By Gĩtaũ wa Kũng’ũ
The Agĩkũyũ sages said, “Mũndũ mũũgĩ ndarĩ mĩheere ya ũhoro” a wise person is apt of comprehension. Perhaps it’s time we stop mistaking silence for peace.
Some truths don’t shout. They gather dust in dark corners.
I saw one such truth on a quiet afternoon in Murang’a, inside a branch of the Kenya National Library Service (KNLS). The shelves sagged; the chairs groaned. There was no child’s laughter, no hum of but two female KMTC interns at Murang’a Level V Hospital turning books. Deathly silence reigned—the kind that doesn’t invite thought but chokes it.
And there, I found the original Gĩkũyũ version of one of my favourite books: Ngaahika Ndeenda by Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, 1977 publication later translated to I Will Marry when I Want.
Looking at the lonely library reminded me of the biting cold inside one of the largest libraries in Africa, the great Moi University’s Margaret Thatcher Library now accustomed to desertion every first month before CATs and End of Semester exams.
But now, I didn’t just see a deserted library, I saw the country: armed with knowledge, but disarmed of memory. The books were talking, but the nation was deaf.
In Ngaahika Ndeenda, Ngũgĩ returned the voice to the people. He wrote it in Gĩkũyũ. He staged it in a village. He reminded us that governance is not what’s done to us—it is what we do together. And for that, the regime silenced him.
Decades later, in a linguistic twist of fate, young Kenyans turned a political “Wantam” into a national refrain.
What began as political satire MUST now rings with ancestral weight: a rejection not of a man, but of a model.
Thinking about Ngahika Ndeenda themes of anti-neocolonialism summons a memory of one colonial book, King of the Wa-Kikuyu by John Boyes (1910).
In King of the Wa-Kikuyu, John Boyes(1910)—a British adventurer—claims the throne of a people whose governance system he neither understood nor respected. His title was an insult. The Agĩkũyũ had no kings. They had councils. Councils of elders (Kĩama) drawn from every clan. Power was earned, not seized. Justice was participatory, not imposed.
That colonial mockery has long outlived its author. It survives in the very structure of our modern democracy—centralized, hierarchical, performative—more depicted in Ngũgĩ’s and authors including Kitheka wa Mberia.
And that takes us to reflect on the most recent Kenyan (and African) government administration, especially on the rising Rigathi Gachagua’s ‘Wantam’ and ‘Skiza Ground’ slogans against president Ruto’s Kenya Kwanza government.
President Ruto as Victim of a Bad System.
Dr. William Ruto is not the cause of decay. He is a participant—perhaps even a captive—of a system designed to extract, not serve. But he now stands at a crossroad: echo power, or reshape it.
We say Wantam not as mockery, but as moral memory. A cry to: Reject cultural erosion disguised as modernity, refuse corruption passed off as cleverness and reclaim communal governance rooted in honor and service.
My humble advice to him: Let him be the President who listened to the people. Who repented with the people. Who led the break, not the repeat and continuation of the neocolonial government structure.
Listening is Law: A Committee for Civic Rebirth
Kenya’s Constitution guarantees public participation—but legality is not always legitimacy.
To make listening real, president Ruto’s government must form a National Committee on Indigenous Governance and Democratic Renewal, tasked with:
– Studying and comparing governance systems across ethnic communities.
– Consulting elders, students, faith leaders, artists, cooperatives, and professionals in every sector.
– Producing a blueprint for ethical, participatory, and culturally grounded leadership.
This could be the beginning—not just of another report, but of a governance renaissance—a turn-around of Ruto’s drowning legacy to a revolutionary epic.
But how is this possible?
Teach What We Forgot: A Curriculum for Wisdom
The Kenya Institute of Curriculum Development (KICD) design and implement a national syllabus on indigenous governance.
Let children learn of Kĩama, not just parliaments; of rites, not just rights. Let oral law take its place beside civic theory. Let the proverb teach the policy.
And beyond borders, let Kenya lead the charge toward a Pan-African Charter on Indigenous Governance—a bold re-centering of who we are, and how we lead.
The Library Is a Governance Space
A country that builds courts but forgets libraries is already on trial.
Transform our libraries into civic sanctuaries:
– Stocked with Pan-African texts, oral history archives, and Indigenous knowledge.
– Animated with town halls, student forums, and community theatre.
– Linked to schools, county assemblies, and traditional councils.
When libraries come alive, authentic democracy breathes again.
Conclusion: From Mantra to Mandate
Wantam is not a mantra. It is a mirror.
And in it, we must see not only our leaders—but ourselves. Let Kenya, at last, learn to listen. Not to the echo of a neocolonial empire, but to the rhythm of its own ground.
(Gĩtaũ wa Kũng’ũ is an upcoming Pan-African thinker. The founder of Honia-Heal Afrika Initiative (HAI) and Regional Research and Policy Officer for Commonwealth Youth Council-CYC writes at the intersection of indigenous memory and governance renewal).
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