Thursday the 8th day of October 2015 and
all literates eyes and ears were twisted towards Oslo, Norway for the much
awaited announcement of the winner of this year’s Nobel Prize in Literature.
Evidently many Kenyans and Africans anticipated the
renowned author Ngugi wa Thiong’o to be crowned. There was indescribable hype
occasioned by this overly exaggerated expectation was however short-lived and
subsided immediately the big announcement was made. Majority of those from the
literary fraternity admitted to their being disappointed after Svetlana
Alexievich from Belarus bagged the accolade.
Unlike them, I wasn’t at all surprised that Ngugi
didn’t bring the award home. In fact, to my understanding, I think he neither
qualifies for nor deserve it.
In as much as Ngugi has been tremendously published,
I consider him one of the most stagnant authors to ever exist. His themes
aren’t dynamic at all. Flipping through Weep not Child, his first book
published in 1964, and The River Between of 1984, one might think he/she
is literary reading the same book. It’s only the characters that slightly
differ by name but other than that, everything else is just a repetition.
What I mean here is that a writer should be in tandem
with the events surrounding his world. For instance, you can’t talk of people
living in darkly lit huts in an era when the only place you can find a hut is
in the well lit National Museums!
I believe The Swedish Academy who reward deserving
nominees for the prestigious award consider other attributes than just being
widely published. It is no wonder we witness even those under-eighteen years
being nominated. You can publish a thirty or fifty-page novella and the next
thing you see on your table is a plane ticket to Europe! So to me those
who pay homage to Ngugi for filling our bookstores with the outdated junk in
new covers need to reconsider their stand.
I observed that I have never come across a Ngugi
novel with a Omondi or Kiprotich or Mogaka or
even Fatma being given major roles. (I stand to be corrected). Most, if
not all of his characters have kikuyu names. The Gikonyos, the Waiyakis, the
Mugos the Wairimus et all tells you two things about this author – it is
either he is not explorative and therefore is ill-informed of the ‘other people’
or he is a tribal writer. I can’t say that he is not explorative and outgoing
and so I choose to brand him a staunch tribal writer. There; I said it. Ngugi
is a tribal writer and I believe it’s not only me who knows this but those in
Europe as well.
Finally, Decolonising the Mind, (1986) and
Globalectics, (2012) are to me essays that not only lack honesty but are also divisive and separatist in substance. Picture this, Ngugi urges African writers
to avoid writing in English but should strive towards writing in their first
language. Mysterious as it may seem, this is his ideology and I don’t have to
blame him because like any other mortal, he is entitled to one.
However, what concerns me is that Ngugi doesn’t own
up to his philosophy. I should have expected that the good professor could
pursue his ambition (or at least pretend to do so) by settling in his home
village where he can help teach and nurture young children to read and write in
Gikuyu language. But before you crucify me for what I just said, ask around if
Ngugi is teaching Kikuyu language in the U.S. University whence he teaches from as he
enjoys life with his family.
So to those good friends, the Ngugi followers, who
feel bitter for the big lack of achievement, consider this article an advice.
You should cease from placing high expectations on someone who betrays his own
philosophy for jobs and money.
Take it or leave it but my
verdict is that Ngugi won’t and will never win any award worth noting unless you
urge the government to name a road after him at Kamiriithu.
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