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New Indian Express
2 days ago
- Politics
- New Indian Express
Ngugi wa Thiong'o: His prose was militant, held no brief for elites
NEW DELHI: In literature, life, and language Kenyan legend Ngugi wa Thiong'o was always off centre, pursuing directions away from canonisation. He died this Wednesday in the US at the age of 87, but his works will ensure he lives forever. Ngugi's prose was militant. He thought the writer's job was to be in the 'Opposition'. He held no brief for elites, which emerged in his country, Kenya, after independence, because they were no less oppressive and exclusionary than the British masters they had replaced. He emerged as a bitter critic of the governments that came in the wake of Kenya's independence in the early '70s. He was perennially a Nobel Literature hopeful, but did not expect it. Though with Chinua Achebe and Wole Soyinka, he was one of big boys of post-independence African literature, his position against the structures of the world that was White had always been too forthright; his steady stream of novels, plays and essays on questions of land, labour and language, showed he would not 'drop it'. His fiction is peopled with characters like Matigari, a man who will eschew words and take up arms to 'renew' the freedom struggle, and Njoroge, a boy-scholar who starts out believing in progress by education but whose hopes are dashed in the background of tensions between Kenya's White settlers and the militants of the Mau Mau revolt. It was the summer of 2018, and Ngugi wa Thiong'o had been in exile from Kenya for over 30 years. He was in Delhi for a talk on translation which I was covering. His first greeting was a hug. In his Hawaiian shirt, he gamely posed for photographs and then settled down for a long interview at the time that tested his publisher Naveen Kishore's patience; Kishore had been waiting to whisk him away for a dinner at historian Romila Thapar's home.
Indian Express
2 days ago
- General
- Indian Express
Remembering Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o: Freedom, he wrote
Ngugi wa Thiong'o was in his teens when he returned from his elite British-run English-medium school one day to find his family home in Kenya razed by the colonial rulers in response to the Mau Mau uprising. Only a hedge they had planted remained, he later wrote in In the House of the Interpreter (2012), 'beyond it our homestead is a rubble of burnt dry mud, splinters of wood, and grass'. It was a moment that never left him, becoming the seed of a quiet rebellion that would eventually make him one of Africa's fiercest literary minds and unwavering moral voices. The writer, 87, who died on May 28, wrote to rebuild what had been destroyed — not just in his village, but across a continent's collective memory. Thiong'o's life was shaped by the winds of colonialism, repression, resilience, and the corruption-laden aftermath of independence in Kenya. But he refused to be blown off course. He wrote as if words were weapons to carve out a space for truth. His Weep Not, Child (1964) was the first major novel in English by an East African writer. But after imprisonment without trial — punishment for a play he had co-written in his native tongue Gikuyu on corruption — Ngugi turned away from English altogether. In a prison cell, he began Devil on the Cross (1980), scribbled on toilet paper, the first modern novel written in his mother tongue. From then on, he insisted that African stories be told in African languages. Thiong'o's continued exposition of malfeasance in post-colonial Kenya earned him the wrath of political gatekeepers. Exile followed, but so did global recognition, as he became a lodestar for generations of African writers — among them Nigerian greats Chinua Achebe and Wole Soyinka. If there's one lesson Thiong'o leaves behind, it is that the fight for freedom does not end with the fall of a regime. And that the stories of a people, told in their own words, are acts of liberation in themselves.
Indian Express
2 days ago
- Politics
- Indian Express
Mother-tongue in the classroom: A welcome step, but don't rush it
During a class on 'cultural capital', my students and I found ourselves discussing the role of the English language in the Indian context. The conversation turned out to be a comparison with countries like France and China, where people have deep-rooted pride in their language. In contrast, many of my students admitted that they barely know their native tongues — some can understand them, but few are able to speak or write with confidence. They expressed a quiet sense of loss, even as they acknowledged the prestige and professional opportunities that come with speaking 'good' English in India. It is this sense of confusion that shapes my view on the CBSE's proposal to introduce mother-tongue instruction at the primary level. I find it hard to take a definitive stance, but if I had to describe my position, I would call myself a sceptical supporter. The idea of supporting one's mother tongue comes from many writers such as Ngugi wa Thiong'o, Frantz Fanon, and J M Coetzee, who have long written about decolonising the mind and reclaiming identity through native languages. Their work highlights how colonial legacies and global hierarchies have privileged English and sidelined local languages, entrenching cultural and cognitive hierarchies. Yet, even if we agree in principle, practical questions remain, like which language to choose in a country as linguistically diverse as India. That's why the ongoing language mapping exercise in schools is not just welcome — it is essential. While I agree that collecting languages children speak at home is a smart and necessary step, I think it should have been done before issuing the directive. Children are now entering school at a much younger age than in the normally enter school at about three years of age. For a child entering school for the first time, everything is unfamiliar — the space, the people, the routines and expectations. Language, at the very least, can offer continuity and comfort. The emotional security of being taught in the language spoken at home can ease this early transition and help children settle into learning more naturally. Having said this, we also do see a generation of students in elite private schools who are growing up with little connection to their native languages. At home and in public life, most children communicate in English. They are growing up within a single language system, disconnected from their linguistic roots. Mother-tongue instruction holds the potential to reverse that trend. When children are taught in a language their families understand, learning becomes a shared experience. Parents and even grandparents, especially those from non-English-speaking backgrounds, can engage more actively with their child's education. This strengthens the link between home and school and can lead to improved outcomes. Critics argue that such a directive may disadvantage children later, given English's dominance in higher education and the job market. But this policy move is about the primary level, where the focus should be on building core literacy, numeracy, and confidence. The transition to English can still happen, but must take place thoughtfully. What we need is a gradual, well-supported, and pedagogically sound design for that transition. Even from a cognitive standpoint, support comes from UNESCO and UNICEF, which advocate for mother-tongue instruction in early education. Early literacy in the mother tongue lays a strong foundation for later academic achievement. Teaching in English from day one, especially to first-generation learners, often results in confusion and lower overall comprehension. This topic made me think of sociologist Pierre Bourdieu's concept of 'symbolic violence'. The term is used to describe a wide range of actions that involve imposing meaning or authority in an arbitrary way — actions that appear neutral or natural but actually reflect power. The education system, through form and content, exercises symbolic violence in different ways — it imposes ideas, values, or norms that carry hidden power. English-language instruction can be seen as a form of symbolic violence where students are alienated from their mother tongues. Instruction in the mother tongue is a pedagogical choice that resists the treatment of children's home languages as inadequate or inferior. Choosing which language to prioritise in each region will involve tough decisions, and owing to India's multilingualism, there are no perfect answers. Ensuring that schools once again do not fall into the cycle of symbolic violence by imposing a few people's mother tongue on others is important. Now that the CBSE directive has been issued, what matters most is how this is implemented. The timeline for implementation raises serious concerns. Expecting schools to pivot over a single summer break, already too short, is unrealistic. Overhauling curricula, training teachers and preparing materials will take time. Without this investment, the risk is a superficial rollout driven more by political optics than pedagogical substance. One should not reduce a well-intentioned intervention to another hurried rollout. Done right, this could be the beginning of a more inclusive, just, and effective education system. The writer is a Sociology teacher in a Delhi school
Express Tribune
2 days ago
- General
- Express Tribune
Kenyan literary icon Ngugi wa Thiong'o dies aged 87
To pay homage to his heritage, Ngugi refused to write in English. Photo: File During his imprisonment, Kenyan author Ngugi wa Thiong'o decided he would never write in English again, a defiant move that helped put literature in African languages firmly on the map. Ngugi died at the age of 87 on Wednesday, his daughter announced on Facebook. "It is with a heavy heart that we announce the passing of our dad, Ngugi wa Thiong'o this Wednesday morning," wrote Wanjiku Wa Ngugi. "He lived a full life, fought a good fight." Widely regarded as east Africa's most influential writer, Ngugi sought to forge a body of literature reflecting the land and people from which he came, and not follow in the footsteps of Western tradition. "I believe so much in equality of languages. I am completely horrified by the hierarchy of languages," he told AFP in an interview in 2022 from California, where he lived in self-imposed exile. His decision in the 1970s to abandon English in favour of his native Kikuyu, as well as Kenya's national language Swahili, was met with widespread incomprehension at first. "We all thought he was mad... and brave at the same time," said Kenyan writer David Maillu. "We asked ourselves who would buy the books." Yet the bold choice built his reputation and turned him into an African literary landmark. The softly-spoken writer also lived a life as dramatic as his novels. His criticism of post-colonial Kenya – describing the violence of the political class and the newly rich as "the death of hopes, the death of dreams and the death of beauty" – brought him into frequent conflict with the authorities. 'Decolonising the mind' Born James Ngugi into a large peasant family in Kenya's central Limuru region on January 5, 1938, he spent the first 25 years of his life in what was then a British settler colony. His early works were heavily influenced by his country's battle against colonial rule and the brutal Mau Mau war of 1952-1960. In his first collection of essays, Homecoming, he described himself as a "stranger in his home country". But his anger would later extend to the inequalities of post-colonial Kenyan society, incurring the wrath of the government. In 1977, Ngugi and fellow writer Ngugi wa Mirii were jailed without charge after the staging of their play Ngaahika Ndeenda (I Will Marry When I Want). It was then that he decided to write his first novel in Kikuyu, Devil on the Cross, which was published in 1980. He had already abandoned his "English" name to become Ngugi wa Thiong'o. "I wrote it on the only paper available to me, which was toilet paper," he told US radio broadcaster NPR. Amnesty International named him a prisoner of conscience, before a global campaign secured his release from Kamiti Maximum Security Prison in December 1978. As early as 1965, Ngugi's novel The River Between embarked on a critical examination of the role of Christianity in an African setting. "If the white man's religion made you abandon a custom and then did not give you something else of equal value, you became lost," he wrote. He went into self-imposed exile in 1982 after a ban on theatre groups in Kenya, moving first to Britain then to the United States. When Ngugi returned home on a visit in 2004, he was mobbed by supporters at Nairobi's airport. "I have come back with an open mind, an open heart and open arms," he declared. Days later, he and his wife were attacked by armed men: she was raped and he was beaten up. It was not clear whether robbery was the sole motive or whether the assault was politically motivated. Margaretta wa Gacheru, a sociologist and former student of Ngugi, described him as a national icon. "To me he's like a Kenyan Tolstoy, in the sense of being a storyteller, in the sense of his love of the language and panoramic view of society, his description of the landscape of social relations, of class and class struggles," she said. afp
IOL News
2 days ago
- Entertainment
- IOL News
Sad farewell to Kenya's Tolstoy
Kenyan writer and activist Ngugi wa Thiong'o died this week aged 87. Image: File During his imprisonment, Kenyan author Ngugi wa Thiong'o decided he would never write in English again, a defiant move that helped put literature in African languages firmly on the map. Ngugi died at the age of 87 on Wednesday, his daughter announced on Facebook. "It is with a heavy heart that we announce the passing of our dad, Ngugi wa Thiong'o this Wednesday morning," wrote Wanjiku Wa Ngugi. "He lived a full life, fought a good fight." Widely regarded as east Africa's most influential writer, Ngugi sought to forge a body of literature reflecting the land and people from which he came, and not follow in the footsteps of Western tradition. "I believe so much in equality of languages. I am completely horrified by the hierarchy of languages," he told AFP in an interview in 2022 from California, where he lived in self-imposed exile. His decision in the 1970s to abandon English in favour of his native Kikuyu, as well as Kenya's national language Swahili, was met with widespread incomprehension at first. "We all thought he was mad... and brave at the same time," said Kenyan writer David Maillu. "We asked ourselves who would buy the books." Video Player is loading. Play Video Play Unmute Current Time 0:00 / Duration -:- Loaded : 0% Stream Type LIVE Seek to live, currently behind live LIVE Remaining Time - 0:00 This is a modal window. Beginning of dialog window. Escape will cancel and close the window. 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His criticism of post-colonial Kenya - describing the violence of the political class and the newly rich as "the death of hopes, the death of dreams and the death of beauty" - brought him into frequent conflict with the authorities. Born James Ngugi into a large peasant family in Kenya's central Limuru region on January 5, 1938, he spent the first 25 years of his life in what was then a British settler colony. His early works were heavily influenced by his country's battle against colonial rule and the brutal Mau Mau war of 1952-1960. In his first collection of essays, "Homecoming", he described himself as a "stranger in his home country". But his anger would later extend to the inequalities of post-colonial Kenyan society, incurring the wrath of the government. In 1977, Ngugi and fellow writer Ngugi wa Mirii were jailed without charge after the staging of their play "Ngaahika Ndeenda" ("I Will Marry When I Want"). It was then that he decided to write his first novel in Kikuyu, "Devil on the Cross", which was published in 1980. He had already abandoned his "English" name to become Ngugi wa Thiong'o. "I wrote it on the only paper available to me, which was toilet paper," he told US radio broadcaster NPR. Amnesty International named him a prisoner of conscience, before a global campaign secured his release from Kamiti Maximum Security Prison in December 1978. As early as 1965, Ngugi's novel "The River Between" embarked on a critical examination of the role of Christianity in an African setting. "If the white man's religion made you abandon a custom and then did not give you something else of equal value, you became lost," he wrote. He went into self-imposed exile in 1982 after a ban on theatre groups in Kenya, moving first to Britain then to the United States. In 1986, he published one of his best-known works, "Decolonising the Mind", a collection of essays about the role of language in forging national culture, history and identity. When Ngugi returned home on a visit in 2004, he was mobbed by supporters at Nairobi's airport. "I have come back with an open mind, an open heart and open arms," he declared. Days later, he and his wife were attacked by armed men: she was raped and he was beaten up. It was not clear whether robbery was the sole motive or whether the assault was politically motivated. Margaretta wa Gacheru, a sociologist and former student of Ngugi, described him as a national icon. "To me he's like a Kenyan Tolstoy, in the sense of being a storyteller, in the sense of his love of the language and panoramic view of society, his description of the landscape of social relations, of class and class struggles," she said. In addition to fiction, the father-of-three, who became a professor of comparative literature at the University of California Irvine, also published essays and three memoirs.
