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" "This country, our country, is pregnant. What it will give birth to, only God knows...Imagine! the children of us workers are fated to stay out in the sun, thirsty, hungry, naked, gazing at fruit ripening on trees which they can't pick even to quieten a demanding belly! Fated to see food steaming in the pantry, but unable to dip a calabash in to the pot to scoop out even a tiny portion! Fated to lie awake all night telling each another stories about tears and sorrow, asking one another to guess the same riddle day after day: 'Oh, for a piece of one of those!'
Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o (5 January 1938 – 28 May 2025) was a Kenyan author of fiction and nonfiction. He used to publish in the English language but later primarily wrote in his native language of Gikuyu. He often wrote on topics regarding colonialism, language, and theatre.
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He was caught red-handed,’ some were saying.
‘Imagine, bullets in his hands. In broad daylight.’
Everybody, even we children, knew that for an African to be caught with bullets or empty shells was treason; he would be dubbed a terrorist, and his hanging by the rope was the only outcome.
‘We could hear gunfire,’ some were saying.
‘I saw them shoot at him with my own eyes.’
‘But he didn’t die!’
‘Die? Hmm! Bullets flew at those who were shooting.’
‘No, he flew into the sky and disappeared into the clouds.’”
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