Kamirithu: Community's struggle to keep Ngugi wa Thiong'o name alive

Everything at the historic Kamirithu Polytechnic in Limuru, Kiambu County, ran normally on Thursday.

The lecture halls face each other, as students rush from one to the other to get their plates— the lunch bell had rung. They queued one by one at the kitchen, where they were served rice, beans, and cabbage before settling in various places to eat.

They exchanged laughter—perhaps about a funny moment in class, the food, or their personal lives.

To an outsider, nothing here suggests grief; for them, it is just another day in school.

The institution’s history cannot be told without mentioning the legendary writer Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, who ="https://www.standardmedia.co.ke/national/article/2001520372/ngugi-wa-thiongo-celebrated-kenyan-author-dies-aged-87">passed away< on Wednesday at the age of 87.

He is Kamirithu, and Kamirithu is Thiong’o—this is where he made his name.

The institution is constructed in a way that leaves an open space at the centre, perhaps to mirror the traditional African society, where the community would gather to solve problems collectively.

The literature lecturer’s name was introduced to the world following his detention by the Jomo Kenyatta regime, as a result of a play, Ngaahika Ndeenda (="https://www.standardmedia.co.ke/counties/article/2001446594/ngugi-wa-thiongo-play-i-will-marry-when-i-want-ends-today">I Will Marry When I Want<), which was staged on the very grounds where the institution now stands.

Gichanga Njuguna, Kamirithu Polytechnic Principal, told The Standard that the story of the polytechnic cannot be separated from that iconic play.

“The institution had been established in 1973, but it became dormant and was closed down,” he said.

He added that today, they focus on equipping their students with skills and rarely dwell on the institution’s history, even though it is important for students to understand its roots.

After the closure, the community moved on until 1976, when they decided to establish an open-air theatre and built a wooden stage for staging plays.

Ngũgĩ, alongside Ngũgĩ wa Mĩriĩ, wrote the play that year and brought together local residents to perform it at the theatre.

The play served as an outlet for frustrations over the oppression and exploitation they faced at their workplaces and under the government of the day.

It gained popularity quickly due to its relatability and the large crowds it attracted from within and outside Limuru.

The government soon took notice and detained ="https://www.standardmedia.co.ke/opinion/article/2001513926/kenya-should-honour-prof-ngugi-now-not-later-for-his-contribution">Thiong’o< in December 1977. He was released in December 1978 and briefly fled the country.

After his arrest, fearful of suffering the same fate, residents returned to their day-to-day activities.

“Everyone went their own way. People dispersed—some went back to their jobs, while others left the country,” said Christopher Mbugua, one of the actors in I Will Marry When I Want.

When Daniel arap Moi became President, Ngũgĩ returned to stage another play, Maitũ Njugĩra (Mother Sing for Me), along with his team of actors.

Like the first, this play gained a strong following. Zimbabwean President Robert Mugabe was among its admirers and invited the troupe to perform it in his country.

However, the 1982 coup attempt disrupted those plans, and Ngũgĩ left Kenya permanently.

“They got caught up in that and opted to flee,” said Dr Makau Kitata, a literature lecturer at the University of Nairobi.

He added that, while rehearsing, the actors were under heavy police surveillance.

President Moi later ordered bulldozers to demolish the Kamirithu theatre, and in its place, the polytechnic was constructed after residents opted for a school over a theatre.

“The layout of Kamirithu itself is a statement of history—of colonialism, villagisation, and dispossession, where people were robbed of their land and placed in detention villages,” said Dr Kitata.

Kitata, alongside Professor Kenny Cupers of Belgium, has conducted extensive research on the plays staged at Kamirithu.

“The people of Limuru, including the older, illiterate residents without formal education, are extremely politicised. The history of that play has created a level of consciousness so high that there’s nothing more you can teach them about politics and governance—they already know it,” said Kitata.

Eulogies from Limuru

Early Thursday morning, as people battled Limuru’s cold weather with cups of tea in various hotels, news of Thiong’o’s death dominated the conversation. Elderly locals vividly recalled his contributions and literary prowess.

Peter Mwathi, the immediate former Limuru MP, said Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o was a ="https://www.standardmedia.co.ke/article/2001520387/ngugi-wa-thiong-o-please-don-t-cry-for-me-cry-for-beloved-country-kenya">renowned writer< and an icon of African literature.

“He was an inspiration to us as we grew up and enjoyed his literary works.
We cherish you, brother, even as we grieve your departure. Rest with the angels. My condolences to the family and friends of this great icon from Limuru,” Mwathi said.

Bonny Kanyuira, director of Peer Based Acting Group (PBAG) in Limuru, whose love for theatre was inspired by Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, said a great son of Limuru had rested, but his work had just begun to flourish.

“From the red soil of my hometown, Limuru, to the great literary halls of the world, the son of our soil, Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, has danced his final dance—with the ink of resistance still fresh on his palms. Ngũgĩ, you didn’t just write; you sharpened language into a spear. You made Gikuyu sing in ways we had never heard before,” said Kanyuira.

Maina Njenga, another Limuru resident and opinion leader, said Ngũgĩ was a ="https://www.standardmedia.co.ke/opinion/article/2001520379/ngugi-wa-thiongos-legacy-transcends-his-novels?utm_cmp_rs=amp-next-page">global literary icon< and a fearless writer who used words to express his deepest truths.

“For us in Limuru, he was a father, a son, a mentor—one of our own who carried our stories far beyond the dusty roads of Kamirithu to the global stage.
Growing up in Limuru, I heard his name spoken with pride. In our learning institutions and our homes, he reminded us that Gikuyu was not a language of shame, but of strength,” Njenga said.

“Over time, he taught us that speaking your truth—even when it costs you everything—is the most powerful form of freedom.”

Peter Njuguna, 78, recalled with nostalgia the days when Ngũgĩ and his theatre group staged plays in Kamirithu. He fondly remembered watching the performances, even as they remained cautious of police surveillance.

“You’d know something was happening, especially on Sundays, by the sheer number of people snaking into the venue. It was our only source of entertainment and education,” he said.

“The plays were veiled as entertainment—we’d often burst into laughter, as comedy was a big part of Ngũgĩ’s work. But a deeper reading of the plays revealed their true essence: a biting critique of the government.”