by Ciiku Ndungu-Case

The idea for Wanjikũ, Child of Mine first came to me almost 20 years ago, when I was filled with dreams of feeding my young children with the wisdom and wonder of where I came from: Kenya, the lush rural

countryside, the joy of family and songs shared by the fireside, the rush of chaotic Nairobi, the lessons of boarding school, and the women who shaped me. As is the case for many parents juggling the responsibilities of raising young children, life got in the way. I also lacked the confidence to bring a story that meant so much to me to life, and without knowing how a book was made, how long it would take, or when the timing would be right, the idea waited. In 2024, with the expert help of Jessica Powers and the Catalyst Press team, my story finally came to life in print.

I thought the story was finished when the book launched, but my readers showed me that the print edition was only the beginning.

What my readers taught me

Very soon after the book launched, I began to receive messages, some in video form, from families reading Wanjikũ out loud. Families with a direct connection to Kenya expressed gratitude for a resource that could share their own memories of Kenya with their children. Families without that connection were thankful for the chance to explore a new world, and for their children to be curious about people different from themselves. In the read-aloud videos, I noticed that when the children reached the Gikũyũ words, they slowed down and hesitated. What came through loudly to me was what they were thinking: I don’t think that’s how you say it!

Gikũyũ is an ancient language with deep historical roots, spoken by fewer than 10 million people worldwide. How could my readers know? A child or family from outside my community, who has never heard Gikũyũ spoken, would not know how to say Cũcũ, my grandmother and the heart of this book, or find the sing-song joy in the oral traditions she passed down. We included a glossary in the book, but I did not feel it gave readers the sound they deserved to hear in their minds. This weighed heavily on me.

Our readers deserve our patience and care as they learn to pronounce these words correctly and understand them fully. Through this process, we affirm our roles as bearers of our culture and demand the respect our ancient traditions deserve. We invite our readers to engage with an open mind, receiving the gift of our stories directly from the source and celebrating a narrative owned and told in our own words. The audiobook became my way of honoring this responsibility.

Bridging borders and generations, beginning at home

The audiobook also let me finish something I started long ago. I was not able to share this story with my children when they were small, but we built this audiobook together. My children have only had brief visits to their land of heritage: a couple of weeks here, a month or so there, often with years in between. This audiobook allowed them, as young adults, to immerse themselves in my story, our story, and to become part of it by lending their voices, artistry, and musicianship to much of what you hear in the background.

Hearing my children’s voices woven into Wanjikũ is one of the proudest moments of my life. The story I once hoped to tell them is now one we tell together, and I hope it inspires other families to tell their own stories across generations and to others, in their own voices and in their own languages.

A voice in the classroom

Seeing Wanjikũ in classrooms also shaped how I thought about the audiobook. It now serves as a resource for teachers who share the story with their students, told in the author’s voice and accompanied by lesson plans and the educational content at the back of the book for a deeper dive into its themes. Neither educators nor students have to guess at pronunciation. The meaning and sound of unfamiliar words are no longer a barrier to sharing in Wanjikũ’s journey.

Can you paint a picture with sound?

The part I loved most about making the audiobook was discovering what sound can do for the imagination.

Print gives you words and pictures. Audio adds another dimension that expands how you experience Wanjikũ’s world. When Cũcũ adds water to the trough for the cows, you hear their joyful response. When Wanjikũ runs through the streets of Nairobi, you hear footsteps, blaring horns, the overstimulating chaos of the city. When the matatu conductor calls out for riders to jump aboard, that is my son, playing a character I remember vividly from my childhood. At boarding school, when Wanjikũ plays the drums, that is my daughter, playing a rhythm from my childhood that we have played together over the years. We had far too much fun immersing ourselves in the creative process.

Many listeners have likely never been to Kenya, and some may never have the chance to go. Through words, pictures, and sound together, they can still travel there in their mind’s eye and feel the pulse of my landscape around them.

Crossing borders

Wanjikũ helped me and my family find a sense of belonging and a sense of home. I hope it does the same for you and yours.

Ciiku Ndung'u-Case is the founder of the Cheza Nami Foundation, a California based 501(c)3 nonprofit organization that promotes play-based cultural education and diversity awareness, inspired by Ciiku’s childhood in rural Kenya and the lack of accessible educational resources on Africa for her twins, born in 2007. Ciiku's work in creating cultural awareness programs has appeared in CBS News, TEDx Livermore, the Oakland Magazine, and several California news outlets. An immigrant and first-generation college graduate, Ciiku holds a Master's degree in Cell and Molecular Biology and is a leader in strategic planning in the pharmaceutical industry. Wanjiku, Child of Mine is based on Ciiku's childhood in Kenya.