We Must Learn Our Classics

I have enjoyed watching this video by Jonathan Bi talking about this ancestral line and the accomplishments of his ancestors. It is interesting to hear the line:

“The ancients are righteous and the moderns are foolish, for the moderns don’t read the classics.”

There is so much to extract from this statement; it is simply profound. It suggests that studying the past gives wisdom, for what is modern is practical but often lacks the wisdom of the ancients. By reading the classics, you must apply their principles in your own life and not simply read them for the sake of looking intellectual. You must read them and use them as a mirror to examine your own life and see if you are aligned with the virtues they teach.

The Great House and the Lineage of Books

They also taught about building a great house—one that produces sons and daughters who love to read the classics. They love to read books, learn, and grow. They seek great wisdom. A great house smells of the sweet aroma of books. By building a lineage of people who are scholarly and reputable, there is honour in this. It is almost a blessing to have in a family, when books and the classics are praised.

It is interesting to see that many of these great houses in China would establish private academies to teach these ancient works. One family member in the 19th century even began collecting antiques and deciphering them to extract lost context and knowledge, expanding the consciousness of the Chinese people. This is something I would like to do with the Equatorium.

A Call to Africans

As Africans, this feels like a call to us—to rediscover the things we lost before it is too late. Right now, we are on the brink. Our societies are lost in limbo between the Western world and our innate African nature. This has led to a confused state that makes us vulnerable to extraction by both local and foreign powers, as well as deep mistrust in ourselves.

However, I believe things are changing. I can see it in my own family and in the good and great families in Kenya and across our continent. I will look no further than my own culture, the Kikuyu, from which I am descended.

The Mbari and the Story of Guandaru

This December, my dad, grandmother, and aunt went for our clan meeting, which we call the muhiriga. It is a new welfare society we have formed around the mbari ya Guandaru. Guandaru is my great-great-grandfather, who was made to join the mbari ya Gichuru during the wars between the Maasai and the Kikuyu.

During these conflicts, women and children would often be taken into the opposing community. In such cases, the women became official wives and were treated no differently, and the children became children of that mbari. Mbari means house. Muhiriga means clan. In this case, Guandaru was the son of a Maasai woman who was captured and became a son of the mbari ya Gichuru. He grew up Kikuyu.

When he became a man, this was during the period when the white man was entering the Kenyan heartland. The Maasai would often serve as guides and protectors of the white men. Guandaru recognised them as Maasai and remembered how to speak their language. He struck a conversation with them, and because of this act, the white man made him a guide for that area of Nyeri—Mathira East, Iria-ini, in the village of Igwagi. He later became a chief of that area. From this, he had many children, and we descend from that lineage.

Education, Integrity, and the Middle Class

I do not know much about my great-grandfather, but I have been told he was one of the last-born in the family. During the period when land was being returned and Africans were asked to buy it back, he refused. He believed the land was rightfully theirs and not something to purchase. As a result, he did not acquire land in that area. This affected my grandfather’s generation. They were many children, and they grew up poor.

A major turning point was that my grandfather was exceptionally good at school—so good that his elder sister chose not to attend school so that he could. A remarkable story is that he loved education so much that he once walked many kilometres alone to a school and asked to be enrolled. That is how his education began.

He eventually joined Alliance High School, alongside the likes of Chris Kirubi. He later studied law at Makerere University. He served as the Attorney General of Mombasa and was once tasked with issuing land titles in Buruburu. In government, he was known for his honesty. He did not engage in corruption like many of his colleagues. A story often told is of his first and only bribe—200 shillings for lunch—which made him feel so guilty that his friends laughed at him. They even spoke about it during his 15-year memorial.

These friends later bought land together in Loresho when it was a new housing project. They borrowed money, took mortgages, and raised their young families there. They were the honest, hardworking African middle class—professionals doing their jobs. It was a diverse group, though Kikuyus had a head start due to proximity to Nairobi.

Names, Identity, and Continuity

Just to note, I am named after my grandfather. His name was Gichuru Kireru Mathenge, and I am Mathenge Gichuru Waweru. The Kikuyu naming system is fascinating. Waweru is derived from Kireru, and my father is Waweru Guandaru Mathenge. See if you can spot a pattern.

My grandfather was among many Africans, especially Kikuyus, who dropped their English names in protest. Why take the name of your oppressor? His English name was Cornelius, and he discarded it.

My Grandfather, My Father, and the Standard Set

My grandfather eventually left government and started a private practice. My grandfather was diligent and reserved, while his partner was more combative and political. As the firm grew, his partner upgraded his lifestyle rapidly and even sought to enter politics, asking my grandfather for a loan. The unpaid loan caused my grandfather immense stress.

He later developed lung cancer and endured chemotherapy. Still, he had a loving family. He had us—myself, Kanyua, and Kui—as grandchildren. When I was born, he told my mother that she was now his mother, because I was named after him.

My father followed in his footsteps and became a lawyer. During his pupillage at my grandfather’s firm, he trained alongside Martha Koome, now the Chief Justice. Through competence alone, he came to know many important figures in this country. He worked on reviving Trust Bank and Uchumi, handled the legal work for the NIC–CBA merger, and served as chairman of the Institute of Company Secretaries. He is deeply skilled in dealing with boards and shareholders.

He now serves as Chief Legal Counsel at the Central Bank of Kenya. Through it all, he has been hardworking, reliable, and competent—the rock that stands firm during storms. There were times he was very broke, but we never knew. My grandfather had high expectations for his children, and all of them rose to meet them. No handouts. Everything was earned.

My father’s first job was at JKIA. From Loresho to Kangemi, he would not even get a lift. He found his own way. He applied the same philosophy to us. I have never gotten a job because of my father. Every opportunity has come through my own effort.

The Responsibility of a Great House

From Guandaru to Gichuru to my father and now to myself, I come from a rich lineage—not just financially, but culturally and intellectually. When I think about our clan meetings and what we are building together, it raises the question of how we can continue to build a great house.

Already, our family is doing well. I am building Thenks, a fintech company. My brother Kanyua is becoming a lawyer. My sister Kui is in medical school. Njeri is industrious and plays golf. Muchemi is still young but very sharp—he reminds me of myself.

The Equatorium and the Canon of Africa

This leads me to think about building an academy—a part of the Equatorium. What books would we consider canonical about our culture and our future? What stories can we tell that make us proud of where we come from?

Should we be reading Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, Tom Mboya, Facing Mount Kenya by Jomo Kenyatta? Should we be writing more canonical works about Kenyan identity? I believe I am up for this task, but I must first know what has already been written. What are the Lindy books of Africa—written from the African perspective, not the white man’s?

Toward an African Renaissance

The Equatorium, as I see it, will develop three things: the mind, the body, and the soul of the African. Perhaps even of all people, as it is grounded in a universal, cosmic truth. It is deeply Hermetic—like the Pyramids of Egypt and the teachings of Thoth.

It is about returning to the heart of our traditional cultures to uncover their best truths. The religious practices of our ancestors, who prayed to Mount Kenya and rain would fall that afternoon. These truths were demonised by the white man in order to control and enslave us.

As Africans, we have something special to offer—a depth that is not valued today. As we enter the age of Aquarius, I believe a renaissance is coming. Just as Florence rose, can we do the same? Just as the Medici funded a rebirth, can we?

I once thought about a project called the Africa Knowledge Project—a foundation for an African Renaissance. We need better stories about ourselves. Imagine classes dedicated entirely to African history and achievement. No more centring everything on white history. Even if it means Saturday classes, we must do it.

We must build the next Timbuktu. The next Library of Alexandria. We must build the Equatorium. In doing so, we will rediscover who we are, why we do what we do, and then figure out what comes next. We must begin asking the important questions—not just the day to day ones.