As she stared at them, Waring noted that their skins were indeed red, like that of pigs or like the skin of a black person who has been scalded with boiling water or who has burned himself with acid creams. Even the hair in their arms and necks stood out stiff and straight like the bristle of an aging hog.

— Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o

Belief in yourself is more important than endless worries of what others think of you. Value yourself and others will value you. Validation is best that comes from within.

— Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o

Does rough weather choose men over women? Does the sun beat on men, leaving women nice and cool?' Niagara asked rather sharply. 'Women bear the brunt of poverty. What choices does a woman have in life, especially in times of misery? She can marry or live with a man. She can bear children and bring them up, and be abused by her man. Have you read Bu chi Machete of Nigeria, Joys of Motherhood? Sits Dangarembga of Zimbabwe, say, Nervous Conditions? Miriam Ba of Senegal, So Long A Letter? Three women from different parts of Africa, giving words to similar thoughts about the condition of women in Africa.'' I am not much of a reader of fiction,' Haiti said. 'Especially novels by African women. In India such books are hard to find.'' Surely even in India there are women writers? Indian women writers?' Niagara pressed. 'Arundhati Roy, for instance, The God of Small Things? Deena Alexander, Fault Lines? Susie Their. Read Women Writing in India. Or her other book, We Were Making History, about women in the struggle!'' I have sampled the epics of Indian literature,' Haiti said, trying to redeem himself. 'Mahabharata, Ramayana, and mostly Bhagavad Gita. There are a few others, what they call Purana, Rig-Veda, Upanishads … Not that I read everything, but …'' I am sure that those epics and Purana's, even the Rita, were all written by men,' Niagara said. 'The same men who invented the caste system. When will you learn to listen to the voices of women?

— Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o

In any case how many took the oath and are now licking the toes of the Whitman? No, you take an oath to confirm a choice already made. The decision to lay or not lay your life for the people lies in the heart. The oath is the water sprinkled on a man's head at baptism

— Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o

Luckily for me, I loved books. Books can enlighten but can also be night, but at least one can play one off against another.

— Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o

Our fathers fought bravely. But do you know the biggest weapon unleashed by the enemy against them? It was not the Maxim gun. It was division among them. Why? Because a people united in faith are stronger than the bomb

— Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o

The condition of women in a nation is the real measure of its progress.

— Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o

The Whitman told of another country beyond the sea where a powerful woman sat on a throne while men and women danced under the shadow of her authority and benevolence. She was ready to spread the shadow to cover the Kikuyu. They laughed at this eccentric man whose skin had been so scalded that the black outside had peeled off. The hot water must have gone into his head. Nevertheless, his words about a woman on the throne echoed something in the heart, deep down in their history. It was many, many years ago. Then women ruled the land of the Kikuyu. Men had no property, they were only there to serve the whims and needs of the women. Those were hard years. So they waited for women to go to war, they plotted a revolt, taking an oath of secrecy to keep them bound each to each in the common pursuit of freedom. They would sleep with all the women at once, for didn't they know the heroines would return hungry for love and relaxation? Fate did the rest; women were pregnant; the takeover met with little resistance.

— Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o

Truth never dies.

— Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o

What Waring tried hard to avoid was looking at the pictures of the walls and windows of the church. Many of the pictures showed Jesus in the arms of the Virgin Mary or on the cross. But others depicted the devil, with two cow-like horns and a tail like a monkey's, raising one leg in a dance of evil, while his angels, armed with burning pitchforks, turned over human beings on a bonfire. The Virgin Mary, Jesus and God's angels were white, like European, but the devil and his angels were black.

— Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o