Latest news with #NgũgĩwaThiong'o
Hindustan Times
8 hours ago
- Politics
- Hindustan Times
Decolonising minds, reimagining literature
Every year, a ritual precedes the announcement of the Nobel Prize in Literature. Several names of possible winners dominate discussions on the web. Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o invariably featured in these conversations, but never won. Let us not equate awards with literary greatness, though. At the same time, it must also be acknowledged that the lack of the award did not prevent us from reading Thiong'o. We gravitated to the author and his ideas for his radical politics and theorisation on the use of language especially in post-colonial nations such as his own Kenya and India in our case. Ideas can travel without the patronage and fanfare of big awards. Thiong'o and the enduring popularity of his seminal text, Decolonising the Mind, is a case in point. Thiong'o spoke about decolonisation before it became a symposia favourite across university departments. He was a torchbearer in every sense. Much like Frantz Fanon, his intellectual mentor in some ways. Thiong'o was a lifelong advocate for an exploration of our own languages, stories, writers and a steadfast critic of Eurocentrism and linguistic imperialism. For those who may not know, he even shed his birth name James and chose Ngũgĩ in his native Gikuyu — Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o meaning Ngũgĩ, son of Thiong'o. He has written extensively and expansively about the country of his birth and the birth of a writer in his memoir series — Dreams in a Time of War, In the House of the Interpreter and Birth of a Dream Weaver. It is in the last and final instalment of his memoirs where Thiong'o begins to reminisce about the birth of an author and the stories that he formed while studying at Makerere University in Kampala, Uganda. It is also here that he first met Chinua Achebe. In obituaries that have appeared since the announcement of his death, he is often referred to as an African writer. There's no debating his place of origin but Thiong'o is also a world writer who inspired and shaped thinking, writing, reading, and critical analysis in many corners of the world. Thiong'o did many radical things as a writer but the most important is his decision to quit writing in English around 1977 and switch to writing in his mother tongue, Gikuyu. This happened following his year-long stint in a Kenyan prison after the staging of his controversial play which highlighted inequities in Kenyan society. In Detained: A Writer's Prison Diary (1981) he recounts the time spent as a political prisoner. Though recounting a personal experience, Thiong'o connects it to the larger political situation in Kenya by accusing the then government of being controlled by 'foreign capital' and 'foreign economic interests'. He said the Kenyan elites behaved as neo-colonialists. He was finally exiled from Kenya and lived in the UK and the US for the rest of his life. Not enough is often said or written about his fiction. Several of his novels are astonishing such as Weep Not, Child, A Grain of Wheat, Petals of Blood amongst others. To many of us in South Asia, his non-fiction is more popular owing to the strong anti-colonial ideas they helped to develop. Having said that, one must also acknowledge that Thiong'o was a very different fiction writer from Chinua Achebe or Wole Soyinka, the other two luminaries of 20th century African literature. Both Achebe and Soyinka focused extensively on the tension between tradition and the modern in African societies. Thiong'o, on the other hand, used every opportunity to unravel the pitfalls of colonialism and capitalism rather explicitly in his fiction. The three writers even openly argued in public during a conference in Uganda in 1962. Thiong'o argued that literature written in indigenous African languages should be called African Literature. Achebe and Soyinka opposed this idea and found Thiong'o's position flawed. It is not surprising that Thiong'o helped us to understand the virtues of translation through his speeches, essays, commentaries on the role of translation in a globalised world. Translation helps cultures to be in conversation with each other. He equated translation with democracy where everyone has a voice and representation or ought to have one. Translation provides that opportunity to all languages and writers of the world. He also self-translated his last novel, Wizard of the Crow, to English (from Gikuyu). Thiong'o's writings will continue to shape debates and discussions about the use of language and our reading of literature. His work provokes many questions. What constitutes the practice of decolonisation in current times? Is decolonisation being held hostage by academic lobbies in the West? Shouldn't decolonisation lead to new forms of storytelling in a multilingual nation like ours? Thiong'o created his own path. As readers, critics, students, and followers of his work, we should create ours. That's the best tribute for a writer you admire. Kunal Ray teaches literature at FLAME University, Pune. The views expressed are personal.
Yahoo
a day ago
- General
- Yahoo
Paint, parades and power: Africa's top shots
A selection of the week's best photos from across the African continent and beyond: Tears and heartbreak over tragic story of South African girl sold by her mother Remembering Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o - a giant of African literature Could Nigeria's careful ethnic balancing act be under threat? Namibia marks colonial genocide for first time with memorial day 'Nowhere is safe' - Cameroonians trapped between separatists and soldiers Go to for more news from the African continent. Follow us on Twitter @BBCAfrica, on Facebook at BBC Africa or on Instagram at bbcafrica Focus on Africa This Is Africa
The Guardian
a day ago
- General
- The Guardian
‘In his company you could not be lazy': remembering my friend Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o
Among the African writers who emerged in the middle of the 20th century, the most political undoubtedly was Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o. Born in Kenya while it was still under British rule he was anti-colonialist, a communist, anti-dictatorial, and an almost militant proponent for African languages being used for African literature. His best works exist at the interface between the political and the personal. His first book of essays, Homecoming, is at once engaging and polemical. His early novels Weep Not, Child and A Grain of Wheat look at the impact of colonialism and the Mau Mau rebellion on individual lives. He was strangely at his best with the personal and the intimate, but his reputation grew more from his political stances – first against the British government, then against the dictatorship in Kenya in the 70s. He was jailed not for a thundering political text but for a play in Kikuyu called I Will Marry When I Want. In prison he wrote his memoir on toilet paper. When I first met him I expected to meet a socialist firebrand but instead encountered a genial, engaging man who had read some of my writing and asked about my influences. I was genuinely surprised by his warmth, his humour and his friendliness. He was at ease with white as well as black people. He loved a good drink, enjoyed conversation and had a genuine love for literary small talk. I first knew him after his release from prison during his time in London. At the African Centre he would have a coterie of political acolytes and well wishers who wanted to ease his time in exile. I had conversations with him about literature. He was interested in my reading. I remember one particular conversation. At the time I had only published my first two novels and I was in my early 20s. 'What novels do you read?' he asked. 'All of you.' 'Who else?' 'Tolstoy, Dostoevsky.' 'Which Dostoevsky?' 'Crime and Punishment.' 'Did you read that before or after you wrote your second novel?' And I froze. The question made me aware of something that I had not considered before: the implied relationship between the greatness of the books you have read and the quality of the books you write after reading them. I suddenly felt ashamed that the novel I had written did not do that reading justice. Whatever answer I gave was a chastened one. Sign up to Bookmarks Discover new books and learn more about your favourite authors with our expert reviews, interviews and news stories. Literary delights delivered direct to you after newsletter promotion Ngũgĩ would paralyse you with an innocent-seeming question. They said Bertolt Brecht was like that too. In his gentle way Ngũgĩ compelled you to come up with cogent answers to the probing remarks he made about African literature and the question of language, a question of authenticity. In his company you could not be lazy. He also took an interest in my pool game and would often place bets on me in pubs in Covent Garden. Between frames we would talk about books. He had an almost mystical awe for what Achebe achieved in Things Fall Apart. Looking back to a time when the only literature being taught at universities was Dickens and Conrad et al, he made me feel how thrilling it was to read for the first time this novel that had found a language to express the yearning of Africans for their own story. By that time he had become a slightly portly figure with interrogative eyes and ready laughter. He tended to wear African tops and western trousers. One got the feeling with him that he had done a lot of his political thinking early but was open to the discoveries that his work led him into. He began his writing life as James Ngugi, and metamorphosed into Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o. He began writing in English and ended by writing in Kikuyu, often having to translate himself. His anti-capitalist stance didn't stop him becoming one of the most feted African writers in America. And in all of this, the one constant was that he remained a likable man without pretensions, and always with a feeling for the common people. Towards the end of his life, he became a perennial favourite to win the Nobel prize, and like Borges, had to endure the rise and fall of expectation every October. Family tragedy also marred his later years. But perhaps my fondest memory is of sitting with him in a Cambridge college during a Callaloo conference. We began talking about music and literature and he surprised me by saying that he was learning to play the piano for the first time. He was then in his mid-70s. He talked about the wonder of going from being unable to play a note to being able, within a few months, to play some Mozart, Chopin and Bach. It was very affecting to hear this seasoned revolutionary take on a youthful glow as he talked about this new-won skill. There happened to be a piano in a corner of the hall, and we went over. To this day I can still see him with a light smile on his face as the Bach notes tinkled into the hall.
BBC News
a day ago
- General
- BBC News
Africa's week in pictures: 23-29 May 2025
A selection of the week's best photos from across the African continent and beyond: From the BBC in Africa this week: Tears and heartbreak over tragic story of South African girl sold by her motherRemembering Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o - a giant of African literatureCould Nigeria's careful ethnic balancing act be under threat?Namibia marks colonial genocide for first time with memorial day'Nowhere is safe' - Cameroonians trapped between separatists and soldiers Go to for more news from the African us on Twitter @BBCAfrica, on Facebook at BBC Africa or on Instagram at bbcafrica
News24
a day ago
- General
- News24
Five things you should know about Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o, one of Africa's greatest writers
One of Africa's most celebrated authors, Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o, has died. The Kenyan academic was 87 years old. His first novel, Weep Not Child was published in 1964 and he pursued a rich and acclaimed career as a decolonial thinker. Kenyan academic and writer Peter Kimani sets out five things you should know about the legendary African writer. He understood the politics of his time Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o is regarded as one of Africa's greatest writers of all time. He grew up in what became known as Kenya's White Highlands at the height of British colonialism. Unsurprisingly, his writing examines the legacy of colonialism and the intricate relationships between the locals seeking economic and cultural emancipation and the elites serving as agents of neo-colonisers. The great expectations for the new country, as captured in his seminal play, The Black Hermit, anticipated the disillusionment that followed. His fiction in the foundational trilogy of Weep Not, Child, The River Between and A Grain of Wheat, amplifies those expectations, before the optimism gives way in Petals of Blood and is replaced by disillusionment. He shaped a new African story African fiction is fairly young. Wa Thiong'o stands in the continent's pantheon of writers who started writing when Africa's decolonisation gained momentum. In a certain sense, the writers were involved in constructing new narratives that would define their people. But his recognition goes beyond his pioneering role at home: his writing resonates with many across Africa. One could also recognise his consistency in churning out high-quality stories about Africa's contemporary society. This he always did in a way that illustrates his commitment to equality and social justice. He has done much more, through scholarship. His treatise, Decolonising the Mind, now a foundational text in post-colonial studies, illustrates his versatility. His ability to spin yarns while commenting on the politics that go into the literary production of marginal literature is a very rare combination. Finally, one could talk about Wa Thiong'o's cultural and political activism. This precipitated his yearlong detention without trial in 1977. He attributed his detention to his rejection of English and embracing his Gikuyu language as his vehicle of expression. Critics are divided on his greatest works It's hard to pick a favourite from more than two dozen of his texts. But there is concurrence among critics that A Grain of Wheat, which was voted among Africa's best 100 novels at the turn of the last century, stands out for its stylistic experimentation and complexity of characters. Others consider the novel as the last signpost before his work became overly political. For other critics, it's Wizard of the Crow, published in 2004 after nearly two decades of waiting, that encapsulates his creative finesse. It utilises many literary tropes, including magical realism, and addresses the politics of African development and the shenanigans by the political elite to maintain the status quo. His work has been translated into more than 30 languages around the world. He stopped writing in English in 1977 Without a doubt, the continent would be poorer without the efforts of Wa Thiong'o and other pioneering writers to tell the African story. He was an important figure in post-colonial studies. His constant questioning of the privileging of the English language and culture in Kenya's national discourse saw him lead a movement that led to the scrapping of the department of English at the University of Nairobi. It was replaced by a department of literature that placed African literature and its diasporas at the centre of scholarship. He never stopped writing Wa Thiong'o remained an active writer even in old age. Among his later offerings was the third instalment of his memoir, Birth of a Dreamweaver which looks back on his years at Makerere University in Uganda. This is the period when he published his novels, Weep Not, Child and The River Between, while still an undergraduate. Also at this time, he wrote the play The Black Hermit, which was performed as part of Uganda's independence celebrations in 1962. In later years, he was busy restoring his early works into Gikuyu from English, which he bid farewell to in 1977, opting rather to write in his indigenous language. Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o appeared on the list of favourites to win the Nobel prize for literature for several years. Since the workings of the Nobel award committee remain secret, the lists of the committee's deliberations are kept for 50 years, it will be decades before we know why he was overlooked when so many felt he richly deserved the prize.
