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The sedan inched its way through the people, leaving disappointment in its wake. How could he not address all these people who had come to see him? As they continued to drive away, Ngugi began to feel more and more guilty for not talking to the people with whom he longed to reconnect. Not yet outside the airport compound, he had the car stopped. A crowd gathered and he spoke. They were finally back. Njeeri realized that she no longer had to see everything for him. He could see it himself and reconnect with Kenya, just as he had longed to do. She regarded her husband from a distance as he spoke to the crowd expressing his love for them, for the Mau Mau, and for finally being able to return. The first eleven days of the trip passed by a whirl. On August 7 they visited Kamirithu and his old home. Ngugi knelt down, pressing his forearms to the ground and kissed the soil as he let out a long sigh. Njeeri knelt down beside him and did the same. He wanted to see his first wife’s grave. Njeeri handed him a wreath, Kiragu led him to the site. He asked to be left alone and stood for a few minutes. He cupped a heap of soil from the mound and raised it slightly to the sky. He rubbed it against his hands and watched the earth slip between his fingers. They moved on to Kamirithu Youth Polytechnic, the high school Moi built when he razed the open-air theatre just months before Ngugi’s exile in 1982. The townspeople knew that if it weren’t for Ngugi, they wouldn’t have a school in their tiny village. “It is not a negative thing,” Ngugi said to them. “It is positive. We can only be grateful he helped keep up the spirit of Kamirithu.” About forty or so thespians had rehearsed and re-rehearsed their roles in Ngaahika Ndenda, which they performed for Ngugi and his wife. At times Ngugi rose and joined in on the entertainment. He was content. He was reestablishing the ties, re-remembering the faces and places he had forgotten. On Monday, August 9, after having left Mumbi and Thiong’o with family, Njeeri and Ngugi traveled to Kampala in Uganda, where Ngugi had attended Makerere University and earned his B.A. in English in 1964. He lectured there, saying he felt as at home in Uganda as he did in Kenya. On Wednesday, Njeeri and Ngugi returned to their Nairobi apartment where Kiragu met them a few hours later around 7:30 pm. They were staying at the Norfolk Apartment Towers, in a high-security area of Nairobi in between Harry Thaku and Kijabe Roads, about 400 meters away from the Central Police Station, in a complex surrounded by high walls, topped with electrical fencing, and patrolled by security and guard dogs. In the two-story apartment, Ngugi discussed with Kiragu the second round of touring that would soon start. Njeeri half-listened to their conversation while relaxing in her husband’s long loose tunic and pants, the same one he wore when they arrived in Kenya. She was exhausted by the day’s travels, and shortly before midnight she picked up a few scattered dishes to take to the kitchen before going to bed. A few seconds later, Ngugi rose to let Kiragu out so he, too, could retire for the evening. As he opened the door, instead of Kiragu going out, four men came in. They burned Ngugi’s forehead with a cigarette as he tried to keep them out. They had two guns and a glistening machete, so to resist them even more would have been foolish. They were most likely robbers – locals nicknamed the city Nairobbery. Njeeri looked out the kitchen and saw the men. What she had been told about robbers kicked in. Give them everything and they will leave you alone. They didn’t even have to ask her and she handed over her gold earrings, rings and wedding band. She emptied out her purse, gave them all the cash she had. Cellphones, take the cellphones. Ngugi’s laptop and rings? Take them. Why won’t they leave? Ransack the house, take whatever you want. Just take it and go! They stayed and stayed, started to get increasingly violent. They pulled Kiragu off to a bathroom. They dragged Ngugi to the living room, ordered him to sit in the corner as they muzzled him and covered him with a blanket. They moved Kiragu again. She saw Ngugi, held by the neck, her rapist pointing a gun to his temple. She grabbed the gun and held on. He slashed her forearm, sending blood gushing to the floor, but she refused to let go. Please, please! She remained focused on Ngugi; she knew if they wrung his neck too tightly the fresh stitches from his surgery would open. A main artery, and he would be gone. Okay, they would go back inside! They would go back in, yes quietly! Njeeri kept her grip on the barrel of the gun, and said she’d let go when they got back in. As soon as she and Ngugi crossed the threshold she let go and turned to swing the door closed. But not soon enough. The gun was stuck inside the doorway. No way was Njeeri going to let that door open so they could pull out their gun, or worse, get back in. She screamed for Kiragu to help them push the door. It was four against two. Where the hell is he?! Does he have the other gun? (continued on page 5 ) |
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