Dreams in a Time of War

The loss of livestock leads Thiong’o to complete despair. He stops farming and drinks incessantly. He abandons his thingira and moves into the house of his youngest wife, a preference that disrupts the balance of harmony among his wives. He also waylays his spouses and children for money, demanding their wages at the end of the work week. Most troubling for Ngũgĩ, his father beats his wives, which he rarely did before. He directs most of his anger against Wanjikũ, Ngũgĩ’s mother, often taking her harvest money. One day she resists, and Thiong’o beats her terribly, causing her to flee the house with only her clothes. She finds refuge at her parents’ homestead, leaving Ngũgĩ and his younger brother behind. Ngũgĩ and Njingũ expect their father to go to their grandparents’ home to plead forgiveness and bring their mother back, but this does not happen. The other wives help take care of the boys. Unexpectedly, their father calls for them one day and tells them, “I want you to stop playing with my children. Go follow your mother” (96). Ngũgĩ runs to retrieve his school materials and Old Testament stories and then leaves his father’s homestead to join his mother.

Unlike his paternal grandfather, Ngũgĩ’s maternal grandfather (whom he is named after) has ancestral roots in Limuru and is regarded as the head and trustee of the extended family. Initially, Ngũgĩ’s grandfather assumes that Thiong’o will follow customary procedures and “sue for the return of his wife” (99). Divorce is not common in their society, as bridewealth (marriage payments, usually in the form of livestock) complicates formal separations. Since Thiong’o does not claim his wife, Wanjikũ is left “in limbo” in her father’s home (100). Eventually Ngũgĩ’s grandfather allows her to build a home on his property that accommodates all of her children.

While his family has a place to live, Ngũgĩ worries about how his mother will pay for his school tuition. He embarks on several money-making schemes that involve a lot of effort but do not earn him much money. Ngũgĩ also spends a significant amount of time with his grandfather who asks him to read and write letters and views him as a good luck omen.

Up to this point, it is not clear why Ngũgĩ leaves Kamandũra school for Manguo. Here, he provides historical context to the establishment of these schools and their differences, as summed up by the terms “Kĩrore” and “Karĩng’a” (111). In early colonial Kenya, the British government gave missionary societies the responsibility of educating African students. Ngũgĩ notes the benefits of these schools, as they provided medical care and taught basic literacy and technical skills. But he also explains that their main purpose was to proselytize: “Successful conversion was measured by how quickly, deeply, and thoroughly one divested oneself of one’s culture and adopted new practices and values” (111). Ngũgĩ provides the example of the practice of circumcision and how missionaries forced teachers and school agents to sign documents to disavow it. As he writes, “Kidole, the Swahili word for ‘thumbprint,’ became kĩrore in Gĩkũyũ and evolved into a pejorative term for those who signed or agreed to the declaration” (112). Increasingly, missionary schools were seen as proxies for colonial control and subordination.

In response, teachers and students left these schools and joined the African Independent School Movement—a movement influenced by the politics of Harry Thuku and Marcus Garvey who promoted values of self-reliance and “Africa for the Africans” (113). In 1933 and 1934 two organizations were developed to oversee these schools, the Kikuyu Karĩng’a Education Association (KKEA) and the Kikuyu Independent Schools Association (KISA). The term Karĩng’a refers to ideas of self-direction and characterizes schools that are part of KKEA and KISA. As Ngũgĩ explains, Kamandũra is a Kĩrore school and Manguo is a Karĩng’a school.

For many Kenyans, English language learning is a key difference between Kĩrore and Karĩng’a schools. Karĩng’a schools promote English early in the curriculum to help students advance towards goals of self-reliance. However, Ngũgĩ notes that English language acquisition was equivalent at Kamandũra and Manguo since his teachers all had the same training. For Ngũgĩ, the main difference between the schools resides with a competing ethos of individuality and communality. As he writes, “When I think back on Kamandũra, what pops up are images of church, silent prayer, and individual achievement; in Manguo, images of performance, public spectacle, and a sense of community” (115). Ngũgĩ provides examples of achievement in sports and academics to highlight the differences between Kamandũra and Manguo. He also notes his mother’s pride when one of his essays is read aloud to the school assembly at Manguo, honoring her and his wider community.

Ngũgĩ is a talented singer, and his older brother Good Wallace enjoys showing him off to his friends. They call Ngũgĩ “Mzee” (Elder), which is a term of respect, and he in turn calls his brother’s friends Mzee too. One day Ngũgĩ hears a song that elicits strong emotions within him. A friend of his brother Ngandi Njũgũn, explains that the song narrates how Europeans took land from Africans on multiple occasions, forcing them into settlements like Ole Ngurueni that then are taken away from them too. In this case, the residents of Ole Ngurueni refuse to leave and are forced into trucks like cattle. Ngandi compares this “tale of displacement, exile, and loss” to the history of Kenya in general and notes that the people’s resistance is “a harbinger of things to come” (128).

Through Ngandi, Ngũgĩ learns more about colonial oppression and develops a greater awareness of political events and key figures in the resistance movement. Ngandi receives his educational training at the Kenya Teachers’ College at Gĩthũngũri, an institute that opened in 1939 and is renowned for its “commitment to producing teachers who would provide African children with unlimited, unbiased knowledge, enabling them to compete with the best that the government and missionary schools offered” (132). Ngũgĩ provides a history of the college, linking its creation to Mbiyũ Koinange, a famous Kenyan who attends Hampton Institute in 1927 and Ohio Wesleyan College in 1935. Mbiyũ earns his master’s degree in education at Columbia University and returns to Kenya in 1938 to help his father establish the first “African-run, community-owned college” that is inspired by the Booker T. Washington’s Tuskegee Institute and Garveyite concepts of self-reliance (130). To fund the school, Kenyans donate money, supplies, and their labor through competitions based on traditional age-sets.

Ngũgĩ also tells the story of a woman named Njeri who visits the school and is shocked by the inferior living quarters of the female students. She organizes other women to donate building materials and creates a women’s movement that is taken up throughout the country.

From Ngandi’s teachings, Ngũgĩ learns about historical figures, like Waiyaki wa Hinga who welcomes European explorers but is betrayed by them and mounts a resistance in 1891, which ultimately fails. Ngandi also keeps Ngũgĩ abreast of current events, like referring to the political struggles of Jomo Kenyatta, who eventually becomes the first president of Kenya. Ngũgĩ writes that many of his discussions and debates with Ngandi take on a sense of biblical greatness. He also becomes highly aware of injustices in other countries. For instance, he addresses the policy of apartheid in South Africa and compares it to what is happening in Kenya, as Europeans propose a “royal charter” to make Nairobi a whites-only city that removes Africans from residing there legally (139). Africans protest the royal charter and go on strike, contributing to a growing call for independence that the colonial government tries to suppress with the banning of the Mau Mau movement in 1950. Ngũgĩ ends the chapter by describing his close encounter with Mbiyũ, whom he sees on a path near his sister’s home. Ngũgĩ vows to meet Kenyatta, whom he believes will frequent the Limuru marketplace where Good Wallace works.

Ngũgĩ describes Good Wallace as his “mother’s first major success” (146). Born in 1930, Good Wallace attends Manguo school for a few years, but leaves to work as an apprentice typist. Not satisfied with this profession, he tries carpentry and becomes highly skilled. He sets up his own shop in an area associated with Indian artisans. The owner of the shop is resentful of Good Wallace’s success and forces him to relocate. Good Wallace establishes a new workshop and furniture store in the Limuru marketplace and his best friend, Kahanya wa Njue, as an apprentice. He actively discourages Ngũgĩ from learning carpentry since he wants him to focus on his studies.

In October 1952, Ngũgĩ hears a radio broadcast that details the political assassination of a senior chief. A few weeks later, authorities arrest numerous Kenyan leaders, including Kenyatta, and the governor declares a state of emergency. Ngũgĩ writes of the irony of the British prime minister, Winston Churchill, relying on Kenyan soldiers during World War II but then declaring war on them a few years later. He describes the proliferation of British troops who arrive to support colonial forces and the increasing repression of African civil liberties under martial law. During this time, the government criminalizes all songs and references to Mau Mau, Kenyatta, and Mbiyũ and bans all KISA and Karĩng’a schools, forcing Ngũgĩ to stop his studies. Large numbers of internal refugees from different ethnic groups—Gĩkũyũ, Embu, and Meru—arrive in Limuru, displaced from their lands and homes in central Kenya.

One of these displaced peoples is Ngũgĩ’s maternal grandmother, Gathoni. She does not get along with Ngũgĩ’s grandfather and stays with Ngũgĩ’s mother. Gathoni suffers from an injury, most likely a mild stroke, that impairs the functioning of her left arm. Doctors cannot help her fully recover, and she believes someone put a curse on her, possibly her husband’s youngest wife. Gathoni seeks out a traditional healer who takes out shards of glass from her body. Gathoni is resentful about her condition and makes it difficult for people to live with her, especially Ngũgĩ’s mother who cannot please Gathoni no matter what she does.

One day, the police round up and execute several prominent men in Limuru, including one of Ngũgĩ’s neighbors. His grandfather is fearful that the authorities will kill him and hides in his daughter’s home. Gathoni becomes more pleasant but reverts to sullenness once Ngũgĩ’s grandfather returns home. The week before she dies, Gathoni is kind again and informs Ngũgĩ that he is ready to become a man. He must participate in a circumcision ceremony with other boys his age. Ngũgĩ’s mother worries that her mother might leave a curse on them if her wishes are unfulfilled and decides that Ngũgĩ must participate in the initiation rite.