By Gabriele Schwab, Distinguished Professor of Comparative Literature
Ngũgĩ has left our world but is still with us.
Kena muthenya uyu, kena muthenya uyu Ngũgĩ, waku wa nguciarwo.
After darkness came light
That shone on all things
My heart waits patiently
For love to rule my life.
This is the favorite song of a woman character in Ngũgĩ's Wizard of the Crow, a monumental novel that is in many ways a culmination of his earlier work. The lines of this song also perfectly comprise the spirit of Ngũgĩ's life, a spirit he brought with him to UCI, only to change the Humanities virtually overnight with the opening of the International Center for Writing and Translation (ICWT) in January of 2001. With the ICWT’s inaugural event, Ngũgĩ's presence and the Center changed the life and spirit of our campus. Ngũgĩ brought us something we never had before: a diversity of voices and writers from all over the world, a visible presence of indigenous people and a continual engagement with people who come together in their commitment toward the decolonization of today’s world. Ngũgĩ was truly “moving the center.” Within a few years he had created a veritable intellectual and literary community, including people from all over campus and from the larger community. For me, this time could still be a model for all of us, especially in today’s world when everything Ngũgĩ stood for is increasingly under assault.
Perhaps one of the most invaluable gifts Ngũgĩ has brought us is the gift of joy. The events at the ICWT dealt with some of the hardest problems of today’s world, including continued racism, discrimination, environmental destruction, violation of human and civil rights and the global attack on indigenous cultures and languages around the world. Yet the spirit at the ICWT was one of joy, resilience and survival energy. How much we could benefit from holding on to – if not reviving – this spirit in today’s hard times!
“We need mirrors to see our shadows. We need mirrors to see other people’s shadows cross ours,” says the Wizard of the Crow. Ngũgĩ had a rare talent to hold a mirror up to us to make us see our shadows. In his mirror we see the dark shadow of our times. Ngũgĩ never stopped his work against worldwide oppression. Our last joint conference was in Santiago de Chile, and I have a video of Ngũgĩ taking dance steps to the podium where he delivered his keynote. He was still flying all over the world in his early eighties to lecture. High in the air, he looked down on our world, composing his vision from yet another new angle, more driven than ever, restless even, passionate to give all he could, as long as he could. Down below we earthlings are continuing to look in awe at what he brought to us. Here are some of the unforgettable things I will always remember:
After joining us at UCI, Ngũgĩ started our first official meeting with the words: “I want to bribe you” and proceeded to invite me to organize a panel with indigenous poets and writers at the ICWT’s inaugural event. He wanted indigenous voices to open his Center. I remember that there was a man in the audience who suffered from toxic masculinity and attacked the Hawaiian speaker Haunani-Kay Trask. Just at the time when the uproar threatened to erupt into a fist fight, Ngũgĩ stepped up to the podium, stood right next to me and started drumming full force on the African drum he had brought in rare foresight. A shadow of silence fell upon the audience before we peacefully resumed our discussion.
Unforgettable also were Ngũgĩ's readings at my annual New Year’s party that had been going on for almost 20 years until the pandemic enforced a temporary stop. This is where we had the rare privilege to hear Ngũgĩ read from each of his new books before it was published, including more recently his autobiography. We usually ended with a dance party and Ngũgĩ, a passionate dancer, always liked to open the party by dancing with me.
For Ngũgĩ's 70th Birthday, I organized a huge festival at Crystal Cove Auditorium. The poetry readings featured Sonia Sanchez, Simon Ortiz and Mũkoma wa Ngũgĩ. Angela Davis gave a speech and as a grand finale the renowned Chinese musician and composer Liu Sola and the African dancer Koffi Kôkô performed African dance to Chinese music. The room was packed, the audience ecstatic and Ngũgĩ, happy as a clam, danced his way out to the reception.
I also have fond memories of the time when we travelled together to a conference in Düsseldorf, organized by my colleague and friend Vittoria Borsò. The conference was fabulous, featuring an international group of writers and critics, and included a visit to the famous Translation Institute in Strahlen. But what I most remember is one late night after dinner, when my friend who is the daughter of a famous opera singer introduced Ngũgĩ to opera and sang to him from Aida. Ngũgĩ had not known there was an opera that featured an Ethiopian princess. We ended up walking through the night, singing and dancing through the streets in Düsseldorf. I don’t think I have ever seen Ngũgĩ happier.
I could go on and on. Memories have accumulated over the years from the times we shared, the turbulence of our lives and that of our children, from holidays we celebrated together or even from the dark times full of sorrow and traumatic ruptures. Through all of those, Ngũgĩ showed himself deeply vulnerable and emotionally present while also standing firm like an old oak. In his first address to the press after the brutal attacks in Kenya, he said: “My voice is not back yet, but the spirit is strong. We should not let people who do not like what we are doing kill the spirit. This is my country for better or for worse. It is upon me and everybody else to make it a better place.”
What better inspiration and challenge can anyone give us when it comes to trying to make the country in which we have all chosen to live a better place? Today we need Ngũgĩ's challenge more than ever. Thank you, Ngũgĩ. We will always love you and never forget you.
On November 13-14, we will be holding a celebration of the life and work of Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o. We hope you can join us.