I was introduced to the wonderful world of Ngũgĩ’ wa Thiong’o when I was a scrawny Standard Three lad, kneecaps sticking out like door knobs. One day, my late mother brought home a strange treasure: a small, coloured Gikuyu chapter book featuring a character called ‘Njamba Nene’.
Now, Njamba Nene was one of us. He had scrawny legs, and his kneecaps stuck out, like ours. His hair was kinky, like grains of ndengu scattered in a winnowing tray, just like ours. Having been raised up on a steady literary diet of blonde boys like Huckleberry Finn, we easily hit off with Njamba Nene. Finally, here was a boy we could have swam in the same River Mathioya on a hot Saturday afternoon.
But even as I fell in love with him, I pitied him. The poor lad’s shorts were too patched up. A school tour to the museum in Nairobi was coming and his class was upbeat. When their school bus revved to life, I too boarded it in spirit, squeezing myself between Njamba Nene and his loneliness.
Then it happened. As the bus sped towards destination, another bus appeared beside it. Suddenly, both buses grew wings and took off into the sky like mechanical hawks. They soared into an enchanted forest where Njamba Nene’s used his cunning, local wisdom and grit to lead the children to safety. And in that moment, Njamba Nene morphed from a pitiable urchin to an admirable hero.
Years later, after I joined University, I was introduced to more complex works of Ngugi, notably among them ‘Matigari’. Matigari was the revolutionary who stepped out of the forest after uhuru, demanding justice, fire burning in his eyes. He spotted knotty dreadlocks and spoke like thunder. Matigari was later jailed, hunted down and shot, but his spirit refused to die.
Back in the village, I had met real life Matigaris. Grizzled ex-Mau Mau warriors with silver dreadlocks like lion manes and eyes that had seen too much. Silent, scarred men who walked with limps, the ravages of time having dealt them a blow. But their clenched fists betrayed their revolutionary youth. We had a stock name for them-matenjagwo, the unshaven ones.
As I grew older, I began to wonder, what if Njamba Nene was Matigari’s son? Was Matigari an older version of Njamba Nene, separated by pages but joined by the same revolutionary purpose?
As I climbed the academic ladder, I encountered many more Ngugi characters. Waiyaki of ‘The River Between’ appealed to me, though he was problematic. He was educated by missionaries, had piercing eyes and spoke with a booming voice. Was he modelled along Jomo Kenyatta?
But the girl who took my heart was Muthoni, Waiyaki’s lover. Strong, defiant and complicated, she was among my earliest literary crushes, and I never forgave Ngugi for killing her too soon.
As I pen this, my heart grieves, not just for the man, but for the myth of Ngugi. A man who strove with the gods, like the great Ulysses, but remained:
“…strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.”
However, I choose to celebrate Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o. You were our ‘Njamba Nene’, the Great Hero who gave African children permission to dream in their own tongue.