Devil on the Cross by Ngugi Wa Thiong'o

Author:Ngugi Wa Thiong'o
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2017-03-16T10:46:15+00:00

CHAPTER FIVE

1

When Warĩĩnga and Gatuĩria walked out of the cave, they stood for a while on a parapet. The sun shone brightly on the Ilmorog ridges and plains. The land lay quiet. No cold, no wind. “Although I have just been in the full glare of electric lights, I feel as if I have lived in darkness all my life,” Warĩĩnga sighed, and then she added in a sing-song voice: “Praise the sun of God! Hail the light of God!”

“You should be singing praises to the light of our country,” Gatuĩria told her.

“The light we have left behind us in the cave or another kind of light?” Warĩĩnga asked, in a slightly ironic tone.

“No. The light that is about to be put out by those we have left behind,” Gatuĩria replied.

They walked slowly and silently toward the main road. Then they began to talk. It was not really a conversation. It was more a kind of incantation, as if they were both taking part in a verse-chanting competition, citing verses remembered in dreams.

Gatuĩria: Hail, our land!

Hail, Mount Kenya!

Hail, our land,

Never without water or food or green fields!

Warĩĩnga: Hail, the splendor of this land!

Hail, the land ringed round with deep lakes,

Turkana to Naivasha,

Nam-Lolwe to Mombasa!

Hail, this necklace of blue waters!

Gatuĩria: Hail, hail, the shields of the land,

From Kenya to the Mbirũirũ mountains,

From Kĩanjahi to the Nyandarũa ridges,

From Wairera to Mount Elgon!

Hail, nature’s defense of our land!

Warĩĩnga: And hearken to the call of the land!

The rivers flowing to the east,

Rũirũ, Cania, Sagana,

Tana River, Athi River, Kerio River,

They now flow east, calling out:

Come! Come! Hurry! Hurry, and hail the land!

Gatuĩria: For this land was dearly bought,

Redeemed with the blood and tears . . .

Warĩĩnga: . . . of women and men,

of parents and children.

Gatuĩria was the first to wake up from the dream-like incatations. He spoke in a voice full of bitterness: “And this is the land that is now being auctioned to foreigners!”

Instead of answering back, Warĩĩnga began to sing the song Wangarĩ and Mũturi had sung during the ride in Mwaũra’s matatũ:

Kenya does not belong to you, imperialists!

Pack up your bags and go!

The owner of the homestead is on his way!

“But when the owner arrives, he’ll find that the entire house has been sold!” Gatuĩria said. “So it’s true that such acts of vandalism take place in broad daylight?”

“Yes, as readily as their perpetrators raise their glasses to drink!”

“Yes, as readily as they play golf.”

“And go for sauna baths in expensive hotels.”

“And dance in exclusive night clubs.”

“And sing boastful songs in their caves and dens,” Warĩĩnga said. “God help Kenya, my love. What is the matter with me? My heart is so full that I feel like crying. I’ve never thought about these things in this way. . . .”

“Maybe it’s the effect of the whisky you’ve drunk,” Gatuĩria replied. “Let’s go and look for somewhere where we can get roasted goat’s meat.”

“Here in Golden Heights?” Warĩĩnga asked.

“No. Aren’t there other places apart from here where they want to sell air in tiny calabashes?” Gatuĩria asked.

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