In a shocking revelation that challenges the image of one of Kenya’s most revered literary icons, Mukoma wa Ngugi has opened up about his broken relationship with his late father, Ngugi wa Thiong’o.
The celebrated writer’s death and quiet cremation in the United States were not just moments of mourning—they were reminders of a deeper family wound.
Mukoma, the fourth-born son, says he was left out of the funeral plans, and worse, that he would have discovered his father’s death on social media if not for a last-minute call from his brother.
Ngugi wa Thiong’o Family Feud Erupts After Years of Silence
A storm has erupted over the legacy of Ngugi wa Thiong’o, not from critics or political enemies, but from within his own family. Mukoma wa Ngugi, himself a respected academic and author, has lifted the lid on a long-running family rift that kept him away from his father during the last four years of his life.
Mukoma spoke with brutal honesty about his father’s passing and what it meant to him. For him, the emotional farewell had happened years earlier—when the relationship between them fell apart. That pain, he says, cut deeper than death.
The fallout began when Mukoma sided with his mother, Nyambura wa Ngugi, after she was allegedly physically assaulted by Ngugi. Since then, father and son never reconciled.
“Had it not been for one of my brothers reaching out,” Mukoma admitted, “I would have discovered his passing through social media.”
He didn’t attend the cremation. He didn’t even know it was happening. And yet, despite all the heartbreak, Mukoma insists that he loved his father. He credits him with shaping his voice as a writer and a truth-teller, even though their final chapter was filled with silence.
A Private Cremation Stirs Public Questions
Ngugi wa Thiong’o died on May 28, 2025, and was cremated the next day in a small ceremony attended only by close family members in the United States. The news was made public by his daughter, Wanjiku wa Ngugi, who called on friends and admirers to celebrate her father’s life and works.
But the quiet nature of the cremation and the absence of some family members raised eyebrows. The division was no longer private. The silence around it could not hold.
Mukoma says he learned of the cremation only after it was done. His statement that he would have found out about the death online, like any ordinary Kenyan, underscores how deep the rift was.
“It is, in the end, a family feud,” he said. “But if there’s one thing I can say, it’s that my conscience is clear.”
His voice was not bitter—just honest. He said their relationship lacked warmth. The final years were marked by distance, not laughter.
Yet, even through pain, he acknowledged Ngugi as his father. “All I can say is that I love him, and despite all that, he is my father; there are no families without contradictions.”
Truth, Trauma and the Cost of Silence
Ngugi wa Thiong’o stood for justice and resistance in the face of oppression. His legacy in African literature and thought is unmatched. But behind the public legacy was a private world filled with tension and hurt.
Mukoma’s account of the alleged assault on his mother is especially painful, given Ngugi’s global stature as a voice for the oppressed. The contradiction is jarring—but Mukoma does not sugarcoat it. He makes it clear that standing with his mother cost him a relationship with his father.
He chose truth, even when that truth came with personal loss.
In his tribute, he said nothing about perfect memories or shared joy. Instead, he offered honesty—perhaps the greatest tribute one can give to a man who taught millions the power of words.
Mukoma’s revelation has opened a wider conversation about how public figures are remembered—and how families, even great ones, carry hidden scars. It also highlights the tension between personal pain and public image, a line Ngugi himself often walked in his fiction.
A Legacy Divided but a Truth Preserved
Ngugi wa Thiong’o’s legacy is secure. His influence on literature, language, and African consciousness will outlive any scandal. But his son’s words remind us that icons are also human, and that greatness doesn’t cancel out pain.
Mukoma has not asked for sympathy. He has only asked to be heard. In telling his story, he honours both his father and the truth. He gives voice to the children of fractured families, those left out of public mourning, those who grieve in silence.
Ngugi taught a generation to resist silence. In speaking out, Mukoma shows he learned that lesson well.
