Ngugi is, no doubt, the father of the Kenyan novel. His influence on the
growth of Kenyan literature is immense. His boldness to face the
warriors of primitive capitalism that endeared me to books and
literature. ILLUSTRATION | JOHN NYAGAH
Any time Ngugi wa Thiongo returns home, I
always find myself remembering his 1965 short story ‘The Return’ in
Origins of East Africa; an Anthology of Short Stories. In this story, he
recounts the sad return of Kamau after years of incarceration in
detention camps for his involvement in the struggle for independence. He
arrives home to discover, to his delight, that River Honia, the source
of life, still flows, but the village is no longer the same.
Karanja,
his compatriot in detention, had misinformed his people that he had
died in detention. The villagers look at him as a ghost. His agony is
compounded by the fact that his expectation of a hero’s welcome is never
realised.
To add insult to injury,
his wife, Muthoni, had been taken away by Karanja. His homecoming
becomes a moment of reflection and rededication to life and the future.
Why
do I remember this story? Sometimes it mirrors Ngugi’s own life story.
His numerous visits to Kenya have not lacked in variegated sense of
spectacle. The worst was when he arrived home with his wife only to be
viciously attacked. That was, indeed, sad and shameful.
Ngugi
is, no doubt, the father of the Kenyan novel. His influence on the
growth of Kenyan literature is immense. I have always admired him since I
was a high school kid. It was his boldness to face the warriors of
primitive capitalism that endeared me to books and literature.
POLITICALLY CORRECT
His trilogy of Weep not, Child, A Grain of Wheat, and Petals of Blood
make bold statements about the struggle for independence and the
aftermath. Apart from showing the effects of the war to ordinary
villagers, Ngugi shows the destruction of family life and the
unfulfilled expectations of Mau Mau fighters after the war.
In a strictly thematic sense, Mau Mau provides the core content of Ngugi’s fictional works. The progression from Weep not, Child through A Grain of Wheat, I will Marry when I Want, Devil on the Cross, Matigari to Wizard of the Crow can only be seen along lines of structure, style and depth.
Simply
put, the works explore people’s unrealised hopes and the evil of the
man-eat-man society that emerged after independence. We can almost say
that Ngugi is fixated with the Mau Mau. Is Ngugi’s perception of Mau
Mau’s role in Kenya’s history authentic?
With
his return, I expected engagement of this subject once more. Are we
building a society of hero worshippers who are not curious about
discovering the hidden truth?
Fredric
Cooper reminds me that Mau Mau is a politically charged topic and
discussing it is a risky way of saying something about the present. The
multiplicity of voices contesting the stated role of Mau Mau revolt in
the struggle for independence have not only involved historians and
creative writers, but also politicians and the general public.
There
are two schools of thought on this subject. Some historians and
creative writers have disagreed with Ngugi’s interpretation of the role
of Dedan Kimathi and Mau Mau in the struggle for independence.
Ngugi,
Maina wa Kinyati, and their disciples in one school of thought claim
that Mau Mau was a radical nationalist challenge to both colonialism and
neo-colonialism. Historians including E.S. Atieno Odhiambo, William
Robert Ochieng, Henry Mwanzi and their adherents read ethnic chauvinism
in the exaltation of Mau Mau.
E. S.
Atieno Odhiambo charged that the Kikuyu, whether historian or members of
the political elite, want to control Mau Mau, to determine what is to
be remembered and use the role of their group in the revolt to make
present political claims. These are serious claims that require serious
interrogation and not the cheap talk I saw around Ngugi’s return.
Ngugi’s
other controversial position is that on the language of African
literature. He argues that the continued use of foreign languages means
that the black man is mentally enslaved to western norms at the expense
of his own consciousness. The outcome is that he is disoriented or
alienated from his reality. This is what he calls linguistic
colonisation. He further argues that speaking the language of the
coloniser means existing for the coloniser. Obi Wali, a harsh critic who
belongs to this school, has declared that African literature in
European languages is only a minor appendage of European literature.
AFRICAN LITERATURE
Another
school of thought argues that African literature can use European
languages to express African content. These scholars posit that African
literature has to be written by Africans, use traditional themes from
oral literature and African symbols. Many writers subscribe to this
hybridization as a way of ensuring Africa’s literary identity and unique
contribution to world literature.
These
scholars hold the view that though imposed on Africans; English
language is now an asset to Africa for helping to foster continental and
national unity. They say “it offers Africans an opportunity to speak of
their experiences in a world language”. Chinua Achebe belonged to this
school of thought. Achebe and others who share this view argue that we
should aim at fashioning out an English which is able to carry our
peculiar experiences.
Here are two positions diametrically opposed to one another that should be debated.
Is
writing in African languages the only way that will bring about a new
beginning in African cultural social and economic life? Is modification
of foreign languages the only way of producing African literature?
With
these two questions, I part ways with these two schools. I think the
literature we produce in whichever language must subscribe to certain
standards and give hope and instill a revolutionary spirit for
socio-economic development because our cultural diversity is a valuable
asset and promote multilingualism.
We
need not look at English as being synonymous with colonialism. We now
have younger writers whose cultural orientation is informed by present
day realities in post independence Africa. My children, who are Kenyans
of Kiswahili expression, living in a multi-cultural urban set up and who
do not share my mother tongue have a world of their own. I cannot
impose mine on them. A number of them have now picked up Gikuyu language
which is the dominant language in my Ruiru East Sub-county.
That
is why I propose a new paradigm shift on the issue of language. We need
to ask ourselves what the needs of the African people are rather than
get fixated with colonial experience. We have to write about African
experiences. We have to write in celebration of our diversity so that we
can appreciate ourselves and others with which we share Africa. I am
advocating for what I call ‘Critical Reconstructionism.’
This
should be a new way of writing that takes cognisance of the reality of
our African situation. It has to take into consideration the history of
the African child and the conditions of living. Africa is a continent in
a crisis. We cannot accept to remain in this crisis for ever. We have
to act now and the literature we write has to be the literature of
reconstruction. We have to fill African peoples with hope and skills to
steer society to a new level. We have to help Africans reconstruct their
lives and that of their society. Our literature should advocate for
dialogue and critical consciousness.
Critical
Reconstructionism, as a theory, should help us focus on our experiences
and instill the urge to take social action on problems of hunger,
international terrorism, inflation, discrimination, ethnicity and
inequality. In a sense, our writings should inspire the reader to be an
agent of change and reconstruct ideals destroyed by bad leadership. This
can be done in any language at our disposal including Sheng. That is
what I call Critical Reconstructionism
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