Atlantic Post

Last week, we were inundated with news of Ngugi wa Thiong’o’s corpse being cremated in the United States according to his wishes. The question is; why not bury him in Limuru, Kenya? Why not bury him on African soil?

In Africa, when a good man dies he becomes an ancestor, a mediator between the living and the pantheon of gods and other ancestors, an intercessor between the two worlds all for the wellbeing of the living. Bad men easily become evil spirits because that is what they can only become. This is beyond what words could express in the understanding of the African metaphysical universe. Ngugi wa Thiong’o was a good man and should naturally transmigrate into ancestorship upon death. A befitting grave should have been the expected point of contact, where we as Africans can pour libations to him as an ancestor.In the Ogba custom to which this writer belongs every man, every good man deserves a grave and if his corpse cannot be brought home, then a plantain trunk is used as replacement for the far-away corpse. He who comes from the womb of a mother must be buried in the womb of the earth for his soul to be accepted and for his spirit to rest well in the home of the ancestors.

Ngugi was not just only a good man, he was and will remain a literary and cultural icon till the end of time. I’m not sure anyone has the power to take that from him. He was permanently at the kitchen of cultural activities, dishing out ideas that enabled freedom to think and speak “from the heart”, not ones that limit imagination, not ones that treated thought forms with unfairdom. Having stated this, I’m pretty sure cremation is not part of the Kikuyu culture into which he was born. He was a deeply cultural person and at a point in his intellectual cum cultural rebellion against imperialism changed his name from James Ngugi to Ngugi wa Thiong’o and started writing his books in Gikuyu, the language of the Kikuyu culture. So, it would not be wrong to conclude that Ngugi was a deeply cultural African who believed in the progress of his African people. So, how did the idea of cremation emerge? Where did it come from?

Attempting to explain his decision (on cremation) could amount to presenting a snag in the thought process of almost every African hero. It may basically have nothing to do with any character flaw which could turn a man villain, a flaw which could turn him against everything he once believed in. At times, the hero begins to ask himself questions; “Is the long struggle worth all the trouble?” “Am I not just a human with a lifetime?” “Why not give up the struggle and have peace?” I suspect that Mandela came to that breaking point while in prison. He even began to study the language of the oppressor – Afrikaans. I can also see our Niger Delta hero, Ken Saro-Wiwa, standing by the gate of the University of Benin, imagining the “peace” he excluded from his own life through the struggle. Still, such moments will not make a man less of a hero.

The matter does not also have to do with the fundamental character flaw which pulls down every tragic hero. Okonkwo was to prove the ownership of his bravery up to the extent of killing a lad who reverently called him “father”. He was to also prove the righteousness of his anger against imperialism, ending up in suicide, which was an abomination in the land. Ngugi did not fall into this category because there was nothing tragic about his character. He finished strong, strong in character and intellect and never had cause to review his cultural intellection. He was a jolly good fellow who was well respected by those whose cultural overbearing he tore into shreds in his published works. He maintained an attitude of smiling clean and could dance in an outburst unsolicited.

There are writers who are born to create masterpieces. The masterpieces ascend like spirits and begin to have a life of their own. This scenario is similar to a parent whose child has a larger-than-life image through achievement and pedigree. The parent is then bound by unknown rules to accord his child the respect due him, but not without a satisfying smile. You could sense this feeling of distanced, yet associated achievement with Achebe reading and re-reading the Arrow of God and with Soyinka licking his lips while touching the pages of Death and the King’s Horseman, especially the ones related to the character, Olunde. In this light, Ngugi would easily be laughing while reading Weep Not, Child and marvel at difficult world of Njoroge. But still, in the depth of the world of a great writer he could fall into spasms of subtle envy of his own works and begin to marvel at how he could have been the creator, the timely receptor of the message of the muse. In this lies the inauguration of another kind of struggle. This almost always takes the writer into an overworld, where he lives outside himself, outside the universe of want. His physical being is thus discounted for an “outer” universal experience. You could call it subtle self-alienation, a kind of subterranean self-abnegation. Still, I believe I am at battle to explain it.

So, what was the problem?

Perhaps, it has to do with a fundamental alienation from the environments into which the hero was born. The writer, maybe, begins to observe that his immediate society is not making the needed progress that was embedded in his thoughts, at times with the shocking discovery that his society which needs to consolidate cultural progress made so far was undergoing a systematic programme of de-civilisation. In such moments in history the upheavals in leadership and politics were considered either basically pedestrian in content or of negative consequences. At such times when ideology is in crises the great African writer reverts into himself for psychological protection and would consider not much difference between local political adversaries and international ideological ones. They even view their local tormentors as appendages of global imperialism, who in actuality would want to outdo their masters in lugubrious viciousness. Hence, the African hero alienates himself and will not want his grave to be danced on after demise and interment. A case in point; During the Abacha years, Soyinka acquired a piece of land in the West Indies (with palpable vestiges of Yoruba culture) and instructed that in case of his demise, his enemies must not be given the opportunity of dancing on his grave, hence must be buried there. I’m not sure that decision taken in the heat of disillusionment with the Abacha junta will be allowed today by Soyinka himself or the Nigerian government for the man has become a national treasure. Neither will Soyinka permit cremation as Yoruba culture does not allow it. But then, we must be consoled by some facts.

The fact remains that Ngugi’s life and ideological choice was defined early in life by a fundamental complication which was not of his choice but it became his reality. The violent response of Kenyan Mau Mau militants to the violence of British rule led to a lot of brutality in the struggle. The struggle was meant to save the African soul from humiliation. He and his innocent world was basically caught in the crossfire and he responded by building a mental cocoon around himself and transforming into an intellectual militant. Hence, before he emerged he was already made. Post-independence leadership did not save the situation as successive leaders in Kenya went into overdrive in undermining social progress. Ngugi was even jailed without trial and his revolutionary ideas undermined by post-independence leaders.

According to Mark LeVine-

The murder of his deaf brother, killed by the British because he did not hear and obey soldiers’ orders to stop at a checkpoint, and the Mau Mau revolt that divided his other brothers on opposite sides of the colonial order during the final decade of British rule, imbued in him the foundational reality of violence and divisiveness as the twin engines of permanent coloniality even after independence formally severed the connection to the metropole. More than half a century after these events, nothing would arouse Ngugi’s animated ire more than bringing up in a discussion the transitional moment from British to Kenyan rule, and the fact that colonialism didn’t leave with the British, but rather dug in and reinforced itself with Kenya’s new, Kenyan rulers.

As in the case of Ngugi, let us accept the fact that he has transmigrated into an idea of African liberation through the written word. The cultural icon has become an eminent ancestor. Ngugi’s corpse could have been cremated but he definitely lives beyond his ash! The soul in the dust from the funeral pyre has been blown to the great beyond and we should be able to invoke his spirit from the wind. That soul shall on our behalf, intercede with other ancestors in the pantheon like Chinua Achebe, Nelson Mandela, Kenneth Kaunda, Leopold Sedar Senghor, Kofi Awoonor, Cyprian Ekwensi, Ken Saro-Wiwa, Okot p’BTek, Gabriel Okara, Elechi Amadi, T.M. Aluko, Christopher Okigbo, Mungo Beti, Tchikaya U’Tamsi and others. He should tell them that Black Africa is not doing well, but must also let them know there is a flicker of hope in Burkina Faso with the rise of an unusual warrior there.

With libations, permit me to speak straight to the wind harbouring the spirit of Ngugi wa Thiong’o. I take the liberty of an African poet to speak through the voice, the orature of the land to one of our newest ancestors.

Ngugi, born of the earth of Limuru, ordinary men and children do not go into the forest at night, they could see monsters. Great hunters do, and when they wander deeper, they confront beasts, monsters, ghosts and many other things only the deep can only tell the deep.

It is said that a hunter who goes into the forest must not return empty handed. If he cannot come home with a confused zebra, let him at least come back with a bush rat or the tail of a sick lion. Ngugi wa Thiong’o, you entered the thickest forest of African literature, confronted beasts, monsters, vampires and still brought home more than a bagful of meat you could not consume alone. You saw African liberation on Petals of Blood, and we admonished, ‘Weep Not, Child’. But when the child grew up and spoke out loud saying ‘I Will Marry When I Want’, we all knew it was the Birth of a Dream Weaver as he commenced Wrestling with the Devil. We also knew the child would someday succeed in Decolonizing the Mind of all Africans even if he had Dreams in Time of War. The child crossed The River Between and was ready to chain the Devil on the Cross. But then, we must first hold A Meeting in the Dark by This Time Tomorrow where The Black Hermit will be poised to strangle the Wizard of the Crow and bring to an end The Trial of Dedan Kimathi. This he can do only with The Barrel of the Pen. There will be no space for The Rebels for we have had enough Wounds in The Heart. Yes, we were destined not to live long and well In the House of an Interpreter as we will begin to savour our Minutes of Glory because we have started speaking The Language of the Languages.

Yes, Ngugi wa Thiong’o, the warrior of the tribe of Kikuyu, you spoke the global language of languages, the language against imperialism, against internal colonialism and against state terrorism. You spoke for harmony in the community of humanity through social justice. In this you succeeded in picking a bold marker and making a permanent mark! It was this quintessence that resurged the fundament, that idea which you represent. That idea is a child that will not stop growing till the end of time.

Ngugi wa Thiong’o, the son of Africa, you have gone into the forest of African literature and returned home well. May you live well in the pantheon of our great ancestors…. Isee!