Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o: Words of Inspiration

DAR ES SALAAM: NGŨGĨ wa Thiong’o, a towering figure in African literature, is no more. He passed away on Wednesday, May 28, 2025, at the age of 87. His death marks the end of an era, but his words and work continue to live on, inspiring generations of readers and writers across Africa and beyond. …

DAR ES SALAAM: NGŨGĨ wa Thiong’o, a towering figure in African literature, is no more. He passed away on Wednesday, May 28, 2025, at the age of 87.

His death marks the end of an era, but his words and work continue to live on, inspiring generations of readers and writers across Africa and beyond.

I first met Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o—then known as James Ngugi—in the early 1970s when I was a student of Literature in English at the University of Dar es Salaam.

During his visits to Dar es Salaam, he often stayed with his fellow countryman, Grant Kamenju, who was one of our Literature lecturers.

Whenever Ngũgĩ visited, Grant Kamenju would invite a few of us literature students to his home, where we would sit and engage in conversations over drinks and snacks.

That is how I came face to face with Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o. Our discussions ranged from literature in general to African literature in particular.

“What is African literature?” someone asked. Ngũgĩ gave a profound and memorable answer—one that continues to resonate with me today.

He also visited our Literature in English class multiple times during my three years at the University.

These sessions gave us the rare privilege of engaging him directly on topics such as mental colonisation, cultural imperialism and the urgent need for African intellectual and cultural selfliberation—all recurring themes in his works.

Ngũgĩ lamented deeply how many Africans had embraced Eurocentrism, valuing European cultures while dismissing African traditions as primitive—an outlook inherited from colonial narratives.

His sentiments echoed the powerful voice of Okot p’Bitek in Song of Lawino, another regular visitor to our class, who used literature to affirm African identity and challenge cultural subjugation.

Ngũgĩ, in both his writings and public lectures, championed the self-affirmation of African identity and cultural values.

In 1986, he authored his seminal work Decolonising the Mind, in which he advocated for reclaiming African languages, traditions and perspectives.

His call was clear: Africans must listen to the voice of reason, as echoed by figures like Albert Luthuli who once declared, “I am an African, an African by birth and inclination,” and artists like James Brown who cried out, “I’m Black and I’m proud.”

One unforgettable moment occurred after one of Ngũgĩ’s classroom presentations.

Instead of asking questions, we—the students—turned our energy to critiquing his novels The River Between, Weep Not, Child, A Grain of Wheat, and his play The Black Hermit.

With youthful enthusiasm and a little arrogance, we tore the texts apart with intense criticism. Yet Ngũgĩ sat calmly, composed, and never interrupted.

When we had finally exhausted our barrage of critiques, he looked at us with a smile and said, “Those are my novels and play. You write yours.”

His tone was not defensive—it was empowering. At first, we thought he was being arrogant because of his fame.

ALSO READ: Giant of African literature Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o gone at 87

Some students at the back of the class even muttered under their breath in protest. Once calm was restored, Ngũgĩ elaborated:

“It’s my novels and play that provoked you to say what you said. Your critique was so good that, as I sat here quietly listening, a new novel was already taking shape in my mind. That’s how we generate knowledge.”

That moment changed me. His words—“These are my novels and play. You write yours”—became my personal inspiration.

I made a vow to write my own novels and plays when I completed my studies.

In my final year, I wrote a play titled The Struggle for Mozambique Continues, for my Playwriting course in the Department of Theatre Arts. It depicted the armed liberation struggle in Mozambique.

Thanks to Alberto Chissano, then Head of the FRELIMO Mission in Tanzania, I was granted access to FRELIMO’s printing press at Kurasini—now the Dr Salim Ahmed Salim Centre for Diplomacy— where I gathered the resources needed to write the play.

It was first staged by students from Azania Secondary School. Since then, I have authored two novels:

• Black Mercenaries, set in a fictional African country called Zamoza, is based on an abortive coup d’état in the late 1960s.

It follows the alliance between disgruntled former cabinet ministers and soldiers attempting to overthrow the government.

Though fictional, the story is deeply rooted in Tanzanian political history.

• Distant Destination explores Tanzania’s postindependence socialist journey under the Arusha Declaration of 1967.

It critiques the gap between the policy’s ideals and the lack of commitment from both leadership and the general public.

I dedicated the novel to Mwalimu Julius Kambarage Nyerere, with the words: “For his tireless efforts to build a socialist Tanzania without socialist Tanzanians.”

As I reflect on Ngũgĩ’s passing, I am reminded that his challenge to “write your own” was more than just a retort—it was a call to action.

He ignited in me, and many others, a desire to contribute our own voices to African literature. Rest in peace, Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o.

Your inspiration lives on. Your words gave me the courage to create.

Even though my works have not yet reached their intended audience—especially students of Literature in English in our secondary schools—they exist because you challenged us to write our own.

• Dr Samwilu Mwaffisi is a Lecturer at Tumaini University Dar es Salaam College (DarTU)