Weep Not, Child: Chapter 2 Summary & Analysis

Although it is a very small-scale representation of the matter, Mwihaki’s willingness to defend Njoroge against bullies foreshadows the ways in which these two children will come together in the face of antagonism and division. Unafraid of the aggressive boys who make fun of Njoroge for being a newcomer, Mwihaki proudly defends him. 

Ngũgĩ has already mentioned that Ngotho’s family lives on Jacobo’s land. As such, Mwihaki—Jacobo’s daughter—has a certain elevated social status, which is why Njoroge’s mother doesn’t want her son playing with her. Of course, this is a rather strange reaction, since there is seemingly no problem with the idea of “associate[ing] with a family of the rich.” At the same time, though, Nyokabi believes that playing with Mwihaki isn’t “healthy” for Njoroge, an opinion that suggests a certain fear that her son will become too aware of the disparity—the division—between Kenya’s rich and poor. In turn, readers see that white people and black people aren’t the only divided populations. Rather, there are also rifts between Kenyans themselves.

Once again, Ngũgĩ emphasizes the fact that Nyokabi and her family believe education will help Njoroge advance the whole family. This, Nyokabi hopes, will enable her son to avoid the gruesome and seemingly needless fate that her other son met during World War II, in which he fought for white people who only cared about their own cause.

When Njoroge thinks about his experience in Julianna’s kitchen, it’s clear he feels ashamed for his inability to demonstrate “good manners.” What’s more, it becomes evident that Julianna is self-righteous about the way she has raised her children, essentially insulting Njoroge’s upbringing in an attempt to make him feel guilty for misbehaving. This moment is important to remember as the novel progresses, considering that Mwihaki—Julianna’s daughter—is already growing close to Njoroge. It’s obvious, then, that these two children must navigate their differences and the fact that they come from opposing backgrounds, and this is yet another reminder that there is division between Africans themselves, not just between black people and white people.

Njoroge’s abrupt self-consciousness underlines the ways in which his new experiences in school have made him aware of the difference between people like him and people like Mwihaki, who are rich and undoubtedly influenced by European culture. In turn, he feels guilty for the shame he experiences in this moment, but this doesn’t stop him from hiding from Mwihaki—a fact that demonstrates how feelings of shame and embarrassment can motivate a person to do things he or she might not otherwise consider.

In this section, Ngũgĩ impresses upon readers the importance of land ownership, suggesting that there is nothing more valuable than owning a farm or “an acre of red earth.” In turn, he intimates that this kind of proprietorship is a form of power, one that is more stable than monetary or material wealth. Unfortunately, Njoroge’s family doesn’t own land, which is why he is so sensitive to the supposed differences between himself and people like Mwihaki.

When Kamau says that some people “don’t want others to rise above them,” he addresses the division in his community. He articulates the fact that those in power are eager to make sure others don’t have a chance to increase their own wealth, whether this wealth comes in the form of ownership or “knowledge.” By calling Njoroge’s attention to the idea that certain black people try even harder than white people to disempower other Kenyans, Kamau touches upon the sad reality that Africans have become so divided and competitive that they spend all their energy struggling against one another instead of helping uplift their shared community.

It’s clear that Boro has been changed by the things he witnessed as a soldier in World War II. Unfortunately, he lost his brother to a cause that has very little to do with Kenya, making the loss all the more painful because it seems needless and futile. What’s more, the fact that Boro has returned from the war completely uninterested in participating in his culture’s tradition of telling “tribal stories” suggests that violence has estranged him from his old life and companions. When he does talk, he only speaks resentfully about “the government and settlers,” ultimately suggesting that the only thing he can think about is the way colonialists have ruined his life.

It’s worth noting that Ngotho’s family is especially close. This unity is important to keep in mind as the novel progresses, since Weep Not, Child is largely about how discord can work its way into even the closest groups of people. On another note, Ngũgĩ once again stresses the significance of land ownership. By telling a creation story in which God presents land to the Kikuyu people, Ngotho intimates that the soil under his feet belongs to him, not to white men like Mr. Howlands, who have claimed it as their own. In turn, readers prepare themselves for a struggle between Kenyans and colonialists over the earth itself.

In this moment, Ngotho tells the story of how the ancient prophecy—that “the white man” would take the land belonging to the Kikuyu people—came true. In turn, readers see how British colonialists exploited Kenyans by forcing them to leave their homes to help in a war that had nothing to do with them. And while they were away, the British stole their land. Interestingly enough, though, Ngotho doesn’t necessarily focus on the idea of ownership, but rather on the fact that he and his fellow Kenyans simply want to “court” the soil “to yield.” Indeed, Ngotho wants to interact with the land so that he can “create” more life on earth through the process of farming. As such, readers see that his motivation to reclaim his land has little to do with greedy notions of ownership—a mentality that stands in stark contrast to the white settlers’ exploitative ambitions.

When Ngotho explains that the white settlers once killed a man who wanted to unite the people, he suggests that the colonialists want to actively prevent Africans from coming together. This is because any kind of true and widespread unification amongst Kenyans could lead to an overthrow of power. As such, it is in the best interest of the white settlers to keep black people divided. Unfortunately, this brings to mind the socioeconomic tensions that keep people like Njoroge and Mwihaki apart—evidence of the fact that the white settlers’ strategy of sowing division amongst Kenyans is working.

Boro can’t stand the idea that his father and elders have let white people treat them so badly. Indeed, he feels as if people like Ngotho should be ashamed for their inability to take action against the settlers, and this infuriates him so much that he’s unable to sit idly by while his father speaks about the matter. In turn, readers see that even Ngotho’s close-knit family is susceptible to the kind of internal divides that arise as a result of the exploitative ways of the British colonialists.