Come All and Have Your Mind Colonized by Ngugi

          Good evening, fellow bloggers and readers!  Salama to you all!  I was unable to find the translation for hello in Gikuyu, an oral language of Kenya.   Not just any oral language, it is the same language that Ngugi wa Thiong'o speaks and works for.  The Kenyan author gave me fantastic insight on the life of Africans affected by white colonization.  Folks, what I'm about to discuss will shock and disturb you.  As an educated person born in the U.S., English has been my first language.  For the Africans, my language has caused pain and sorrow, on many levels.
         A recurring motif for Ngugi's writing has been the affects that white European colonization has on the minds of black Africans.  One example is how the Africans had to leave their home and travel to Europe to receive an education.  It wasn't an education pertaining to their society or language, but rather the white European society and their language.  It would be infuriating to me if I had to travel to some other country and learn their language, in order to be considered an accepted intellectual.  Many Africans learned English simply to try to create a new written language for their mother-tongue.  I had so much respect for them when I heard this!  I thought, "Way to stick it to the man!"  However, this education had a very negative, emotional impact on the Africans.  Ngugi once said:  "See the paradox:  the possibility of using mother-tongues provokes a tone of levity in phrases like 'a dreadful betrayal' and 'a guilty feeling'; but that of foreign languages produces a categorical positive embrace."  He later explains the colonization of the European mindset in these European educated Africans:  "The fact is that all of us who opted for European languages...accepted that fatalistic logic to a greater or lesser degree."  Did a chill go down your spine as well?  That's not even the tip of the iceberg:  at school, Africans would be beaten for speaking in their mother-tongue.  Now, knowing this, Ngugi takes on the colonial mindset and criticizes those who give in to such beliefs.
          I preferred Ngugi's story titled "Wedding at the Cross" for a few reasons.  I was able to see how people are often forced to live in synchretism (NOTE:  Having contrasting belief systems, yet believing both.).  Poor Miriamu watched her husband become a lost soul amongst the European's graveyard of Africans.  This reminds me of watching someone you love changing into a different person, right before your eyes, but there is nothing you can do to stop it.  Well, she tries by going along with it, which had to have been very difficult for her (psychologically).  I was very happy that she told Mr. Livingston no at the alter, freeing her mind from the looming threat of colonization!  I avoid threats of colonization that lurk in my Cosmo and People magazines:  those ever-thinning, cosmetic surgery, yes, Botox-fiending celebs of Hollywood!  Ahh!  
           However, I did find myself having more of a connection with Ngugi's "Minutes of Glory."  Beatrice and Nyaguthu both had many transitions dealing with who they are as a person.  I, myself, have done the same.  After I broke up with my high school boyfriend, I was just heading into college.  I had to stop grieving and evaluate myself, not all the memories.  What was I going to do now?  What career should I make for myself?  What kind of goals are important to me?  All of these things helped shape me into the (I would say good-hearted) hard-working person that I am today.  I have nowhere to go but up in this world and I wish that Beatrice would have given herself the chance to do that!  Seriously, she spit and was arrested, what an ending.
          Ngugi, you have opened my eyes to the struggles of the inner self.  How is that people so often form this power over others?  It is upsetting and I am glad you are writing about it!  I was a little worried about the gender bias that often left women in the story deriving power from prostitution, but it was an actual occurrence at the time.   I will continue to read your stories because I don't mind the positive colonization of my mind!

Gordimer’s Pen Keeps the Flame of Justice Burning

Good evening fellow bloggers and readers!  I would like to take this time now to reflect upon my high school education.  Um, where was Apartheid?  Hello!  Why wasn't I taught about this shameful occurrence in the world's history?  Why wasn't I taught more about Africa in general?  I am outraged tonight:  by my lack of knowledge until now and also, by the actions of my fellow humanity.

          For those who are unfamiliar with the term, I'd like one to get acquainted.  Apartheid was the heinous crime which ruled South Africa and Namibia from 1948 to 1993.  The new legislation, comprised of the minority of white people, had won the general election in1948 and began to enforce a system of legal racial segregation.  This was a horrible time!   People were classified merely as white, colored, black, or Indian.  Black Africans were deprived of their citizenship and many became slaves to white men.  I was horrified to learn about this oppression. I am ashamed of such history.  Take note, friends, for mistakes happen so that we learn from them and try to do all in one's power to not have them repeated.
           More importantly, mistakes happen so that we may grow from them.  The South African writer Nadine Gordimer frequently wrote about the Apartheid.  I quickly took a liking to her short stories because they were different from anything I've read so far, in one way:  she speaks for all people.  I recently learned more about Gordimer in my Women in Literature course.  The Nobel Prize winning writer is also a political activist.  She had been a member of the African National Congress in the anti-Apartheid movement and has recently been active in HIV/AIDS causes.  Gordimer once said:
            “The writer seems to have more responsibility for human rights than anyone else in the arts…When we come to the relationship of writers to their society, to an oppressive society, the word carries tremendous weight…writers have to accept this special responsibility for defending human rights…to move away from writing to acting.”
            I have the utmost respect and admiration for the way Gordimer carries out this responsibility which she has taken upon herself. In her short story “Amnesty,” Gordimer’s characters remain nameless.  Without names, the characters would represent anyone, and everyone as a whole, which is what she had intended.  I found the reverse of this situation in her other short story, “Six Feet of the Country.”  In this short story, Gordimer left the narrator nameless.  He is nameless because he represents the scared, naïve, minority white man.  Or should I say, “Baas man?”  I believe that the narrator could also represent, speaking in times of the Apartheid, the white man’s imperialistic system.  I would like to think of it as this:  a criticism of the very system that oppressed the Africans.  I would like to thank Nadine Gordimer for her bravery in moving from writing to acting.  I am fortunate to have read her literature, which has grown out of her “life as a writer, out of [her] necessity to act upon the social fabric around [her] and to be acted upon by it, to be a part of it.”   

Just So, We Meet Again At Last, Achebe

          Good evening fellow bloggers and readers!  Over our past week of separation, I was fortunate to have read the works of Chinua Achebe.  The tales of African literature have certainly mesmerized me thus far.  However, I must admit that when Professor Benander mentioned reading Achebe, it was not my first acquaintance with the great Nigerian author.  My first Achebe experience occurred when I was a freshman in high school.  My English teacher assigned the class to read Achebe's novel Things Fall Apart.  While reading Achebe's short stories "An Image of Africa," "Girls at War," and "The Madman," I felt a certain familiarity in his text.  Achebe's stories are connected by common themes that are very important to Achebe in the real world.
          I was reminded of my own values of karma when I read Achebe's short story "Girls at War."  I immediately took a liking to the character of Gladys, who was a strong-willed feminist.  Due to recent events in my life, I have developed a more liberal view on life.  Gladys makes me think of another woman in my life, who is often oppressed by others' opinions of what makes her happy.  Nothing could outrage me more than this!  This woman's right to marry was turned down like how Gladys' right to join the militia was turned down.  I was glad to see Gladys working for the Red Cross, fighting in her own way for liberation.  The truly sad part of this story was the depth of corruption and greed.  I was very saddened to read of Gladys selling her body to live day to day.  It made me consider what I would do in her situation.  Honestly, I do not believe I would be strong enough to survive it.  Gladys was a good person who had no other choice but to become an entrepreneur in her own way.           
         On the other side of the story, Nwankwo was loading up on goods and food for his family without sparing some for others.  The greedy Nwankwo said naively, "one cannot help the crowds" and so he only helped himself.  If I were in his situation, I would definitely give some type of food to others.  It is the right thing to do, morally!  I truly believe that if one is able to provide for others, one should do so.  This is why I was so angered at the end of the story!  The morally good Gladys dies trying to save the wounded soldier, while Nwankwo saves himself and lives.  This irony lives when bad things happen for good reasons or when good things happen for bad reasons.  However, I wondered, did Nwankwo survive so that he may now live with the regret of his morally bad behavior?  I would certainly like to think so.

Mnthali Rightfully Strangleholds the English Lit. I Know and Love!

          Moni fellow bloggers and readers!  Moni is supposedly the translation for hello in Malawi (I really hope about.com is right about this one).  Speaking of Malawi, it's author Felix Mnthali has taught me some other things.  More important things which have been overlooked by our imperialistic society.  Mnthali's poem "The Stranglehold of English Lit." nearly shouted at me from it's page.  How could I have been so blind?  I am ashamed that I have not realized our literature poisons the roots of Africa and is killing them at their core.  Mnthali gives an outraged voice to his homeland of the oppressed in his probing poem.
         Africans are multi-lingual people, for their land is comprised of many different tribes and indigenous peoples.  The natives of Africa pass on strong oral traditions as opposed to written traditions.  The reason for this is because most African languages cannot be written using standard alphabets.  They mix sounds with letters to create their words, and I love how unique this is.  I truly wish I could learn many, or even all, of these languages because they fascinate me!  I also wish that I could help these people write their language!  Unfortunately, imperialism has destroyed their traditions from the way it educates them.  Many Africans have to learn English to even attempt to write their language.  Can one imagine learning the values and traditions of a society that has oppressed oneself?  It is infuriating and degrading!  This is exactly what upsets Mnthali and I was glad to finally realize this.  
          Mnthali refers to his fellow Africans who have left to Europe for an education as the dispossessed.  The word itself is haunting.  What may be more haunting is the truth to his choice.  I can only imagine how angry these Africans are to leave their home just to receive an education that defaces their heritage with the views of the very people who oppressed them!  Oh my!  Ngugi explains this as "a case of black skins in white linguistic masks."  Mnthali brings up another good point in this light, when he states, "those questions/ stand/ stab/ jab/ and gore/ too close to the centre!"  The questions he is referring to are those that the literature of other countries pose, which absolutely do not help the Africans.  Africans do not care about the societal woes of Jane Austen or Shakespeare's "Hamlet."  The problems of our imperialistic society do not matter to these souls.  What matters to Africans, I'd say, is the revival and continuation of their traditions.  I hope their English education does not destroy their pride, and instead, enlivens it.  For once they know the alphabet, they can write their own words of wisdom to share with the world.