The passing of Professor Ngugi wa Thiong’o is a profound loss for African literature, languages, and the humanities — a loss that resonates deeply with me.
Years ago, as an aspiring writer navigating the uncertainties of the publishing industry, I felt adrift and desperately in need of mentorship. During this time, I had a pivotal meeting with Mukoma wa Ngugi at the Winternachten Festival in The Hague in 2019. After reviewing my work, he generously shared his father’s contact information and encouraged me to reach out. I remain immensely grateful to Mukoma for his kindness.
Initially, I feared to make that call, seeking guidance from various sources instead. But during a particularly challenging moment, I recalled Professor Ngugi’s number. I gathered my courage and made the call, fully prepared for rejection.
In our first conversation, I introduced myself and shared my writing journey. To my astonishment, he was incredibly supportive and offered me invaluable advice. He asked me to send him my Swahili work. He was thrilled and offered to write a foreword for my books. This led to our bi-weekly phone calls.
When friends asked about my Saturday evening plans, I would often reply,proudly, “I’ll be having a call with Prof. Ngugi,” which usually elicited disbelief.
Our conversations were simple yet deeply enriching. I would update him on my writing progress. He would say, “Anyachi, don’t forget your mother tongue… your mother tongue, please…” I assured him that I would write in my mother tongue, too.
He shared captivating, nostalgic stories from his life in Tigoni. One particularly memorable tale was about his mother. “That lady had supernatural powers,” he began.
He recounted a night, when he was around 13 years old, that he stayed at a friend’s house. They had lit a jiko for warmth against the biting July cold in Limuru. Later, they went to bed, leaving it burning. In the dead of night, his mother knocked fiercely on the wooden door, waking him. His head was foggy, but he struggled and dragged himself to open the door because he recognized his mother’s voice.
His mother had sensed that her son was in danger and had walked five kilometres through the darkness to rescue him. Leaving the door wide open, she rushed to his friend, shook him awake, and dragged him outside. That night, she saved two young men from suffocating — one of whom would go on to inspire generations of African scholars and writers.
These stories and the many informal lessons from our conversations will stay with me forever. Though we never met face-to-face, our bond evolved into one akin to that of a father and mentor, significantly enriching my literary journey. His wisdom, laughter, and constructive criticism came from a place of deep experience and generosity.
Just last week, I finished translating my first-ever children’s book, Nasuma and the Ogres. I called him last Sunday to share the great news. I could hear he was in a noisy place. He said jovially, “Anyachi, let me call you back…” Those were his last words to me.
Professor Ngugi dedicated his life to instilling self-worth and pride in our African heritage. His relentless advocacy for preserving our African languages and revitalizing African academia cannot be overstated. Ignoring his noble fight would be a disservice to his legacy.
Another essential but underestimated virtue was his availability and accessibililty to anyone who sought his audience. He was ready to guide and inspire — freely, and without ever demanding compensation for his wisdom.
Today, we face a crisis of intergenerational mentorship — a vital tool for preserving African heritage and for understanding the place of African and Black people in the world. This is one of the great challenges that Mwalimu Ngugi has left us with: a challenge to those who have “made it” and broken the ceiling:
Are you mentoring a young one freely, or are you gatekeeping?
My humble plea to Generation X is this: we are the last generation that still holds the wisdom of our ancestors. Let us pass it on. Time is running out.
May Prof. Ngugi rest in eternal peace, even as his legacy lives on forever in all of us whose lives he touched!
by Odilia Anyachi Okonga