to me is that I know that my AI model has got my essence at its core.' But preserving someone's essence also risks something fundamental. The Japanese concept of mono no aware suggests that things are beautiful — like cherry blossoms that bloom for just one week each year — precisely because they don't last forever. Stretching out our presence artificially means we don't just lose our appreciation for impermanence, but something even more essential: our collective anchor to what's real. In trying to soften the edges of death through technology, we may gradually weaken our ability to face life itself. [bio]Parmy Olson is a Bloomberg Opinion columnist covering technology. She is author of "Supremacy: AI, ChatGPT and the Race That Will Change the World.'[bio]
Gulf Today
08-02-2025
- Entertainment
- Gulf Today
AI resurrecting the dead threatens our grasp on reality
Tribune News Service A cruel twist of fate led Jason Gowin to make a novel parenting decision. Days after his wife gave birth to their twin boys in 2019, she had a stroke. The doctors gave her two or three years to live. Gowin and his oldest son were devastated, but worse was to come. Months later, Gowin found out he had stomach cancer. Facing the prospect of leaving three children without parents, he got an idea from watching the Superman movie Man Of Steel, where the caped hero walks into the Fortress of Solitude and talks to a simulation of his father. There was something comforting about that possibility, of he and his wife leaving behind talking replicas of themselves for their children. 'I thought, I bet someone has already come up with this,' he remembers. A Google search led Gowin, a 47-year-old actor in Pennsylvania, to about 10 different companies offering to train AI models on personal data — text messages, videos and other digital traces — to create virtual likenesses of people. He signed up as a beta tester with a provider called 'You, Only Virtual,' and today his nine-year-old son occasionally talks to a chatbot they call Robo Dad, an AI simulation that sounds eerily like Gowin. Recently, when his wife mentioned something about putting the dishes away, Robo Dad made the same joke moments after Gowan himself did. Artificial intelligence is beginning to offer a startling new proposition: the chance to keep talking to the dead. While only a small subset of people have tried so-called grief tech tools so far, the technology heralds a profound and disturbing shift in how we process loss. The price of the comfort from these tools could be a further erosion of our collective grip on what's real, and what isn't. Despite AI's explosive growth, digital resurrections remain rare. 'You, Only Virtual' has about 1,000 users, according to Chief Executive Officer Justin Harrison. A similar firm called 'Project December' reports 3,664 people have tried its service. A few thousand in China have 'digitally revived' their loved ones through an AI firm called 'Super Brain,' using as little as 30 seconds of audiovisual data. These numbers pale against ChatGPT's 300 million weekly users. But as AI becomes cheaper and more sophisticated, these early adopters may signal a change in how we deal with death. The idea isn't totally unprecedented. Millions already seek companionship from chatbots like Replika, Kindroid and drawn by one of generative AI's most surprising capabilities: simulated empathy. These interactions have proven so emotionally compelling that users have fallen in love with their AI companions or, in extreme cases, allegedly been driven to suicide. Others have tried speaking to digital simulations of their older selves to help plan for their future, with more than 60,000 people now using one such tool called Future You. It's easy to see the allure when so much of our communication today is text-based, and AI has become so fluent. If Gowin's story doesn't move you, ask yourself: Would you chat with a digitized version of a deceased friend or relative if it was trained on their speech? I would struggle to resist the opportunity. But using generative AI to process grief also encroaches on something inviolate in our values as humans. It's not just the potential of muddying our memories with those of a 'fake' loved one: Did Grandma really say she loved pumpkin pie, or just her avatar? The risks include consent: What if Grandma would have hated being recreated in this way? And it's not just about impermanence or the idea that, when we die, we leave space for the next generation to fill the public discourse with their own voices. The core danger is how grief tech could accelerate our growing disconnect from the present, a phenomenon already fueled by social media's quantified metrics of human worth and the rise of fake news and echo chambers. Now comes an assault on our appreciation of finality, as technology encroaches on yet another corner of our most personal experiences. Grief tech betrays 'our fundamental commitment to reality,' says Nathan Mladin, a senior researcher at Theos, a London-based think tank. He argues that while humans have always kept relics of the dead — like photos and locks of hair — AI simulations cross an existential boundary because they're interactive, and underpinned by data from across the internet. In a 2024 study, Mladin also warned about the exploitation of grieving people for profit. 'Some people go on these apps for a while, but others stay hooked and continue interacting like that person is still there.' While grief tech remains fringe, its normalisation seems plausible. That means it will need guardrails, like temporal limits that make AI replicas fade over time, mirroring natural grief. They could also benefit from being integrated with human counselors to keep an eye out for unhealthy dependency. Gowin is grappling with these boundaries. Robo Dad can't discuss controversial topic, but questions for his family remain over how it will handle future, big-subject conversations about relationships and alcohol, or what happens if his son becomes too attached to the system. For now, Robo Dad is good enough for Gowin, even if it does lead to intermingling recollections of the real and digital dad. 'Honestly, human memory is so patchy anyway,' he says. 'The important thing to me is that I know that my AI model has got my essence at its core.' But preserving someone's essence also risks something fundamental. The Japanese concept of 'mono no aware' suggests that things are beautiful — like cherry blossoms that bloom for just one week each year — precisely because they don't last forever. Stretching out our presence artificially means we don't just lose our appreciation for impermanence, but something even more essential: our collective anchor to what's real. In trying to soften the edges of death through technology, we may gradually weaken our ability to face life itself.
