Mourning two giants
The recent death of Kenyan author Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o in the United States at the age of 87 brought home to me fond and rather distant memories of my GCE O-level Literature in English programme back in Opoku Ware School forty years ago.
I studied his seminal novel, Weep Not, Child, alongside Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar and Ernest Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea.
The aim, in our teenage minds, was to pass our examinations and perhaps not much more.
Older, wiser, better appreciation
Four decades on, much older, wiser and free from the prospect of examinations, it is possible to look back and actually yearn for these books, even if one found them a bit dreary and convoluted at the time.
On more than one occasion, I have picked up these books and enjoyed and appreciated them, with familiar phrases lovingly hitting me in the face from the past.
Today, reading my old literature books is a pleasure, not the chore of yesterday, leading me to read the authors’ other works.
Like many authors of his generation, Ngugi’s works explore the themes of colonialism, cultural nationalism, and the role of the intellectual in postcolonial society.
In both Achebe’s Things Fall Apart and Ngũgĩ’s Petals of Blood, for instance, the authors’ perspectives on colonialism, its history in African communities and the struggle of African people against the Westernisation of their cultural heritage feature significantly.
On a personal basis, I suppose my readings in political science at university, which necessarily included our political history and struggles towards independence, tied in with the writings by Ngugi and others and began to make more sense.
These novels ― human stories with their intricate complexities and plots ― served, through their strong themes, to fill out the dry historical narratives in the academic textbook and the lecture halls.
This brought it all together in a much more meaningful way to better understand the continent’s struggles for self-worth and against oppression.
For instance, in Weep Not, Child, land is a significant symbol of both ownership and the spiritual bond many Africans have with their land vis-a-vis its violent appropriation by European settlers.
Within this contextual theme, one is able to better understand the volatile land ownership struggles in Zimbabwe under Mugabe in particular not long ago.
Fortunately, in the then Gold Coast, the valiant protests of John Mensah Sarbah, Casely-Hayford, J.W Sey and others of the Aborigines Rights Protection Society (ARPS) scuppered the proposed Crown Lands Bill of 1896 and the Lands Bill of 1897, which threatened traditional land tenure by designating all “unoccupied” land in the colony as crown land, effectively placing control over communal lands in the colonial administration.
They successfully argued that the bills’ introduction would break family and society ties, and that the land was valuable to indigenous peoples for its religious significance. In political science class, Weep Not Child suddenly made sense.
Controversial in death
Ngũgĩ was a great writer by all standards and a passionate advocate for African culture and values.
He dropped his colonial name ‘James’ and subsequently insisted on writing in his native Gikuyu language, urging other Africans to do the same in their own languages, even though it meant many readers struggled to access those books he subsequently wrote.
But here is the ironic twist. In the final analysis, in death, per his express wishes, Ngugi chose a quiet cremation rather than a traditional burial with fanfare ― a thoroughly un-African affair, especially for a man of his stature.
I suppose many in the political elite class back in Kenya – which Ngugi despised due to how he had been persecuted for his strong views on corruption and other vices, for which reason he went into self-imposed exile ― were looking forward to receiving his body and putting on a grand show, as if they loved him.
Perhaps he chose to deny them the pleasure and give them the middle finger on his way out to re-emphasise his disgust. May this giant of African literature continue to rest in peace.
My friend Nana Kwasi Gyan-Apenteng
Perhaps one of the most rewarding friendships I have cultivated in recent years was with Nana Kwasi Gyan-Apenteng, who passed on a couple of weeks ago at the age of 74.
As a veteran journalist with over 45 years’ experience in media, chairman of the National Media Commission from 2015 to 2018, former columnist and editor of The Mirror newspaper, President of the Ghana Association of Writers and Apagyahene of Tafo Eti in the Eastern Region, he was such a wealth of knowledge.
We got to know each other through Facebook. I recall our many long, warm conversations, both in person and over the phone, over literally every subject.
He would regal me with stories from his youthful days, especially as a Young Pioneer during Dr Kwame Nkrumah’s tenure.
His Nkrumahist views never faltered from all those years even as the CPP disintegrated.
Even though he was considerably older than me, he treated me with great respect and valued my perspectives.
On many occasions, I would run my articles destined for this page past him for his valuable views and input.
When he invited me, back in November 2019, to visit his alma mater, Okuapeman School, to speak to the students during their SRC week, I did not dare refuse.
It was a thoroughly enjoyable experience up on the ridge, which I wrote about on this page, complete with my admiration for the school’s efforts to integrate visually impaired students.
Nana had a warm personality and a broad smile to match, complete with his famous ‘cooley hat’, which became part of his personality.
Like many who got to know him, I will miss him sorely.
Thank you for everything, Nana.
May your soul find eternal rest.
Rodney Nkrumah-Boateng.
E-mail: rodboat@yahoo.com