A lot of people lately have asked me or sent through inquiries about nuclear energy. There is a growing curiosity around it again, almost like an old conversation returning with new urgency. Some people are firmly against it. Others see it as the only realistic bridge into a stable energy future. But before we even begin to answer that question, we need to return to where the story truly began.

In July 1945, a group of thirteen-year-old girls went camping near a river in Ruidoso, New Mexico. It was an ordinary summer day, filled with laughter, sunlight, and the careless freedom of youth. At the front of a now well-known photograph stood Barbara Kent, smiling into a future she could not yet imagine.

Miles away, the Manhattan Project was preparing to detonate the first atomic device in history. At 5:29 that morning, the Trinity test ignited the desert sky. Kent later described a blinding flash, followed by a rising column that seemed to tear open the horizon. The air shimmered with unnatural light, bright enough to hurt the eyes. It felt, she said, as if the sun itself had exploded.

Hours later, white flakes began to fall. The girls laughed, thinking it was snow. They played in it, rubbed it on their faces, felt its strange warmth against their skin. They had no idea they were touching radioactive fallout.

What followed is one of the quiet tragedies of the nuclear age. Every girl in that photograph later developed cancer. One by one, they died young. Only Kent lived longer, though her life became a prolonged battle with illness. No warnings had been given. No evacuations ordered. The cost of that moment drifted silently across the landscape, settling into lives that would never recover.

Similar shadows stretched across places like Maralinga, where entire communities were exposed without consent, their suffering only acknowledged decades later. These are the stories that shaped our instinctive fear of anything nuclear. And they should never be forgotten.

Decades later, another name etched itself into history: Chernobyl disaster. When Reactor 4 exploded in April 1986, it became the worst nuclear power accident in history. Entire towns were evacuated. A vast exclusion zone was created. The word “Chernobyl” became synonymous with catastrophe. And yet, something unexpected has unfolded there.

Today, four decades later, the exclusion zone around Chernobyl has become one of the most fascinating ecological case studies on Earth. In the absence of humans, nature has returned with surprising force. Forests have reclaimed roads. Wolves, lynx, wild horses, and even rare bird species have flourished. Biodiversity, in many areas, is higher than in surrounding regions inhabited by people.

There are mutations, yes. Some insects show genetic anomalies. Certain plant and animal populations carry subtle biological scars. But the apocalyptic vision of a permanently dead landscape has not materialised. Radiation levels have declined significantly, though not uniformly. Some hotspots remain dangerous and will for generations. The reactor itself is now entombed beneath a massive steel structure, quietly containing what remains of that disaster.

Will it ever be completely “normal” again? Not in the way we define normal. But life, resilient and indifferent, has proven something profound. It adapts. It returns. It continues. That brings us to the uncomfortable truth. Nuclear energy exists in two very different worlds. One of destruction, the other of potential. To understand that second world, we need to step briefly into the physics.

At its core, nuclear energy is about the binding energy of the atom. In a nuclear fission reaction, a heavy nucleus such as uranium-235 is split into smaller nuclei when struck by a neutron. This splitting releases an enormous amount of energy in the form of heat, along with additional neutrons that continue the chain reaction. It is not an explosion in a power plant. It is a controlled, moderated release, carefully balanced so that each reaction sustains the next without accelerating out of control.

The energy density is staggering. One kilogram of uranium can produce roughly 24 million kilowatt-hours of energy. Compare that to coal, which produces about 8 kilowatt-hours per kilogram. It is like comparing a candle to a star. That heat is used to produce steam, drive turbines, and generate electricity. Simple in concept, extraordinarily complex in execution.

Nuclear power plants are among the most expensive infrastructure projects ever built. The upfront capital costs are immense. Billions of dollars. Long construction times. Regulatory complexity. Financing risks. These factors make nuclear difficult to deploy quickly, especially in economies under pressure.

But once built, nuclear plants operate for decades, often 60 years or more, with relatively low fuel costs and extremely stable output. They provide what is known as baseload power, constant, reliable energy regardless of weather conditions.

Compare this to solar and wind. These technologies have become dramatically cheaper in recent years. They are fast to deploy, modular, and ideal for decentralised systems. But they are intermittent. The sun sets. The wind stops. To compensate, large-scale battery storage or backup generation is required, which adds to the overall system cost.

So, the real comparison is not nuclear versus solar or wind. It is nuclear plus renewables versus fossil fuels. A balanced system. One providing stability, the other flexibility.

And then there is the financial world. Will banks still finance nuclear? Increasingly, the answer is complicated. Traditional financing has become more cautious due to past cost overruns and political uncertainty. But new models are emerging. Public-private partnerships. State-backed financing. Long-term power purchase agreements. Even sovereign-backed nuclear programmes in countries determined to secure energy independence.

At the same time, alternative energy innovations continue to push forward. Concepts like advanced storage, hydrogen systems, and even emerging payment and energy-distribution models, such as pay-as-you-go or decentralised microgrid systems, are reshaping how energy is delivered and monetised. Some technologies, once sidelined or exported, are now being re-examined in global markets, including developments in the United States and Asia.

And then, beyond all of this, lies the horizon. Nuclear fission, the splitting of atoms, is what we use today. But nuclear fusion, the joining of atoms, is the dream. It is the process that powers the stars. If harnessed successfully, fusion could provide virtually limitless, clean energy with minimal long-lived radioactive waste.

For decades, fusion has been described as “always thirty years away.” But that distance is slowly shrinking. Experimental reactors are achieving new milestones. Private companies are entering the field. Governments are investing again. It is no longer science fiction. It is early-stage reality.

Will it become commercial in our lifetime? Possibly. But not yet at the scale required to solve today’s problems. So where does that leave us? Somewhere between memory and possibility.

The story of Barbara Kent reminds us of what happens when power is unleashed without understanding. Chernobyl reminds us what happens when systems fail. But modern nuclear energy tells a different story. One of control, refinement, and responsibility.

Energy is not just a technical question. It is a philosophical one. It asks who we are as a species. Whether we choose fear or understanding. Whether we retreat from complexity or learn to manage it with wisdom.

Because the truth is, there is no single perfect solution. There is only a set of choices, each with trade-offs. Nuclear energy is one of those choices. Powerful. Demanding. Unforgiving if misused. But also, potentially, one of the most important tools we have in navigating the future.

Perhaps the real question is not whether nuclear energy is safe. It is whether we have become wise enough to use it safely.

Johan West is the CEO of Green Africa Energy, where he focuses on the development of sustainable and real-world energy solutions across Africa. He is also the author of the forthcoming book The Eye of Creation, exploring the intersection of science, philosophy, and humanity’s evolving role in a rapidly changing universe.