Land Ownership and Power Theme Analysis

The majority of the disputes and tensions that arise in Weep Not, Child have to do with land ownership. Because white settlers like Mr. Howlands came to Kenya and took possession of farms belonging to black families, it’s obvious they don’t have a true right to the land. Unfortunately, though, this doesn’t mean they don’t benefit from their newly acquired property. In keeping with this, Ngotho correctly believes that land ownership leads to power, since having a farm is the only form of stability in a country that is at odds with itself. Mr. Howlands, for his part, recognizes this connection between land ownership and power—so much so, in fact, that his conception of what it means to have a farm is wrapped up in notions of dominion and authority, as if by claiming a plot of earth he can assert his will and subjugate not only the people who work for him, but the land itself. This stands in stark contrast to Ngotho’s ideas about land ownership, since he approaches the matter with a spiritual kind of reverence, understanding the instrumental role the earth has played in shaping his culture. As such, Ngũgĩ presents readers with two ways of looking at land ownership, ultimately demonstrating that Mr. Howlands’s notion of using the earth for his own benefit is a power-hungry and exploitative way to engage with nature.

Ngũgĩ emphasizes the importance of land ownership early in Weep Not, Child. “Any man who had land was considered rich,” he writes. “If a man had plenty of money, many motor cars, but no land, he could never be counted as rich. A man who went with tattered clothes but had at least an acre of red earth was better off than the man with money.” This is no doubt because the Kenyan government is in such turmoil that only the ability to produce one’s own wealth is valuable. Indeed, people like Jacobo plant pyrethrum (a plant that makes insecticide and medicine), thereby creating a source of riches that they can sell on their own instead of working for low wages on someone else’s farm. The problem, of course, is that many Kenyans are unable to do this because white people like Mr. Howlands moved onto their land while they were absent during World War I. “We came home worn-out but very ready for whatever the British might give us as a reward,” Ngotho says, telling his family about what it was like to return after the war. “But, more than this, we wanted to go back to the soil and court it to yield, to create, not to destroy. But N’go! The land was gone. My father and many others had been moved from our ancestral lands. He died lonely, a poor man waiting for the white man to go. […] The white man did not go and he died a Muhoi on this very land.” Not only have Ngotho and his family been dispossessed of their land, they’re also forced to work on the very soil to which they are entitled. When Ngotho says that his father “died a Muhoi” on his own land, he means that the old man was essentially a serf, someone working for a place to live. By outlining this injustice early in the novel, Ngũgĩ shows readers why Ngotho is so insistent upon reclaiming his land. After all, it belongs to him and his family.

At the same time, Ngotho’s motivation to win back his land isn’t a simple matter of justice and ownership. Rather, he wants to nurture the earth, using the “soil” “to create” instead of “destroy.” As such, readers see that he has a profound respect for the land, one that transcends selfish notions of proprietorship. This is why he works for Mr. Howlands. Simply put, he will take any opportunity to interact with the land that belonged to him and his ancestors, as he feels a responsibility to maintain this slice of earth. For example, when he walks alongside Mr. Howlands and surveys the grounds, he is acutely aware of his connection to the land. “For Ngotho felt responsible for whatever happened to this land. He owed it to the dead, the living, and the unborn of his line, to keep guard over this shamba,” Ngũgĩ notes. The bond Ngotho has with this farm goes beyond the superficial notion of ownership, especially because he feels indebted to “the unborn of his line,” who he hopes will benefit and prosper because of his commitment to the land.

Like Ngotho, Mr. Howlands also feels strongly about the farm. In fact, his connection to the land is rather surprising, considering that he didn’t grow up in Kenya and could most likely buy and operate a farm almost anywhere in the world. Nonetheless, he is devoted to what he sees as his corner of the earth. Rather unexpectedly, he even conceives of his connection to this land in spiritual terms. “There was only one god for him—and that was the farm he had created, the land he had tamed,” Ngũgĩ writes. Strangely enough, this kind of spiritual bond to the earth is similar to the way Ngotho approaches the notion of land ownership, especially considering the fact that Ngotho thinks about losing the farm as a “spiritual loss.” However, there is a notable difference between the way these two men conceive of the earth. Whereas Ngotho sees the land as part of his cultural and familial heritage—part of a way of life that existed before him and will go on existing after he’s dead—Mr. Howlands mistakenly thinks that he has “created” this farm. In other words, he thinks he has total dominion and control over something that in reality is much bigger and more significant than his temporary and arbitrary ownership. This, Ngũgĩ insinuates, is a foolish and egocentric way of thinking, a worldview that springs from the false belief that land ownership means anything other than treating and maintaining the earth with respect.