Summary
Chapter 3
The chapter opens with Warĩĩnga waiting at the busy Nyamakĩma matatũ stop. No matatũs bound for Ilmorog come all day, and eventually Warĩĩnga prays for her deliverance to Ilmorog. Just then, an Ilmorog-bound matatũ arrives. This, however, is no ordinary matatũ: it is old, beat up, and bedecked with an array of salacious and eye-catching ads which advertise the safety and consistency of traveling in an old and beat-up minibus. Soon, the owner of this matatũ, Mwaũra, emerges and starts crying out slogans in an attempt to attract more customers. He tells them that the journey to God's kingdom is nothing in his Matatũ Matama Matamu, and so is the journey to the Devil's place. This mention of the Devil piques Warĩĩnga's interests and reminds her of the task she needs to set herself to in Ilmorog—that is, visiting the Devil's Feast.
Attention is then given to the matatũ itself, as well as its driver, Mwaũra. The matatũ is described in grotesque terms, giving everyone a show with its array of sputtering noises and dramatic shaking. Mwaũra, for his part, thinks of the car's age as a mark of its valor: he claims that no one makes matatũs like his anymore, so customers should be assured of its quality. This then leads into a discussion of Mwaũra's character, which is almost entirely focused on the accumulation of money and "worship at the shrine of the god of money" (30). Despite his poor means of conveyance, he is intensely greedy and feels sometimes betrayed by God that he should work so hard only to have money retreat away from him like Tantalus of Greek myth. A story is then relayed about Mwaũra when, after quarreling with a man over 5 shillings, he dispatched the Devil's Angels to have the man hanged in his own home.
Warĩĩnga gets in Mwaũra's vehicle, and as she does so, Mwaũra goes on attracting customers by reciting a lewd joke about Warĩĩnga's beauty. Even so, few passerby take note, and Mwaũra worries that he will not even be able to cover the cost of the gas to get Warĩĩnga to Ilmorog. Just then, another customer wearing blue overalls boards the matatũ. Mwaũra continues to shout slogans, and when the man in the overalls asks Warĩĩnga if she thinks he will ever stop shouting and start to actually drive, Warĩĩnga remarks simply that "a matatũ is the home of gossip, rumor, and idle talk!" (33). Just as Mwaũra gets ready to leave, however, another young man with a suitcase boards the vehicle. Warĩĩnga takes note of his suitcase, which reads simply "Mr. Gatuĩria, African Studies, University of Nairobi" (33). This gives her an uneasy feeling and reminds her of John Kimwana.
Later, at Dagoretti Corner, a mature woman in a kitenge garment boards the matatũ. Additionally, at Sigona bus stop, a man in a suit and tie with dark glasses boards. Mwaũra is worried about taking only 5 passengers all the way to Ilmorog, but he does not want to snub his good fortune and possibly disappoint his few passengers through any scheme he may have to wait for more passengers and earn more money. Steeled in his resolve, Mwaũra continues on the way to Ilmorog, and the narrator reminds us that "traveling is what makes a journey" (34).
Before long, the woman in the kitenge garment stands up and approaches Mwaũra. She tells him that she needs to pour out an issue to him, and assuming that she wants to gossisp, Mwaũra assents. The woman, however, tells Mwaũra that she cannot afford her bus fare. In shock, Mwaũra slams on the brakes and opens the side door, almost flinging the man with the dark glasses out into the mountains. An argument ensues between Mwaũra and the woman over her supposed freeloading, but the woman assures Mwaũra that someone in Ilmorog will pay her fare. She says that she fought for Kenya's independence, and that those in a local outpost like Ilmorog will recognize what she has been through, unlike the corrupt and cold city folk of Nairobi. Eventually, the man in the overalls, Gatuĩria, and Warĩĩnga agree to pay for the woman's fare together. Mwaũra continues to drive, and after a while, the woman, named Wangarĩ, breaks the silence to thank the others. The man in overalls comments that, were he not to help other people, he would turn into a beast—a lesson he learned during the time of the Mau Mau. Save the man with dark glasses, each person then introduces themselves. Gatuĩria introduces himself stammeringly, mixing English and Gĩkũyũ rather clumsily. The man in overalls introduces himself as Mũturi, a laborer and handyman.
Gatuĩria then asks Mũturi his thoughts on Mau Mau, and whether or not he thinks that the foundation for modern Haraambe was laid by the Mau Mau. Mũturi replies only that modern Haraambe is a corruption of the original, and that it represents a national spirit of greed, betrayal, and selling out one's own kind for foreign money. Wangarĩ then picks up this thread, saying that fighting for the Mau Mau was a big honor, reserved only for those who had true love for their country, but that now, Kenya has moved woefully towards a national politic of shady money, renewed loyalty to imperialists, and betrayal of the Mau Mau ideals. She wonders where such craven ways will lead the Kenyan people. Recognizing the sorrow in Wangarĩ's voice, the others (the man with the dark glasses excluded) then ask Wangarĩ about her experiences in Nairobi. Wangarĩ then tells her sorrowful tale.
Wangarĩ borrowed money to start up a farm, but when her cows got sick and died before a vet could arrive, she was in debt and looking for a job to pay back the loan. Realizing that she could not find a job in Ilmorog, she went to the place that she knew all the foreign money had gone to build—Nairobi. She inquired with an Indian man about sweeping up in his shop, but he rejected her. At a hotel filled with white people, a European refused to employ her. At a Black-owned shop, even someone of her own race told her that her only employable skill was spreading her legs. Desperate and dejected, Wangarĩ then roamed the streets and found another hotel. She saw a Black man in the office, and asked him for a job. Ironically, the man told her that it was in fact the same hotel she had inquired at earlier, and that there was no work for her kind there. He then called the police, for which the white owner heartily praised and rewarded the Black man.
In court, Wangarĩ was charged with vagrancy and accused of being a watchman for thieves and robbers. This made Wangarĩ incredulous—how could someone be a vagrant in their own country, after all? A European judge asked Wangarĩ in court if she had anything else to say, and she suddenly spoke with a great deal of courage, saying that thieves have overrun the country and hide in plain sight—or else, as in Ilmorog, they do not even bother to hide. The judge, having heard this, then offered to free Wangarĩ if she could cooperate with the police and show them where all the robbers in Ilmorog congregated. As a result, Wangarĩ is now journeying to Ilmorog to hold up her end of the deal, having been divested of all her money at the court. As Wangarĩ finishes her story, Warĩĩnga wonders if Wangarĩ knows about the Devil's Feast, and she even contemplates showing Wangarĩ the card she was given by the stranger at Kaka before deciding not to.
After Wangarĩ finishes her story, Mwaũra and Mũturi get into a long argument about the proper way to live in modern Kenya. While Mũturi talks about the need for a vanguard to deliver Kenya from its corruption into real freedom and prosperity for the people, Mwaũra simply talks of how easily one can work for both freedom and domestic slavery, if the price is right. When pressed on the horrific consequences of his willingness to work for anyone, Mwaũra says only that God and the Devil can both change one's earthly fortunes, and that one does best to play the two off of each other. When pushed even further by Mũturi about the nature of his beliefs, Mwaũra replies that, if one accepts the soul as a real entity that resides in the heart, a rich and corrupt man need only buy the heart of a poor man on his deathbed and purchase goodness and salvation for himself. Further, Mwaũra says that he would like to open a market for such a thing, a bartering system for human hearts. Mwaũra laughs heartily at this prospect, but no one else joins in. Mũturi and Wangarĩ then start to sing songs about the plight of the poor and the greed of the wealthy, which makes Mwaũra wonder if he has taken in a bunch of religious fanatics.
Mwaũra, slightly incensed, then asks Mũturi again about how he views the nature of the heart. Mũturi replies quite philosophically that the heart is both the material thing which fuels man and also the humane result of his loving work in the world. He adds that, when people work together in a collective, anything can be achieved, even changing the laws of nature. Based on Mũturi's faith in the collective, Mwaũra then posits that there are no good or evil hearts, but rather hearts that exist only as parts of one collective. Mũturi replies that there are good hearts, which seek to build things together for the good of all men, and evil hearts, which seek to mooch off of these good works and destroy them, returning all men to a bestial condition. One's actions determine the character of their heart, which is merely a tool (like a knife or sword) that can be used to do either good or evil. Mũturi finishes by saying that the heart is the lens through which we view ourselves fully in the world, and that good and evil contest each other always in the moments of our actions. Mũturi then submits this argument to Mwaũra, asking which side he is on, and Mwaũra replies, laughing that he is on the road to death, and taking his passengers with him.
Gatuĩria is next to speak, talking in a weird mix of English and Gĩkũyũ. Though he knows that "the slavery of language is the slavery of the mind," he cannot help his stuttering but at least tries to maintain his footing in his native tongue (58). He asks Mwaũra and Mũturi about God and Satan—specifically, whether he believes that they are real, living beings like the passengers of the matatũ. Mwaũra says that he is unsure, and that the only true god is money, but Mũturi says that he believes in an incarnate God and Satan. Gatuĩria explains that he asks because he is curious about the disconnect between Gĩkũyũ folklore (which tells of ogres, monsters, etc.) and the material conditions of the everyday. He is a research fellow at the university who studies Kenyan culture and music, and he understands that only natives can keep the linguistic and cultural traditions of the land alive. He also recognizes that these traditions are dying. At the same time, however, he is unsure of how relevant these traditions are to modern conditions.
Gatuĩria is wondering about the connections between local folklore and modern conditions because, as a composer and music scholar, he wants to compose a piece which wholly encompasses the national history of Kenya. In order to learn more about the roots of Kenyan culture, Gatuĩria went to an old man, Bahati, in Nakuru. Bahati told Gatuĩria that there is no difference between old stories and new, and that all stories were really about human beings, not the ogres and monsters that Gatuĩria is curious about. He tells Gatuĩria 3 stories: the first about a man who risked his own safety to kill a parasitic ogre on his back; the second about a beautiful woman who fell in love with a foreigner who turned out to be an ogre and ate her limbs; and the third about a kind peasant named Nding'ũri. Gatuĩria spends a great deal of time on this last story in particular.
Nding'ũri was a kind peasant known well for his rich soul, kindness, and commitment to hard work. One day, however, Nding'ũri's possessions and livestock were all destroyed by a pestilence, and he did not know where to turn. Nding'ũri then went to the evil spirits, asking them why he had been forsaken by the good spirits he had once worshipped. An evil spirit then tells Nding'ũri that, in exchange for his soul, he will grant him riches and anything that he could ever want. Nding'ũri assents, and the evil spirit explains that, in taking Nding'ũri's soul, he has also turned him into a cannibal and a witch. Nding'ũri is told by the spirit never to tell others of his soullessness, and he is told that he will never see beauty in humanity ever again—only in property. Nding'ũri becomes very rich at the cost of others' lives, starving those in his village. One day, a group of elders arrives at Nding'ũri's estate and pleas with him to relinquish some of his property in the name of the people, which is equal to the voice of the land and the voice of God. Nding'ũri mistakenly tells them that he will not be moved because he has no soul. Having learned this, the elders then respond by burning Nding'ũri alive in his home.
Gatuĩria closes this story by saying that it was a source of great inspiration for him, but that he still could not reckon with his disbelief of witches, ogres, and the like. He was lost and uncertain on how to proceed with his composition, but miraculously, a piece of paper appeared in his pigeonhole at the college advertising the Devil's Feast. It is the same flyer that was given to Warĩĩnga by the stranger at Kaka. This realization makes Warĩĩnga faint, and the others rush to try and revive her. When she comes to, Warĩĩnga admits that their talk of the Devil has her very upset and worried. When he tries to change the subject, Warĩĩnga asks Mwaũra if he believes that such things could exist, and Mwaũra only replies that he has seen much stranger—as examples, he mentions thieves that robbed him and left him naked with the matatũ and a white foreigner who hired the bus to serve as a private vehicle for local women he would pick up.
Warĩĩnga then asks Mũturi what he would do if the Devil's Feast were real, and he tells her that he would go at once to stop the thieves there from imposing their devilish ways on the world. He mentions that all workers lay paths of resistance for the good of others, and he says that it was such a resistance that actually lead him to go to Ilmorog. After organizing a strike against his boss for better wages, Mũturi was fired and made to go elsewhere looking for work. Warĩĩnga discovers then that Mũturi in fact worked for the same company as she did, under Boss Kĩhara. The others all indicate their curiosity to go to the Devil's Feast, and they put the question to Warĩĩnga of why she is so curious about the feelings of others. She explains that she too was invited, and she does not know how to respond to the invitation. Mwaũra says that he hopes the people who robbed him once will be there so he can get payback, and the matatũ falls silent once more.
Finally, the man with dark glasses, named Mwĩreri wa Mũkiraaĩ, breaks the silence. He asks to see the cards that Gatuĩria and Warĩĩnga have in their possession, and then compares them with a third card that he takes from his own suitcase. He then hands his own card over to Gatuĩria and Warĩĩnga to read, and they notice that all references to the Devil or Satan have been removed in Mwĩreri wa Mũkiraaĩ's card; otherwise, they are the same. Mwĩreri wa Mũkiraaĩ tells them that his card is the authentic one, a real invitation to a competition in modern theft and robbery, and that the other cards are fabrications (likely made by college students) meant to spoil the feat and cause outrage with a legitimate gathering of businesspeople. Mwĩreri wa Mũkiraaĩ then goes on to introduce himself. He is a well-educated Kenyan (who even had the chance to attend Harvard), and he works in international business. He is riding in the matatũ only because his car, a Peugeot with fuel injection, stalled at Kikuyu. Mwĩreri wa Mũkiraaĩ then states certain things as if they were unequivocal facts: first, that the feast is not a Devil's Feast, but rather an international conference with delegates from France, England, America, and so on in attendance; second, that the university students of Nairobi are conceited and talk down on modern theft and robbery without even understanding them; and third, that equality is a myth rejected by even God himself, who has built heaven and hell with hierarchies.
The other passengers in the matatũ question Mwĩreri wa Mũkiraaĩ about his beliefs, but he simply tells them that hierarchies are everywhere in nature, and that the true measure of a country's progress lies in how well it can compete with foreign powers in theft and robbery. Stealing and grabbing money, Mwĩreri wa Mũkiraaĩ argues, are the keys to gaining wealth and advancing a society—just look at the West, which was built on the plundering of the rest of the world. Mũturi and Wangarĩ argue with Mwĩreri wa Mũkiraaĩ over this, but Mwĩreri wa Mũkiraaĩ simply tells them that the Bible itself makes this argument. As he begins to speak further, Mũturi finds a piece of paper at his feet and stows it in his pocket. Meanwhile, Mwĩreri wa Mũkiraaĩ begins to regale the passengers of the matatũ with a parable from the Bible, the Parable of the Talents.
Chapter 4
Chapter 4 opens with an unknown voice continuing the Parable of the Talents started by Mwĩreri wa Mũkiraaĩ. This version, however, is more or less localized to take place in a Kenyan context: the parable tells us that a white ruler, knowing he is about to be shamefully expelled from his conquered domain of Black people, calls his Black servants and loyalists together in support of his cause. He tells them that they will have to assume control vicariously for him, so that the locals can be deceived into thinking that they have earned Black freedom when in reality a white person is the real governmental puppeteer. He gives one his servants 500,000 shillings, another 200,000, and another 100,000. The former uses his shillings to buy rural goods cheap and sell them at a markup, earning a steep profit. The second does something similar, scamming urban workers. The third, however, takes his small fortune and buries it to see if it will multiply without being watered by the sweat of workers. When the lord comes back, he commends the first two servants for their success and asks the third about his fortune. The third servant then calls out the white man, telling him that he is a deceitful imperialist who only reaps what he has not sown, earning money off of the work of others. The ruler, however, does not think the servant so clever: he lambasts him for revealing his true name (i.e., imperialist), sics the other two servants on him, and accuses him of Communist loyalties. He also mentions that, in the case of the two loyal servants, this episode is a good example of how more shall always be given to those who already have. Once the third servant is dispensed with, the lord and his two Black servants, now his true friends who know his business aims, rejoice and offer a prayer for the longevity of profits and foreign exploitation.
When the parable concludes, we learn that we are in fact already present at the Devil's Feast in Ilmorog, and that the person who just told the Parable of the Talents was the master of ceremonies, not Mwĩreri wa Mũkiraaĩ. The emcee is then described in terms of his appearance, which is imposing and grotesque (though he is clothed in a silk suit). He says that the competition, though looking for a clear winner at theft and robbery, is not meant to disqualify the other thieves and robbers who are present, and that all people should treat the feast as an opportunity, leaving the feast having learned better how to steal and rob from the less fortunate. He then introduces the leader of the foreign delegation (consisting of Americans, Germans, Japanese, and others) that is present and serving as the sponsors and judges of the competition in modern theft and robbery. This man is an American, but as he mounts the stage, he makes clear that, despite his race or nationality, he and all the others in the cave are united in service of one faith—faith in theft. He explains that 7 winners are to be chosen in the competition, who will serve as disciples to the foreigners, always working in their service but earning untold sums of money themselves in the process. He goes on to reiterate the supremacy of money over everything else, saying that the reason for American civilization's success is because it was built only with regard for wealth, consuming the blood of Native Americans as well as Africans who were brought to the U.S. as slaves. He closes by saying that, if Africans can learn this "Uhuru of theft" themselves, they will help them at all costs to defend it (97).
Our attention now shifts to Warĩĩnga, who is in the audience with the other passengers from the matatũ. She is incredulous at what she has just seen, and she and the others begin to look at the foreign delegation more closely. They all have very red skin, are wearing suits made from their national currencies, and are wearing helmets that have 7 metal, horned-shaped projections coming out of them. What's more, they are all wearing badges that, like a neon advert, flash with the names of the industries they are involved in—insurance, banking, arms, manufacturing, human skins, and even slavery. Most of the matatũ passengers and Mwaũra are sitting at one table, while Mwĩreri wa Mũkiraaĩ, who gave them all genuine invitations, is sitting elsewhere. Warĩĩnga then looks around the room, and notices that it is not a cave, but rather the finest and most hollow of homes. There seem to be infinite drinks, scantily clad barmaids in abundance, and a preponderance of sugar girls decorating the arms of the thieves and robbers in attendance.
Just before the tournament officially begins, Wangarĩ thinks to herself that she is very lucky to have been led here, since it will make her mission of exposing thieves and robbers all the more easy. She thinks also of asking Mũturi for help, but eventually decides against it. Mũturi, for his part, interrogates Mwaũra about his connection to the Devil's Angels (since the paper he found on the bus in Chapter 3 was the eviction notice given to Warĩĩnga), and Mwaũra acts as if he has been clearly exposed, fearful that Mũturi knows more than he actually does. Just then, however, the cave/home falls into silence as the tournament begins.
The first to take the stage is a man in a shabby suit, named Ndaaya wa Kahuria. He is nervous to be on the stage, but he goes on to explain that he is an expert thief, having stolen chickens from many villages and many women's purses. This evokes clear disgust from the audience, who call in the emcee to intervene on the stage. The emcee explains that this is a competition for those who have reached international standards of theft and robbery, and when Ndaaya wa Kahuria voices his belief that robbers are all of one creed and should not be judged on the amount that they steal, the emcee has the guards hustle him out with clubs and violence. The emcee then begins to set out rules for the remaining competitors, chief among which is the international standard that they are working with. When the emcee suggests however that only those who look fat and well-fed should participate, skinnier men who are supposed master thieves object. Finally, a mid-sized man argues that physiological differences between thieves do not matter; all that matters is that they plunder great deals of wealth from others. This earns him great applause, and the final rules are then cemented. These include a name and address requirement, a requirement that each competitor announce the makes and models of all their (and their sugar girls') cars, and that each competitor must explain how to increase ties with foreigners in service of stealing more money. As the emcee sits down, Mwaũra voices his intent to participate in the tournament, leaving both Wangarĩ and Mũturi with bad tastes in their mouths.
The real competition then begins, and an enormously fat man named Gĩtutu wa Gataangũrũ takes the stage. He lists his extensive list of homes and cars, mentions his extensive and absurd English names (which include "Shitland" and "Joint Stock"), and mentions his extensive involvement with the church. Gĩtutu wa Gataangũrũ's life now is very decadent, but he started out as an elder in the local courts, just like his father—a polygamist who had many children and gave them all a good education. Gĩtutu wa Gataangũrũ first started out both in the courts and managing a couple of small shops, but a pep talk from his dying father encouraged him to buy up land that the Mau Mau had fought for, regardless of the fact that his father was on the side of the imperialists. He realized that "Hunger x thirst = famine" when it comes to land, so he wanted to clean up and get into land speculation to capitalize on any future land shortages among the people (114). Gĩtutu wa Gataangũrũ then used his father's old, imperial connections to get in good with a foreign bank, which loaned him money to buy land at a premium. He bought cheap land, divided it into many plots, and sold them at an extreme markup to the common people, turning both a quick and handsome profit. He was able to earn money by doing no work and capitalizing on other's needs, and he was hooked. Another, larger farm then helped him earn his fortune when he decided to incorporate societies (like homeowner's associations) into his land developments. When asked to head these societies, he refused, allowing each to govern themselves and maintaining the illusion of his own generosity. To close his speech with suggestions for the future, Gĩtutu wa Gataangũrũ then suggests increasing thirst for land among the peasants to the point where they can sell soil in tins and pots. He also suggests trapping air and selling it to the poor at a premium, perhaps even importing it. This way, if people are threatening to rise up against the tycoons, they can simply shut off the air supply.
The next person to take the stage is a man named Kĩhaahu wa Gatheeca, who is tall and slim (but every bit as grotesque as Gĩtutu wa Gataangũrũ). Kĩhaahu wa Gatheeca begins in much the same way, saying that Kĩhaahu wa Gatheeca's tricks are all amateurish and listing his accomplishments and possessions. He then goes on to say that, as for his sugar girls, he prefers the wives of others, or perhaps even successful women to be more safe than with schoolgirls. As for his business, Kĩhaahu wa Gatheeca began in education. Starting as a teacher, Kĩhaahu wa Gatheeca realized that he too could work less and earn more if he adopted the tactics common among neocolonial thieves and robbers. He opened his own nursery school, advertising with Swahili language, Blackness, and cheap pricing. When this did not work, Kĩhaahu wa Gatheeca turned matters over in his head and realized that, in local business, successful Kenyans would only hire Europeans or foreigners to manage their affairs. As a result, Kĩhaahu wa Gatheeca changed his marketing strategy to focus on English, high prices, and the lie that his school originally excluded local Kenyans. He also bought mannequins and made them up to look like white people, then motorized them so that, when prospective parents came by to drop off their children, they would see "white children" at play through the window. Finally, he would pay a white woman to serve as the principal of his schools to complete the scheme, earning a great deal of money with little to no work.
After his schooling schemes, Kĩhaahu wa Gatheeca entered land speculation and politics. By using hired guns and buying votes, Kĩhaahu wa Gatheeca was able to earn a seat on the County Council, after which he was able to even more efficiently and coercively force people into land speculation schemes. He cooperated with Italian foreigners and other foreign banks in order to exploit peasants, and he continued to grow his wealth by working with foreign institutions. In order to maintain the appearance of nicety, however, Kĩhaahu wa Gatheeca made a series of large Haraambe donations, for which the people praised his name and made him even more famous. Kĩhaahu wa Gatheeca then closes by affirming the power of money, saying that democracy is a Communist fantasy, and that he hopes in the future to be even more cruel with people's need for housing. If Kĩhaahu wa Gatheeca had his way, he says, he would build small shelters, like bird's nests, in which the poor could rest their heads and nothing else—all the while thanking him that they even have any shelter to call their own.
A section entitled "The Rebuttal" then begins, in which Gĩtutu wa Gataangũrũ responds to the accusations leveled at him by Kĩhaahu wa Gatheeca. He says that his armed thugs are stronger, that his plans are better, and that Kĩhaahu wa Gatheeca's plan would result in outbursts of Communism in the street. After Gĩtutu wa Gataangũrũ leaves the stage, another man, named Ithe Wa Mbooi, says that Kĩhaahu wa Gatheeca ought to be ashamed of himself, since he steals not from the poor, but from those who are comparatively well off—in other words, his fellow thieves. Ithe Wa Mbooi mentions that he and his wife have personally been scammed by his schemes, and that he shall never again help to make Kĩhaahu wa Gatheeca any richer, only sending his children to real international schools from now on. As Ithe Wa Mbooi sits down, yet another man stands up, saying that Kĩhaahu wa Gatheeca ought to be expelled on account of how much he boasts about stealing other people's wives, especially those of successful people.
Kĩhaahu wa Gatheeca asks for the emcee to defend him, and he defensively and superficially rejects all of the charges leveled against him. He says that Gĩtutu wa Gataangũrũ's plan would cause a Communist revolt, and, in response to others' claim that he preys on his own kind, he invokes the local idiom that "there is still which can easily drill through steel" (138). Just as this speech begins to cause another fight, however, the emcee intervenes, saying that everyone ought to behave themselves in front of the foreign guests, otherwise they risk the foreign delegation leaving them behind with no assistance in future thefts. He breaks the competition for lunch, and as he does so, he announces that there will also be a fashion parade for all the sugar girls in the building, in order to develop Kenyan "culture" (139).
The competition so far has sickened Gatuĩria and Warĩĩnga, and they leave together. Meanwhile, Mũturi again confronts Mwaũra about the piece of paper he found on his bus, which worries Mwaũra. Just as Mwaũra begins to worry about both Mũturi and Wangarĩ, as well as their true motives for coming to the Devil's Feast, he is able to dispel the situation with humor and leaves with the two of them to get something to eat.
Analysis
Together, these two chapters constitute almost half of the content of Devil on the Cross. Rather than see them as an early slog to get through, however, it is best for readers to view these chapters as incredibly meaty rising action that colors in much of the thematic and narrative outlining begun in the first two chapters. It is here that we undertake the first of the novel's two journeys—that is the journey from Nairobi to Ilmorog (to be contrasted with the later journey from Nairobi to Nakuru via Ilmorog)—and it is here that we are introduced to each of the main characters of the story—each with their own minor, twin narrative that runs parallel to the main narrative of the text. It is also here that we are exposed to the first two main competitors for the crown of the Devil's Feast—each of whom takes their own, opposing approach to theft—and that Ngũgĩ's satire becomes even more pointed. In both instances, however, note that Ngũgĩ is continuing his dialectical logic: there are two journeys, after all, which lead to the same inexorable result; competitors who split the crowd at the Devil's Feast into two factions; two sides to each character being developed (in particular, the ever shady Mwaũra); and, it would seem, two Kenyas that have emerged in the wake of Mau Mau. Ngũgĩ guides each of us through these twin and alternate realties with precision, at each point laying evidence and data which convinces us of a terrible truth—that, despite the absurdity and dialogic opposition of the options before us and our characters, they all somehow coexist in this world, which we are then tasked with delivering from such evils.
The first key element to excavate in these chapters is that of class, which Ngũgĩ builds up as having a direct link to work done with one's own hands and heart. Each of the passengers on the matatũ neatly fits into a class category based on this distinction: Mwaũra, the driver of a beat-down and cheap minibus, is in an ambivalent class state but moves towards sympathizing with the wealthier (after all, his work is not too physically intensive); Mũturi, the handyman, is a paragon of worker's ability and the strong work ethic which sustains the lower class through struggle; Wangarĩ, too, is a hard worker who has farmed, fought for her country, and will jeopardize her own safety to stop robbery and theft, yet she is beset by socioeconomic difficulty; Gatuĩria, the student who aspires to connect with his roots yet stumbles, is in an ambivalent position that leans towards the wealthy; Mwĩreri wa Mũkiraaĩ is clearly a wealthy capitalist who does none of his own work and believes that exploitation of others is its own kind of sport; and lastly, we have Warĩĩnga, a girl whose aspirations of being an honest and upright engineer were ruined by the Old Man from Ngorika. She remains in an ambivalent class position at the beginning of the novel, but as we will see, makes a stunning trajectory towards physical labor and Communist sensibilities as a result of what she sees at the Devil's Feast. In addition to these passengers on the matatũ, however, Ngũgĩ also sets down clear class indicators for other, more minor characters. In Gatuĩria's stories, for example, the wealthy are the corrupt of the earth, whose impatience with the hardships of real work and righteousness lead them to worship false idols and gods. In the caves of the Devil's Feast, Gĩtutu wa Gataangũrũ is so fat and so atrophied all over so as to not even really have hands. While Ngũgĩ clearly lapses here into the realm of satire and fantasy, his point is all the more strong: wealth accumulation ought to be for the collective good and done by real people's own, personal labor. Anything else distracts from the unity of our communities and leaves us spiritually bankrupt.
Speaking of the spiritual, Ngũgĩ's indictment of the Christian religion in these two chapters is also stunning and clear. Each of the people who speaks in the Devil's Feast emphasizes their participation in the church—most likely done, as some speakers even admit, to give off the illusion of charity and goodwill while simultaneously plundering the fortunes of Kenya's lower class. Additionally, between Chapter 3 and Chapter 4, the Parable of the Talents comes to play a central role in the text. With the original coming from the Gospels, the story relayed at the beginning of Chapter 4 is actually not so different from the real parable: essentially the only difference is that the story here has been localized into a Kenyan context, with shillings instead of talents and the story's central lord being a white man in control of Black people. What one might think to be a perversion of scripture is very ironically almost a direct lifting from Biblical language. Biblical scholars have debated the intended meaning of the true parable, but here, Ngũgĩ tells us that the message is clear: this, along with other stories in the Bible, are to be used to convince the wealthy and corrupt that they have a God-given right to wreak even more havoc on the poor, serving any master if it means that they can be enriched by even a cent more. This is a very real and dark consequence of the Parable, and this coincides with another central point in these two chapters: that is, in order to grasp the full force that religion has in our world, we must necessarily consider God and the Devil to be material, real figures. Framed by Gatuĩria's discussion of his own music piece, we see here that the material incarnation of Satan and God is important to both Ngũgĩ and his characters because it conditions us to see the material realities of both evil and good in this world. Were we to think of the Bible as just an arcane and irrelevant story, we lose sight of the fact that we ourselves are responsible for shaping the world that we want, one free of evils.
This discussion of good and evil then lends itself to a key point explored in Chapter 3: the nature of good and evil, as perceived by Ngũgĩ's characters. Whereas Mwaũra believes that a soul cannot be inherently good or evil—or rather, that a soul is defined only by its quest to survive in service of any master—Mũturi makes an incredibly profound and existential claim about human nature and human spirituality. Mũturi claims that the heart is the material basis for all of mankind's actions—it both allows us to do good and allows us to do evil. In this sense, it is a tool like a knife or sword, constantly and instantaneously wavering between being used for good and evil. What happens when the heart does good, however, is that it is able to come together with others in a collective and bring about a more just world, which in turn sustains the original, material heart with goodness. In this way, then, Mũturi opens us to the very Ngũgĩ-an truth that there are two hearts: one material, and one abstract. Separately, there are another two hearts: one used for good and the other used parasitically for evil causes. This understanding of good and evil then frames and justifies many of the actions that are to come in the novel, as we will see.
In sum, what Ngũgĩ establishes in these long chapters is a tripartite axis of values, within which we are meant to understand and interpret postcolonial Kenya as being in dire straits. The three pillars of this axis are clear: one based in class; one religious; and one based in nationality. This lattermost point is key—it is, after all, allegiance to foreign lords and causes that runs throughout the Parable of the Talents, the rules of the Devil's Feast, and even in the language of the characters (note that many of the characters, who use loan words, are not like Gatuĩria and use foreign language in a supercilious effort to appear classy). When Kenya suffers, it is because foreign lords have come and used religion to create a class-segregated society, within which many locals are happy to be traitors and worship at the feet of such foreigners for money. If something happens in the book with a tie to foreignness, religion, or wealth, it is a pretty safe assumption to say that something evil is afoot. Moreover, in the antithesis to these three extremes, we understand that Ngũgĩ does see a path forward to justice, but it is built in Marxist and Communist ideals: a local revolution of peasants who work to dispel the slavery of the mind created by religions which tell them that suffering in this world is justified in service of producing a better afterlife. Here, one already sees this idea being espoused by Ngũgĩ, but it takes clearer form later, when the Devil visits Warĩĩnga on a golf course. Until this point, however, one does well to continue to note the coexistence of opposites—the real and the grotesquely unreal, the satirical and the polemic, and the just and unjust. Moreover, readers would also do well to trace the ways in which characters' core values—their class loyalties, nationalist zeals, etc.—change over time. Why do they experience such changes, and what do these changes say about each character's sense of justice?
