The passing of Professor Ngugi wa Thiong’o is a profound loss to 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 world, I felt lost and in desperate need of mentorship. During this time, I had a pivotal encounter with Mukoma wa Ngugi at the Winternachten Festival in The Hague in 2019. After reviewing my work, he kindly shared his father’s contact details and encouraged me to reach out. I remain immensely grateful to Mukoma for his generosity.
Initially, I was hesitant to make that call, seeking guidance elsewhere instead. Yet, in a particularly challenging moment, I recalled Professor Ngugi’s number. Summoning all my courage, I dialled, fully prepared for rejection.
To my surprise, our first conversation was warm and supportive. I introduced myself and shared my writing journey. He was incredibly encouraging, offering invaluable advice and asking me to send him my Swahili work. He was delighted and even offered to write a foreword for my books. This led to regular bi-weekly phone calls.
Our conversations were simple, but deeply enriching. He would often remind me gently, “Anyachi, don’t forget your mother tongue… your mother tongue, please…” I assured him I would continue writing in my mother tongue.
He shared captivating stories from his youth in Tigoni, especially about his mother. “That lady had supernatural powers,” he said.
He told of a night when he was about 13, staying at a friend’s home in Limuru during a cold July. They had left a jiko burning for warmth. In the dead of night, his mother knocked loudly on the wooden door, waking him. Though groggy, he opened the door, recognising her voice.
She had sensed danger and walked five kilometres through the night to rescue him. Leaving the door open, she woke his friend and dragged him outside. That night, she saved two young lives—one of whom would inspire generations of African scholars and writers.
These stories, along with the informal lessons from our conversations, will stay with me forever. His wisdom, humour, and constructive criticism came from deep experience and generosity.
Last week, I completed translating my first children’s book, Nasuma and the Ogres. I called him on Sunday to share the news. He was in a noisy place but jovially said, “Anyachi, let me call you back…” Those were his last words to me.
Professor Ngugi dedicated his life to instilling pride in our African heritage and relentlessly advocated for preserving African languages and revitalising African scholarship.
Another underestimated virtue was his openness and availability. He welcomed anyone who sought his counsel—offering guidance freely, never demanding payment for his wisdom.
Today, we face a crisis in intergenerational mentorship—a vital tool for preserving African heritage and understanding our place in the world. This is one of the greatest challenges Mwalimu Ngugi leaves us: to those who have “made it” and broken barriers, I ask— Are you mentoring a young person freely, or are you gatekeeping?
By Odilia Anyachi Okonga