Decolonising the Mind: The Politics of Language in African Literature is a powerful book on the relationship between language, culture, and identity in postcolonial Africa. Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o posits a core argument that African literature must be written by Africans in the indigenous African languages.
This is an important book that cannot be read and returned to the shelf. It demands regular revisiting and constant conscious public discourse. I learned a lot of things, but most importantly that language is not only a form of communication but, even critically, a carrier of culture.
In an era marked by the proliferation of artificial intelligence (AI) products, which are trained on data sets from the Global North, it is imperative that we advocate for the proper inclusion of African indigenous languages. Otherwise, they will be facing the precarious risk of extinction. It is because of this that we must agitate and strongly advocate for our languages. For the sake of retaining our cultures. Ngũgĩ assures us that this is possible and lays out an elaborate framework for achieving it.
Of course, Ngũgĩ’s argument does not lack limitations. First, the book’s subtitle is “The politics of language in African literature” for a reason. He acknowledges that the language question cannot be solved “outside the large arena of economics and politics, or outside the answer to the question of what society wants”. Other elements must be looked at, together with language, for a successful decolonization.
This is clearly illustrated in the “Nairobi Literature Debate,” when he laments that despite the reforms that were outlined, English was still the “linguistic medium of the debate; and of the temporary solutions” of the subsequent conferences on the same subject matter.
This speaks to the nuanced and pragmatic nature of the problem that Ngũgĩ is grappling with. It is a complex matter that requires multiple perspectives, not just a political lens. Ngũgĩ’s writings are significantly shaped by Frantz Fanon’s ideologies on colonialism, and this is the lens through which he dissects the politics of language.
This raises a fundamental question: Can Ngũgĩ’s approach of imperialistic tradition vs. resistance tradition be challenged by a different one that arrives at a different conclusion? Or does Gabriel Okara’s argument on the Africanization of English through literal translation and proper utilization of African philosophies, folklore, and imagery offer this approach, but perhaps inconclusively?
Okara’s opinion leans toward Chinua Achebe, who famously asserted in his essay, The African Writer and the English Language, that “I have been given [English language] and I intend to use it.”
In public discourses, it can be easy to overlook chapters two and three of the book. I partly blame Ngũgĩ for this for overusing his previous bodies of work to relay his arguments. Although important for adding context, I found the excerpt from I Will Marry When I Want to be too long in The Language of African Theater chapter. I must admit, however, that I really enjoyed the excerpt.
But my point is that these chapters are equally important and should not fall under the guillotine of public discourse. The Language of African Theater, for instance, has much potential in Africa. Aren’t we tired of watching Western-themed movies that have flooded Netflix in the past decade or so?
Similarly, The Language of African Fiction can lead us to embark on writing stories in our mother tongues to ground our generation and the future ones in their indigenous cultures. It is unfortunate that yours truly can no longer write in Dholuo despite spending a good chunk of his childhood in rural Kenya, where the primary language is the aforementioned.
Now, it must not be assumed that Ngũgĩ is completely against the learning and utilization of the English language. If so, he could have resolved to conduct his interviews and write his essays in Gikuyu. Contrary to that assumption, he primarily advocated for the centrality of our local languages.
This is clearly illustrated in the saga that ensued as a result of the proposal by Dr James Stewart to the Arts Faculty Board for the development of the English Department at the University of Nairobi in 1968. Ngũgĩ and co.’s plausibly recalcitrant reaction to Stewart’s proposal was due to their “questioning of the underlying assumption that the English tradition and emergence of the modern West were the central root of Kenya’s and Africa’s consciousness and cultural heritage.” Not because English should not be taught at the university.
Ngũgĩ’s faction believed that African literature should be at the center of the English Department so that “we can view other cultures in relation to it”. They also believed that an African child should be exposed to foreign literature because they cannot live on an island, isolated from the rest of the world.
