Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o: a weaver of dreams

The death of the prominent Kenyan writer Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o—rightfully hailed as a giant of African literature and long regarded as a leading contender for the Nobel Prize in Literature, though never awarded it—was announced on 28 May. His passing was accompanied by a parting message to humanity and to his readers: always celebrate life. Ngũgĩ’s journey came to an end at the age of 87, leaving behind a profoundly rich and exceptional literary and intellectual legacy. His personal life was equally inspiring; he never abandoned his convictions nor ceased weaving his dream—whether for personal liberation or for dismantling the collective colonial mindset of his fellow Kenyans and Africans—with rare patience and mastery. 

Ngũgĩ’s death made headlines in major African and international newspapers—a clear indication of his stature and the magnitude of his literary and intellectual achievements. These tributes unanimously referred to him as a giant of African literature, in both form and substance. This was a resounding affirmation of his vision: that African culture, language, and literature are no less valuable or important than any other. 

For example, The Guardian’s obituary highlighted how he survived persecution under former Kenyan President Daniel arap Moi (in office from 1978 to 2002). His daughter, Wanjiku wa Ngũgĩ, announced his death from Atlanta, Georgia, poignantly summarising his life with the words: “He lived a full life and fought the good fight.” 

Ngũgĩ’s journey of continuous struggle 

Ngũgĩ was born in Kenya in 1938 and came of age during the Mau Mau uprising (1952–1962), one of the most intense and successful African liberation struggles against British colonial rule. This period profoundly shaped his worldview and informed his wide-ranging contributions to literature and thought. He earned his bachelor’s degree from Makerere University in Kampala in 1963, followed by further study at the University of Leeds in England the following year. 

Ngũgĩ went on to lecture in English at University College, Nairobi, and served as a visiting professor at various American universities. From 1972 to 1977, he chaired the Department of Literature at the University of Nairobi. He was particularly invested in African studies, the intersection of politics and literature, and the decolonisation of English linguistic and cultural dominance. 

His rise to prominence began in East Africa when his play The Black Hermit was performed at the Ugandan National Theatre in Kampala in 1962 as part of Uganda’s independence celebrations. The play resonated especially with young audiences, and The Makerere University Youth Newspaper hailed him with the headline: “Ngũgĩ Speaks for the Continent.” 

Ngũgĩ’s struggle was waged on both political and literary fronts, and this dual battle clearly echoed throughout his work. A defining moment came in 1966, when he represented Africa at the International PEN Conference in New York—an invitation extended to him personally by the prominent American writer and then PEN president, Arthur Miller. Ngũgĩ would recount this experience many times over the years, including upon receiving the PEN America Award in 2022. 

He recalled meeting Pablo Neruda at the cold war-era conference. It was Neruda’s first visit to the United States in 30 years, following previous visa bans due to his membership in Chile’s Communist Party. At a panel alongside Neruda, Ignazio Silone (author of Bread and Wine), and Miller, Silone lamented the lack of translation services for Italian, joking that Italian was not one of those languages with “only one or two words.” Ngũgĩ stood and responded: “I’d like to reassure everyone that African languages also have more than one or two words.” Miller replied that pride in any language is fine—as long as it does not denigrate others. 

After the session, Neruda walked over to Ngũgĩ, clasped his hand, and said many words—most of which Ngũgĩ did not fully understand—but which he felt were spoken in solidarity. “At that time,” Ngũgĩ later reflected, “I was writing A Grain of Wheat, but in what language? In English. This moment prompted me to seriously consider writing in my native Gikuyu.” 

Ngũgĩ’s biography: nationalism, ethnicity, and resistance 

Professor Amitayu Chakraborty’s 2024 biography of Ngũgĩ offered a significant and multilayered account of the thinker’s life, blending chronological and thematic approaches. He divided Ngũgĩ’s life into three distinct phases: the phase of anxiety (1950s–60s), the phase of fierce polemics (60s–70s), and the final phase, beginning in the late 1970s. 

According to this biography, the early phase is reflected in works such as The Black Hermit, The River Between, and Weep Not, Child, which signalled the emergence of Ngũgĩ’s revolutionary thinking during Kenya’s transition to independence. The second, more radical phase produced works like Petals of Blood, in which Ngũgĩ’s ideas fused moral ethnicity with Marxist revolution as possible paths toward genuine African liberation. The final phase, marked by defiance and perseverance, continued until his death on 28 May 2025. 

Themes of nationalism, ethnic tolerance, and resistance clearly permeated Ngũgĩ’s life. His arrest in 1977 for his writings speaks volumes in this regard. He documented that transformative period in his renowned autobiographical novel Detained: A Writer’s Prison Diary (1981), which opened with a quote that Marx once cited in The New York Daily Tribune (25 August 1852): “Because I tried to carry the temple of liberty for you all, I was unjustly thrown into prison…” Ngũgĩ’s choice of this quote made his message plain: his imprisonment was the price of defending his people. 

He was detained on 31 December 1977 and spent a year in prison without charges—merely for opposing Moi’s regime. While imprisoned, Ngũgĩ developed what would become one of his most influential works, Decolonising the Mind: The Politics of Language in African Literature (1986). He appended a Gikuyu-language version to the English text, symbolising his resistance to both Moi’s authoritarianism and the cultural dominance of English. 

The language of African Literature and the dismantling of colonialism 

Ngũgĩ made a foundational and early contribution to the articulation of an authentic African literature. He advocated for its development in response to the expanding colonial assault that had engulfed Kenya since it was made a British protectorate—an assault that continued post-independence through the rise of an Anglophone elite. Ngũgĩ himself, once among the most brilliant thinkers and writers within this elite, became one of its most outspoken critics. 

His critique was crystallised in his seminal work Decolonising the Mind: The Politics of Language in African Literature (London, 1981). In it, he fiercely defended the liberation of the African mind through a re-evaluation of language, literature, theatre, and African storytelling. After the 1977 publication of Petals of Blood, his last English-language novel, Ngũgĩ declared that he would henceforth write all his literary works in Gikuyu. His English output would be limited to intellectual works, such as Detained. In the preface to Decolonising the Mind, he announced that it would be his final book written directly in English—whether literary or intellectual. 

This decision—made by a professor of English literature at both African and British universities—was itself a powerful act of resistance: a bold assertion of African culture and its languages (notably Gikuyu and Kiswahili, in his context). And it was a commitment he upheld for over four decades, until his death. 

In any case, the book, in its concise span of no more than 130 pages, serves as a summation of Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o’s twenty years of experience writing fiction, theatre, criticism, and teaching literature at universities. In the introduction, he describes it as an attempt to study African realities "free from tribal perceptions or assumptions." He also situates the book within a broader, ongoing debate "about the fate of the African continent itself." 

Across the book’s four main chapters, Ngũgĩ presents his vision with remarkable clarity and precision. In the first chapter, titled The Language of African Literature, he asserts that the subject cannot be meaningfully studied "outside the context of the social forces that shape it", emphasising that imperialism—both in its colonial and postcolonial forms—has relentlessly pressured Africans to view the world and their future through the lens of the coloniser, the master "armed with the Bible and the sword". 

Among the central ideas he develops is the role of language in national liberation. Language, he argues, has a dual character: it is both a means of communication and a carrier of culture. He offers a significant comparative example from the African context, noting how in countries like Denmark and Sweden, English functions merely as a tool for communication with non-Scandinavians—it does not serve as a vehicle for cultural transmission within their societies. This, he explains, underscores his contribution to liberating African cultures from what can broadly be described as British cultural colonialism. Ngũgĩ elaborates on this cultural resistance further in the second and third chapters, focusing on African theatre and fiction. 

He concludes this pivotal work in his intellectual journey with a chapter titled The Quest for Relevance, in which he articulates his vision of how Africans perceive themselves and their environment—an understanding deeply shaped by their position in relation to imperialism, both in its colonial and postcolonial forms. This argument underscores the coherence of Ngũgĩ’s broader intellectual and literary project: a call for African liberation—political, economic, and social—rooted in an unshakeable belief in the strength of African cultures and their capacity to confront “global changes” or “globalisation” with resilience and vitality. 

At the heart of this vision lies the enduring role of African languages—their ability not only to survive, but to carry culture forward and anchor the continent’s creative and intellectual future. 

The birth of a dream weaver 

Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o leaves behind a distinguished literary and intellectual legacy. His poetic spirit blended with a rigorously analytical mind that continuously reshaped and reiterated his ideas across various literary forms, always employing a vibrant African language. One of his works most intimately tied to his spirit - and indeed an extension of himself - is Birth of a Dream Weaver: A Writer’s Awakening (New York, 2016). 

Ngũgĩ opens the book with a poignant piece titled A Wound in the Heart, exploring the contexts of British colonialism in Uganda and Kenya, and his upbringing as a child on the cusp of adolescence. - astutely observes that this memoir operates on two levels: first, as a vivid recollection of the author’s past experiences; and second, as a structured analytical approach in which Ngũgĩ acts as both narrator and observer of his childhood, community, and historical era. 

Ngũgĩ ends the book with a chapter titled A Hell of a Paradise, where irony intertwines with events that reflect the difficulty of escaping a colonial mindset. He uses "paradise" to describe Makerere University in Kampala during the 1950s and early 1960s, and softly recounts his struggles within that "paradise", especially the class divisions that marked it. 

What matters most in this text is the presence of an exceptionally early critical consciousness in Ngũgĩ—a mindset not dazzled by grand colonial buildings or entrenched traditions cloaked in superficial formalities meant to conceal deep-seated racism and segregation. This consciousness remained with Ngũgĩ until his final days. 

Indeed, he remains a true "weaver of dreams" for the African youth in Kenya, across the continent, and throughout the diaspora. From him, they learned persistence, self-belief, pride in African languages and cultures, and the uncompromising right to say "no." And from these dreams, a new generation rises—dream weavers in their own right—seeking to make those dreams real among the millions of Africans, young and old.