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The eternal bow of Ngugi from the world stage at 87, after 60 years of prodigious literary output, political activism and fight to make the world a better place, does not elicit tears. We await the celebration of a legend, and wherever in the world his remains are lowered, on his grave should be placed: petals of blood.
I was in my early teens when I came across the slim novel, Weep Not, Child, by the then James Ngugi. Actually, the novel laid around as it was part of the school syllabus in senior secondary school, and the seniors read it.
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I found it simple, easy to digest, but most importantly, I identified with Njoroge, the main antagonist. I could not understand how a child my age could be subjected to such harrowing experiences. It introduced me to the issue of colonialism and resistance.
Other books I later read in secondary school, like Tell Freedom by Peter Abrahams and the poems of David Diop such as “The Vultures” and “Africa” concretely situated me in my African environment, and established some consciousness between a Nigerian child and other Africans. God bless all those who put those writings in the West African Examination Council (WAEC) syllabus.
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Painfully, these basic soul-searing books have been replaced by African leaders, manipulated by foreign interests, who claim that the basic needs of our children are entrepreneurial knowledge and some passing acquaintance with science, technology, engineering and mathematics (STEM) education. In fact, in Nigeria, this manipulation of minds got to the crazy extent that history was banned from our schools.
Many African leaders and their foreign masters do not want Africans to learn about their past, thereby reinforcing the racist lie that Africa has no historical past. The intent, of course, is to re-colonise our minds and make us subservient to other peoples.
It was this realisation that led Ngugi to change his name to Ngugi wa Thiong’o. It was also the reason he decided to stop writing in English language and rather use an African language, Gikuyu. He explained that, “In colonial conquest, language was meant to complete what the sword had started; do to the mind what the sword had done to the body.”
In 1967, Ngugi produced A Grain of Wheat, woven around Kenya’s armed struggle for independence, led by the Kenya Land and Freedom Army, with the legendary Dedan Kimathi as head. In what became known as the Mau Mau Revolt from October 1952 to December 1959, the colonialists killed at least 11,000 liberation fighters and established Nazi-like concentration camps in which over 80,000 Kenyans were packed and tortured without trial.
As I grew in teenage-hood, Weep Not, Child had tremendous effects on me as it dovetailed into the issue of racism and Apartheid in Ian smith’s Rhodesia (Zimbabwe) and South Africa. It also made me as a 16-year-old, to understand issues in the news, like the liberation struggles in Mozambique, Angola, Guinea Bissau and Cape Verde.
Weep Not, Child was fictive realism. By the time Ngugi returned from boarding school, the British colonialists had wiped out his village. Two of his brothers were killed, including one who was hard of hearing, and so did not hear the command of a colonial soldier. The latter thought he was being defiant, and then shot him dead. His father’s land was also seized by the colonialists, who wanted to take over and settle in beautiful Kenya.
The novel was published in 1964. The following year, he published another soul-rendering novel, The River Between. It centred on the efforts of a young nationalist, Waiyaki, to unite two villages: Kameno and Makuyu, in the face of colonialism and a new divisive religion.
In 1967, Ngugi produced A Grain of Wheat, woven around Kenya’s armed struggle for independence, led by the Kenya Land and Freedom Army, with the legendary Dedan Kimathi as head. In what became known as the Mau Mau Revolt from October 1952 to December 1959, the colonialists killed at least 11,000 liberation fighters and established Nazi-like concentration camps in which over 80,000 Kenyans were packed and tortured without trial.
Ngugi’s theme centred around the fighters, including the quiet Mugo who had betrayed their leader. This trilogy established Ngugi firmly as one of the best novelists on earth. He added short stories like Secret Lives and other stories and plays like The Trial of Dedan Kimathi, which he co-authored with Micere Githae Mugo in 1976.
But it was in 1977 that Ngugi literally exploded. First, he dropped his English name, stopped writing in English language, and wrote the bombshell of a novel, Petals of Blood. The novel explored the themes of neo-colonialism, capitalist exploitation and corruption. It was a powerful novel. But when with Ngugi wa Mirii, he produced the play, I Will Marry When I want, which explores the themes of poverty, gender, religion, cultural values and class struggle, it was too much for the government of Jomo Kenyatta. It seized Ngugi and threw him in the Kamiti Maximum Security Prison to rot away without trial.
Talking about my undergraduate days, we had long debates about the possibility of an African winning the Nobel Prize for Literature. We narrowed the possible candidates to three: Wole Soyinka, our own WS (William Shakespeare), Ngugi and Chinua Achebe. We thought the first two had better chances, and finally picked Soyinka.
For a period, he was confined in a cell for 21 hours a day, with an electric bulb shining. A condition for him to receive medical treatment or see his family was to be chained. The books seized from his home were mostly those of Karl Marx, Friedrich Engels and Vladimir Lenin, suggesting they were ‘dangerous’ books.
Then Kenyatta died on 22 August, 1978, and the new government of Daniel Arap Moi freed him in December 1978. Ngugi, after his release, refused to leave the country. However, when in 1982 he discovered a plot to kill him, he fled. He returned after 22 years to a tumultuous welcome. But unfortunately, his home was attacked by four armed men who battered him and raped his wife, Njeeri.
Ngugi greatly influenced my generation of students in the university. When at Ife in 1981, the university authority’s body language suggested curbing the fledging campus press, we prepared for a ban on popular campus journals by establishing a new one. We picked the name “Petals” from the title of Ngugi’s Petals of Blood. In the maiden edition, we waxed lyrical about different colours of petals, including, of course, Petals of Blood. It was a little veiled warning that we were ready for a fight on the campus.
Talking about my undergraduate days, we had long debates about the possibility of an African winning the Nobel Prize for Literature. We narrowed the possible candidates to three: Wole Soyinka, our own WS (William Shakespeare), Ngugi and Chinua Achebe. We thought the first two had better chances, and finally picked Soyinka.
Our reason was that while Soyinka is a genius, radical, transformative and a prodigious literary producer like Ngugi, the West, which had serious influence on the Nobel Prize, could tolerate him, but not Ngugi who was a clear revolutionary. This was in the era of the Cold War. Soyinka deservedly got the prize in 1986. But Ngugi who joined the African ancestors this Wednesday, 28 May to watch over the African people, never got it. That was a minus for the Nobel Prize.
The eternal bow of Ngugi from the world stage at 87, after 60 years of prodigious literary output, political activism and fight to make the world a better place, does not elicit tears. We await the celebration of a legend, and wherever in the world his remains are lowered, on his grave should be placed: petals of blood.
Owei Lakemfa, a former secretary general of African workers, is a human rights activist, journalist and author.
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