Finding the Courage to be who I am

Ngugi has a problem with the treatment of the national languages of Africa. After reading The Language of African Literature I do not know how anyone cannot, at the very least, have an understanding for his frustration. African languages were not permitted in the classroom. Children were taught in English and in a very sly way, taught that their own languages were not good enough. My favorite sentence from the excerpt is so painfully descriptive. “The physical violence of the battlefield was followed by the psychological violence of the classroom.” In denial, people try to justify and trivialize what was being done. I cannot imagine having my native language treated in such a way. What would it be like to be forced to learn about my own culture and history in Japanese? And why on earth would I want to learn my history in another language? What if myself and my fellow Americans were viewed by the world as ignorant, because “oh, theeey speak English! Their literature is not worth reading or even considering, because it is written in English.”? I would be just as outraged as Ngugi is over what is being done to his fellow Africans.

There is so much culture wrapped up in the language any country speaks. I lived in Taiwan for two years, where the national language is Mandarin, which I did not speak or understand. I did not live in a big or largely populated city that spoke English. I quickly learned what I needed to survive and then started learning conversational Chinese. After being there for some time there were words that I used and had no idea how to translate for people. One of my favorite phrases is “ai you.” I can't explain what it means. It doesn't translate into English.  I know in what context to use this phrase, but for its meaning... That is something I learned from being immersed in their culture and spending every spare moment with my Taiwanese friends listening to them speak and attempting to have conversation myself.  What little of the English language that can be used to describe the phrase, is very insufficient and does not capture the cultural context. This makes me wonder... How much cultural context of African history has been lost through English only rules???

In the next two stories, “Wedding at the Cross” and “Minutes of Glory,” there are two characters who develop this obsession with proving themselves to people, who don’t matter. In the first story Wariuki was embarrassed by the love of his life’s father. The rest of his life was spent trying to prove to the father, that he was an equal. He had received what he wanted, Miriamu. They eloped and had a family. Instead of taking pride in what he had, he spent his time wishing for what he didn’t have. In the end, this cost him everything. In the end, he had her father’s approval, but what did that matter when he lost his love? In “Minutes of Glory,” Beatrice is bitter and hard and angry. She despises herself.

Reading both these stories I can relate to both characters. I grew up with a very angry and abusive father. He despised life and everyone in it. He was full of this disgusting hate for the unfairness of his life. He became the exact thing he hated so much. When I was young he left and barely looked back. We saw him for birthdays, Christmas, and maybe once or twice throughout the year. Then, to add insult to injury, he started forgetting my name. Yes, his only daughter he couldn’t remember what her name was. I hated him so much. What I didn’t realize is that I was finding my identity in him. I defined my worth by him and how I thought he thought about me. What was the result? The same self-hatred Beatrice had. Like her I truly thought I was ugly. It had nothing to do with hair color, or the fact that it was not straight, or my size, or anything outward. I can distinctly remember the first time I looked in the mirror and thought, “hm... I guess I’m not really that ugly after all.” Nothing outwardly had changed. I looked exactly the same; however, I was no longer identifying my worth on what my dad did or even what anyone else did for that matter. Who I was, was in my control. My dad, he is like Wariuki and lost everything because of his stupid obsession with proving that he was better than his dad. (As awful and sad certain parts of my life are, I would not change a thing. I am who I am, because of those things. They do not control me, nor do I find my identity in them. But they have helped to shape and change the person I am today.)

Ngugi wants his fellow Africans to see how valuable they are, not based on what someone else tells them. Their culture and history is very important and it does matter. Preserving their languages and the rich history contained in it was crucial. He also, seems to be warning people of what can happen when they spend their lives consumed by other people’s opinions of them. It is dangerous and can destroy a person, just like it did to Beatrice and Wariuki.