Ngugi wa Thiong’o can easily be called the Chinua Achebe of Eastern Africa or Shakespeare of the same, but with less inclination to plays.
For decades, he defined our literature in school and leisure reading. His books had catchy titles; The River Between, Petals of Blood, A Grain of Wheat and Gíkúyú titles like Caitani Mutharabainî (Devil on the Cross) or Ngaahika Ndeenda (I Will Marry When I Want). We can’t forget Matigari ma Njirúngi, loosely translated from deep Gíkúyú, bullet survivors.
It’s his affinity for writing in Gíkúyú that sets him apart from other writers. Some suggest that is why a Nobel Prize in literature escaped him. Few can deny that writing in a local language was boldness; he was a rebel with a cause.
Bold because not learning and speaking your mother tongue is now considered heroic among some Kenyan elites and pseudo-elites.
Ngugi, having grown up when the embers of the old order were still smouldering, must have appreciated the richness of the local languages, which are spoken from the heart, not the mouth. Think of proverbs and riddles. Ideally, proverbs and riddles are impossible to translate!
Ngugi must have met his grandparents and other sages who taught him the local language to a mastery level. Richard Leakey, like other anthropologists, knows the importance of local language in their research.
The Catholic Church used local languages to reach our hearts in evangelisation. As children, we were mesmerised by Italian priests talking in our local languages.
Ngugi’s success in writing is based on something our generation has a shortage of – change. We define our change in technological terms. In Ngugi’s life, change was broader, more socio-cultural.
He must have met his kinsmen wearing traditional clothes, eating traditional food and going through traditional ceremonies, long before imported religion and modernism took over. I still recall two neighbours who wore traditional clothes, including earrings – Wambui wa Jonah and Njoki wa Ngigie.
Ngugi went through colonialism and Mau Mau before uhuru. These were great changes, and chronicling them was his work. Change is as much a catalyst for writing as innovation and entrepreneurship.
In fact, one easy way to determine if Kenya is going through rapid or significant changes is if there is an outpouring of literary works. Remember Nigeria in the 1960s? England after the Industrial Revolution? France after Napoleon?
Ngugi left Kenya and lived in the USA for a long time, specifically in California. Yet another change! Even his marital life was full of changes. He was prolific to the end, to a ripe age of 87. I never had a chance to meet him despite sharing a high school.
What is his lasting legacy?
His books will outline him, read across oceans and generations. We could even start a whole course, Ngugism. His books define Kenya through the eyes of a participant observer.
And despite being fictional, they were realistic. Reading his books was like talking to him. His characters were so real, you felt like you knew them.
And why not local languages that are spoken from the heart, not the mouth? That allowed him to be imaginative and choose words carefully without the restriction of a foreign language.
It’s such an affinity to local languages that spawned great Irish writers, from James Joyce to WB Yeats. What if we had a Ngugi from each of several communities or tribes that make up Kenya? The word tribe is slowly disappearing, but not tribalism.
The best way to celebrate Ngugi wa Thiong’o is to nurture and support local languages, from Dholuo to Rendille, Turkana, Taita and the rest. That is part of the human heritage. And the most complex. Why do we speak different languages? How do babies learn them so easily?
The beauty about local languages is that they do not stop us from learning English, Swahili and foreign languages. More languages give us windows to new experiences and wisdom.
Indians, Jews, Chinese or Japanese still go to Ivy League universities speaking their mother tongues. Why do we deny our children that privilege?
There is no evidence that talking only English will make you more competitive in the job market. It could be the opposite, narrowing your perspectives and experiences.
My encounter with elderly men who can’t read or write has convinced me that local languages are powerful and conceal a lot of wisdom.
Can we honour Ngugi by starting programmes to teach and enrich local languages in our universities? Why can’t I take a Bachelor of Science in Kamba, Maa, Giriama or any other Kenyan language?
Some will quickly add that it will fan tribalism. It will reduce it as we learn about each other through the languages. Tribalism has nothing to do with languages; it is about our socialisation.
Ngugi may be gone, but his legacy lives on. We have an obligation to enrich that legacy. He put Kamirithu and Kenya on the global map. May he rest in peace, angírohurûka ûhoro.
Can someone translate this article into Gíkúyú? I doubt if AI can.
By XN Iraki
