Category: People

In a recent exclusive interview with IGIHE, Clark revealed that for much of his life, he felt trapped in a world where he was “constantly treated as less than human,” always being seen as “a Black man” rather than just a man. He spoke openly about the daily struggles of microaggressions, police harassment, and toxic environments.

“It was like modern-day slavery,” he says, describing a society where people are bound to unfulfilling jobs and material pursuits.

For Clark, life in America felt like a prison, working tirelessly just to afford a house and a car, trapped in a cycle of traffic, widespread drug problems, and a healthcare system that prioritises pharmaceuticals over healing. Yet, a trip to Ethiopia two decades ago planted the seed for a new life.

“That was the first time I felt like a man, not just a Black man,” Clark shares. This journey to Africa, which began with the adoption of four sisters from Ethiopia, marked the beginning of a profound connection with the continent.

“I knew then, this is where I belong,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. His experience in Africa shattered the negative portrayals of the continent seen in the media. Clark describes a deep “gravitational pull” that ultimately led him back to Africa, the land of his ancestors, a place he now views as the “promised land” for people of colour.

“I believe that Africa is the promised land for all people of colour, our ancestors who were enslaved, to return. Africa is where we originally are from,” he declares. “It’s time for everyone to come back home.”

Clark introduces himself not only as a man of roots but as a man on a mission. “I’m a father of approximately 20 children. I’ve adopted many, many children from all over the world. I’m a philanthropist, a community leader. My purpose is to help people, to inspire them to do bigger and better things.”

While initially considering other African countries such as Tanzania, Kenya, and Ethiopia, Clark says that Rwanda’s stability, infrastructure, and warmth made it the perfect place to settle permanently.

“Rwanda kept calling me and calling me,” he explains. “The people, the roads, the infrastructure… It was just overwhelming in the best way. Coming from a toxic environment like America, Rwanda welcomed me with open arms.”

Clark’s move to Rwanda was not simply about leaving the United States; it was about seeking a more peaceful, fulfilling life. “I had a good lifestyle in America. I had the white picket fence, the house, the cars, and everything that comes with materialism,” he says, but his heart was never at peace.

“In America, even though I had all that stuff, that wasn’t the thing. It was temporary happiness. Here, I found peace, love, and joy that money cannot buy,” he continues. “Here, the government supports you, the food is organic, and I’ve lost 76 pounds. It’s just the environment, the balance of nature, the clean air, and the kindness of the people. I’ve never experienced anything like it.”

As a farmer, Clark emphasises the self-sufficiency he has found in Rwanda. “We grow almost all our crops here. I have hundreds of bamboo plants for building materials. The land here is incredible,” he says. He also grows medicinal plants and runs a coffee farm, planning to scale up production in the coming years. Despite being in the process of building his dream, Clark insists this journey is not just for him.

“I want to show others that it’s possible, that you can come home too. Come on home, man. It’s a place for financial freedom, better health care, and peace.”

He passionately challenges the misconception of Africa as a land of poverty and disease, calling it “fake news” designed to maintain control. “Africa is the most progressive continent in the world. People need to see the truth,” he states.

In his final words, Clark reflects on his new life, insisting that he does not miss America. “People ask me that all the time: do I miss anything from America? I miss nothing. Wait, let me tell you once again, I miss nothing from America. Zero. We should be treated like kings and queens and human beings. Hey, I run kings and queens and human beings. That’s how we should be treated.”

Clark’s vision extends beyond personal success. He envisions a community centred on love, empowerment, and growth, where people of colour can thrive, free from the oppressive forces they’ve endured in the West.

“It’s time to come back home,” Clark concludes, his message powerful and clear: “This is the promised land, and it’s time for us to reclaim it.”

Watch the full video interview below.

Mitterrand died at the age of 79, shortly after completing 14 years in office. He remains one of the most controversial French leaders in modern history, particularly over his African policy, which critics argue contributed to instability across the continent. His presidency has been closely scrutinised for France’s conduct before, during, and after the Genocide against the Tutsi in Rwanda.

Presidency coinciding with the genocide

Mitterrand’s final term coincided with the 1994 Genocide against the Tutsi, a period during which he was reportedly weakened by illness. Critics maintain that his close personal and political relationship with then Rwandan President Juvénal Habyarimana influenced France’s actions in Rwanda.

That relationship, analysts argue, shaped France’s continued political, military, and diplomatic support for the Habyarimana government, even as preparations for mass violence were underway.

The anti-genocide-denial organisation Survie has documented the involvement of French actors in Rwanda prior to and during the Genocide. Among those cited is Captain Paul Barril, a former French gendarme who had worked closely with senior Rwandan officials from 1989. Barril reportedly operated with the backing of François de Grossouvre, a close adviser and confidant of President Mitterrand.

Barril is accused of having signed an agreement on May 28, 1994, with Rwanda’s Interim Government, represented by Prime Minister Jean Kambanda, to supply weapons and provide military training to forces implicated in the Genocide. Reports indicate that the government at the time agreed to pay France approximately three million US dollars for the arms.

{{Bisesero and accusations of abandonment
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French forces have also been criticised for failing to protect Tutsi civilians during massacres in several parts of the country. In Bisesero, where tens of thousands of Tutsi had gathered and attempted to resist attacks, documents later revealed the presence of French mercenaries in mid-May 1994.

Survivors and investigators allege that these mercenaries encouraged continued attacks rather than intervening to protect civilians, leading to the deaths of thousands.

{{Zone Turquoise under scrutiny
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Under Operation Turquoise, French forces established what was described as a humanitarian safe zone in parts of Cyangugu, Kibuye, and Gikongoro. However, critics argue that the operation failed to prevent killings of Tutsi who sought refuge in those areas.

Despite Radio Télévision Libre des Mille Collines (RTLM) continuing to broadcast genocidal propaganda into the French-controlled zone, no action was taken to shut it down. French troops also did not arrest members of the Interim Government who fled Rwanda through Zone Turquoise into what is now the Democratic Republic of Congo.

When questioned in the French National Assembly, France’s Foreign Minister at the time stated that the troops had not been given a mandate to investigate crimes or arrest suspects.

While the conduct of French forces has been widely criticised, President Mitterrand consistently defended them, claiming they had saved thousands of lives.

{{Kagame on France and Belgium’s role
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In an interview with journalist Mario Nawfal last year, President Paul Kagame stated that France and Belgium played a role in preventing timely United Nations intervention during the Genocide.

“You see an ideological link from the beginning,” Kagame said, referring to Belgium’s colonial legacy and policies that entrenched ethnic divisions.

On France, Kagame described Mitterrand’s relationship with Habyarimana as very close.

“The French president at the time was François Mitterrand. He was a very close friend of Habyarimana. Very close. One was like a father figure to the other,” President Kagame said.

He added that historical records show that Mitterrand bore responsibility comparable to others who enabled the killings.

{{Protection of Agathe Habyarimana
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Following the shooting down of President Habyarimana’s plane, Mitterrand facilitated the evacuation of Habyarimana’s widow, Agathe Kanziga Habyarimana, and her children to Europe.

Despite international arrest warrants over her alleged role in the Genocide against the Tutsi, France has neither extradited her to Rwanda nor prosecuted her domestically.

President Kagame once said he raised these issues with individuals close to Mitterrand, including his son, who wielded influence over French policy in Africa, but they consistently rejected any responsibility.

{{Rwanda marginalised after the genocide
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After the fall of the Habyarimana government, Mitterrand distanced himself from Rwanda’s new leadership under the RPF-Inkotanyi. Rwanda was sidelined diplomatically at a time when it urgently needed international support.

In November 1994, France hosted the France–Africa Summit in Biarritz, attended by 25 African heads of state. Discussions included France’s relations with Africa and post-genocide Rwanda. However, Rwanda was not invited.

Former presidential adviser Dr Charles Murigande later said the exclusion reflected Mitterrand’s stance toward the new Rwandan government.

“The fact that we were not invited did not surprise us,” Murigande said. “That was his mindset. He had aligned himself with those who had destroyed Rwanda. He carried a burden of shame and could not bring himself to invite the President of Rwanda to Biarritz.

“

His daughter, Wanjiku wa Ngugi, confirmed his death in a brief yet moving Facebook post, calling not only for mourning but for celebration.

“He lived a full life, fought a good fight… let’s celebrate his life and his work,” Wanjiku’s post read in part.

Ngũgĩ’s daughter signed off her farewell with the Gikuyu phrase: “Rîa ratha na rîa thŭa. Tŭrî aira!”, loosely translated as “At sunrise and sunset, we are witnesses.” It was a poetic homage to a man whose words lit up dark times and whose legacy will continue to illuminate generations to come.

To celebrate Ngũgĩ’s life is to honour a man who challenged the very foundations of postcolonial thought and reimagined Africa’s literary identity on its own terms.

A pioneer of decolonisation in literature, Ngũgĩ used words as both sword and shield, fighting cultural erasure, linguistic imperialism, and political oppression. He wasn’t just a novelist. He was a defiant wordsmith, a pan-African thinker, and above all, a storyteller who rewrote the African narrative from the inside out.

Born James Ngugi in 1938 in colonial Kenya, Ngũgĩ came of age during the Mau Mau uprising and the brutal suppression that followed. These formative experiences would later shape the raw, politically charged texture of his fiction. His first novel, Weep Not, Child (1964), was the first novel in English published by an East African. It was undeniably a historic achievement at the time.

Yet, even as he wrote in the language of the coloniser, Ngũgĩ’s stories always sought to humanise and dignify Africans. From The River Between (1965) to A Grain of Wheat (1967), he painted a nuanced portrait of a people grappling with the wounds of colonialism and the promises, often broken, of independence.

In the mid-1970s, Ngũgĩ underwent a dramatic ideological transformation. He denounced English as a medium for African literature, arguing that to truly decolonise the African mind, one must write in African languages. In Decolonising the Mind (1986), he described colonial languages as vehicles of alienation and control.

“Language, any language, has a dual character: it is both a means of communication and a carrier of culture,” he wrote.

This marked the start of a literary rebellion. Ngũgĩ adopted his birth name, abandoned English in favour of Gikuyu, and challenged other African writers to do the same. His critics called it idealistic. His supporters called it revolutionary. In truth, it was both, and it would shape African literary debates for decades.

{{Jailed for his words
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In 1977, Ngũgĩ and fellow writer Ngũgĩ wa Mirii staged a Gikuyu-language play, Ngaahika Ndeenda (I Will Marry When I Want), in a rural village. The play transcended mere art; it was an act of political insurgency. It exposed class divisions, land grabbing, and corruption in post-independence Kenya.

The state responded swiftly. Ngũgĩ was arrested and detained without trial in a maximum-security prison. Yet even behind bars, his pen did not rest. On toilet paper, he wrote Devil on the Cross (1980), the first modern novel written in Gikuyu. It was a profound act of cultural defiance, proving that indigenous languages could bear the weight of complex, modern narratives.

Like Petals of Blood, published in 1977, the novel deepened his critique of post-independence disillusionment and foregrounded the lives of Kenya’s working class, particularly how the new elite perpetuated the exploitation of the masses.

{{Exile and intellectual resistance
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After his release, Ngũgĩ faced threats, surveillance, and continued censorship. In 1982, following an attempted coup in Kenya, he went into self-imposed exile, first to Britain, then to the United States, where he taught at universities including Yale and UC Irvine. Though separated from home, he remained deeply connected to the African struggle.

In exile, Ngũgĩ published prolifically. Novels like Matigari (1987) and memoirs like Detained (1981) and Dreams in a Time of War (2010) kept his story, and Kenya’s, alive for a global audience. His essays, especially Moving the Centre and Something Torn and New, advocated for recentring African languages, thought systems, and worldviews in both education and culture.

{{A visionary for African cultural sovereignty
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For Ngũgĩ, literature was never an elite affair. It was a public instrument, a communal mirror. He championed the belief that Africa could never be truly free without linguistic and cultural liberation. His call was not just for African writers to return to African languages, but for education systems to be restructured around them.

He fiercely criticised what he saw as the Western stranglehold on African intellectual life, challenging the dominance of Euro-American publishing industries, curricula, and academic gatekeeping.

Ngũgĩ’s legacy is carved not just into the pages of books, but into the consciousness of a continent. His life asks uncomfortable questions: What is freedom without cultural self-determination? What is education if it divorces children from their heritage? What is literature if it only mirrors the worldview of the oppressor?

He proved that African languages were not relics. They were alive, powerful, and capable of shaping modern identities.

Across generations, young African writers, linguists, and educators continue to engage with Ngũgĩ’s ideas. His novels are taught in schools and universities around the world. His speeches and essays continue to ignite debates on decolonisation, cultural preservation, and the politics of language.

Even in death, Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o remains a guide. His is a voice reminding Africa to tell its own story, in its own words.

He may be gone, but his story and his call to decolonise the mind will continue to echo across Africa and the world.