Home Blog Page 74

Raila’s unending visits, in life and death, Kango the new pilgrimage

By
-
0

By James Okoth

It has been days since the red soils of Bondo swallowed the body of Raila Amolo Odinga, yet the road to Kang’o ka Jaramogi has not gone quiet. The convoys still come, the footsteps still fall, and the songs still rise softly from pilgrims of every shade and persuasion.

Some come in silence, some in ceremony.
Some come to mourn. Others come to understand. But all leave with one truth heavy on their hearts; that even in death, Raila Odinga continues to receive visitors.

When Raila was alive, his politics revolved around the art of visiting and being visited. He was, at once, both guest and host to the nation’s conscience.

From Kibera’s muddy paths to State House’s polished floors, Raila’s political life was a journey of presence, of showing up, shaking hands and facing adversaries eye to eye.
He believed in the physicality of politics: that leadership must be seen, not merely heard.

The Kahiga-Gachagua Dilemma: How a Misstep Could Unravel a Mountain Alliance

By
-
0

By James Okoth

Nyeri Governor Mutahi Kahiga’s political future now hangs in the balance after he reportedly retreated from public view ahead of an emergency Council of Governors (CoG) meeting convened to deliberate on his misconduct. His sudden “early retirement” from the political limelight — coming just hours after a torrent of criticism from across the country — marks a defining moment not only for him but also for former Deputy President Rigathi Gachagua, whose political orbit Kahiga has long revolved in.

Kahiga’s remarks on the passing of former Prime Minister Raila Odinga — seen by many as a callous invocation of religion to justify death — have detonated more than a moral outrage. They have exposed the raw nerves, the unspoken fears, and the crumbling loyalties within the Mount Kenya political bloc.

Once considered among Gachagua’s most trusted regional surrogates, Kahiga has now become a political liability — the kind of ally no one wants to be seen defending. His silence, and now his retreat, suggest a man aware that his words may have permanently scorched his path forward.

At the same time, Gachagua finds himself at a precarious crossroads. His political brand — built on the rhetoric of “Mt. Kenya unity” and regional assertiveness — is being tested by association. For months, he has tried to reposition himself as the moral compass of the region, standing against internal fragmentation and perceived betrayal from President Ruto’s inner circle. Yet Kahiga’s scandal now threatens to taint that image.

ODM’s reaction has been swift and unforgiving. Party chairperson Gladys Wanga has already called for Kahiga’s expulsion from the Council of Governors’ leadership, while Kisumu Speaker reminded him that the very freedoms he misused were fruits of Raila Odinga’s constitutional struggle. But beyond the outrage lies a deeper intrigue: the silence of ODM Secretary General Edwin Sifuna.

Sifuna — usually the party’s loudest and most disciplined voice during political storms — was conspicuously absent at the Kisumu presser. No apology, no statement, no virtual appearance. Insiders whisper of a quiet recalibration within ODM’s secretariat, where the political calculus over how to deal with Kahiga’s camp may extend beyond public condemnation. Some suggest that Sifuna’s absence signals a deeper strategic maneuver, possibly one that factors in the shifting alliances ahead of 2027 — where even former foes might find utility in dialogue.

What don’t we know? Perhaps that Kahiga’s words, however ill-advised, are a symptom of a larger battle — a battle for control over the Mt. Kenya narrative after Raila’s death. Gachagua’s camp sees an opening: a region disillusioned, a vacuum of moral authority, and a chance to frame the next national conversation around “betrayal and neglect.” But with Kahiga now disgraced, that plan may already be collapsing.

In the coming weeks, one test will define their political fate: whether Gachagua dares to defend him — or quietly distances himself to protect his own ambitions.

Either way, the storm unleashed by Kahiga’s tongue has done more than offend a mourning nation. It has peeled back the fragile veneer of unity in Mt. Kenya politics, revealing the deep fractures between loyalty and survival — between faith and politics — and between those who still stand for Raila Odinga’s ideals and those who now tremble under the weight of his legacy.

Is Winnie Odinga the Next Queenpin? Can She Become the Voice That Unites Kenya’s Generation of Defiance?

By
-
0

By James Okoth

The mourning is over.
The flags have been lowered, folded, and put away. Now, a new question rises from the silence: What happens when legacy meets rebellion?

Because somewhere between Kenya’s dusty campaign trails and the neon-lit glow of TikTok lives, one name keeps surfacing — Winnie Odinga.

Kenya’s political map is changing, not through coalitions but through connection. Nearly 75% of Kenyans are under 35 — that’s more than 35 million young citizens, restless and aware. They are digital first, distrustful second, and decisive third.

They don’t chant slogans — they trend hashtags. They don’t queue for rallies — they build movements and when they marched in the #OccupyParliament protests, they did what generations before only dreamed of: they made fear change sides.

This is the generation that doesn’t ask for inclusion — it demands relevance.

Enter Winnie Odinga.

At 34, she stands at the collision point of two powerful currents:
her father’s monumental legacy, and her generation’s demand for disruption.

To the establishment, she’s “Raila’s daughter.” To the youth, she’s the potential amplifier of a generation that refuses to whisper anymore.

She tweets like a peer, not a politician. She speaks of accountability, gender balance, and mental health — topics that old politics finds too soft or too inconvenient and she’s not afraid to rattle cages that her father built.

If the Gen Z movement has shown anything, it’s that energy can overpower experience. They shook Parliament without a party.
They mobilized nationwide without funding. They mourned and mocked in the same breath — and that duality is exactly how they survive.

Winnie understands that language — not as strategy, but as instinct.

She doesn’t need to own the streets; she needs to own the conversation.
And she might be the only figure young enough to relate, but bold enough to challenge the power structure that’s losing touch by the day.

For decades, politics in Kenya has been about kingpins — Raila in Nyanza, Uhuru in Central, Ruto in Rift Valley. But what happens when the era of kingpins ends, and a queenpin emerges — not from lineage, but from digital legitimacy?

If Winnie Odinga can bridge that gap — between mourning and momentum, between old order and online uprising — she won’t just lead the youth; she’ll unite their noise into a national voice.

History’s waiting for its next disruptor and this time, it might come with eyeliner, Wi-Fi, and a cause that can’t be muted.

Could Winnie Odinga be the one to turn Kenya’s Gen Z defiance into direction?

History doesn’t wait for permission. Sometimes, it just needs a name bold enough to break the silence.

Could that name be Winnie Odinga?

KAHIGA TOES THE LINE, BECOMES THE FIRST SCALPEL OF ODINGA

By
-
0

By James Okoth

Nyeri Governor Mutahi Kahiga’s abrupt resignation from his influential post at the Council of Governors has sent tremors through Kenya’s political establishment — a vivid reminder that Raila Odinga’s shadow, even in death, still looms large over the nation’s political psyche.

Kahiga’s downfall — swift, surgical, and instructive — has become the first political incision of what analysts are now calling “Raila’s scalpel”: the continuing force of a legacy that disciplines even the living.

Barely a week after the death of the opposition leader, Kahiga found himself isolated, condemned, and politically stripped following remarks perceived as callous toward Odinga’s passing. What began as careless rhetoric has ended in a career-threatening reckoning, forcing the Nyeri Governor to retreat into silence and relinquish his national duties.

But beyond the outrage lies a deeper truth — that Raila Odinga’s influence did not end with his funeral. It merely changed form.

Across Kenya’s political corridors, from Nairobi to Nyeri, leaders are recalibrating their tone, wary of awakening the wrath of Odinga’s loyal base. His moral authority, once a living force, has now assumed an almost spiritual dimension — a force that punishes, forgives, and defines political survival even from the grave.

Kahiga’s resignation is not just a disciplinary action; it is a message. It signals that Raila’s reach — once constrained by political contest — has transcended into something more potent: a moral and emotional dominion that still dictates the rhythm of Kenya’s politics.

ODM chairperson Gladys Wanga’s vow to strip Kahiga of his Council of Governors role was not an act of vengeance but a declaration that Raila’s legacy remains sacrosanct. “You do not mock the struggle that birthed your very position,” she said. Her statement, firm and unyielding, captured the sentiment of a country unwilling to forgive sacrilege against the man who defined its democratic journey.

Inside Mt. Kenya, Kahiga’s fall has exposed the fragility of former Deputy President Rigathi Gachagua’s political network. For years, Kahiga was one of his dependable allies — a voice of the mountain and a loyalist to Gachagua’s consolidation bid. Now, his isolation underscores a chilling reality: that even within the mountain stronghold, no leader can afford to disregard the moral authority Raila Odinga commands nationally.

Elisha Oraro, Speaker of Kisumu County Assembly, spoke to The Western Insight saying, “This is not about Raila the politician. This is Raila the institution — a conscience that continues to audit power. Every statement, every alliance, every posture must now contend with the Raila factor, alive or dead.”

The storm around Kahiga is also a cautionary tale for Kenya’s emerging leaders — that populism without respect for history is self-destructive. In a moment of careless speech, Kahiga managed to offend not just ODM loyalists but a national constituency still in mourning, one that has long associated Raila Odinga with sacrifice, struggle, and the nation’s unfinished journey to justice.

As Kahiga retreats from the spotlight, the political air remains tense. Governors are now treading carefully. Party leaders are revising their talking points. Even allies of the ruling coalition are softening their rhetoric — all acknowledging, perhaps unwillingly, that Raila’s influence remains the unseen hand guiding Kenya’s moral compass.

In life, Raila Odinga commanded crowds.
In death, he commands conscience.

And for Mutahi Kahiga — the first to feel the sting of the scalpel — the lesson is eternal: Raila may be gone, but his power to define right and wrong in Kenya’s political theatre endures.

MUGUMO TREE HAS FALLEN, THE GROUND MUST SHAKE AND THE BIRDS AND OTHER CREATURES PERCHING ON IT OR AROUND IT MUST SCATTER.

By
-
0

By Alfred Gogi

A Tribute to Rt. Hon. RAILA AMOLLO ODINGA, Former Prime Minister of the Republic of Kenya

There are figures in a nation’s story whose presence feels like a great Mugumo tree — rooted, sheltering many creatures, and unignorable in life. Raila Amollo Odinga was such a figure — towering in stature, branching across generations, and resilient through seasons of sun and storm. To pay tribute to him is to acknowledge not only his towering shadow, but also the ground-shaking impact of his steps, his sacrifices, his reconciliations, his humour, and his indelible imprints on Kenya’s democratic journey and history. “The tree has fallen” here is a metaphor for the moments when the old gives way to the new, when chapters close and legacies speak more loudly than voices. In that spirit, we honour the man known simply as “Baba.”

Raila’s life is braided into the long arc of Kenya’s struggle for democratic space. As a young leader confronting the iron fist of the Moi era, he paid the price exacted from those who insist on air when the times prefer silence. Detention without trial, more than once, etched into him the hard lessons of courage, patience, and the paradoxical tenderness that can grow in those who have suffered for freedom. The concrete walls of Nyayo House torture chambers, Kamiti, Shimo Latewa, and Manyani were meant to shrink him. Instead, they sharpened him. He emerged not bitter, but bolder; not broken, but more broadly committed to a Kenya where no one should be caged for their convictions and opinions.

And yet, the story of Raila is not merely a chronicle of defiance. It is also the story of reconciliation. In politics, making peace with yesterday’s adversary is the most underrated act of patriotism. Raila made peace with Daniel arap Moi, whose regime once detained him, modelling a politics that can forgive without forgetting. He made peace with Mwai Kibaki — indeed, before that, he midwifed Kibaki’s presidency with the fateful, nation-altering declaration “Kibaki tosha!” in 2002. Those two words helped sweep out an era and usher in a new one under NARC, giving Kenyans a collective glimpse of possibility and hope. Later still, he chose rapprochement with Uhuru Kenyatta in the 2018 Handshake, turning down the volume of tension and turning up the work of national healing. And even after the fiercely contested 2022 election, in the tumult of accusation and disappointment, his public calls continually returned to peace, dialogue, and the primacy of Kenya over personal ambition — even as he exercised the constitutional right to dissent and picketing.

Over two decades of disputed elections, it would have been easy, even tempting, to exchange ballots for the blunter language of violence. Raila Amollo Odinga chose otherwise. In 2007–2008, when the country convulsed, he entered a government of national unity — a compromise that may have confounded partisans but saved lives and bought time for reforms. In 2012–2013, after a narrow and contested loss, he turned to the Supreme Court, accepting its ruling while insisting on electoral process improvements. In 2017, he pushed the judiciary to assert its independence — and it did, nullifying a presidential result for the first time in Kenya’s history — yet his rallying cry remained for peaceful engagement, culminating in the Handshake. In 2022, he again decried irregularities; still, his podium was a platform for rallies and civil action under the law, not a trigger for chaos. Across these seasons, Raila’s north star was not the immediacy of victory but the longevity of the nation.

His highs are carved into our civic architecture. He is inseparable from the “second liberation,” from the wind that swelled Kenya’s sails toward multiparty democracy, from the long walk to the 2010 Constitution that expanded rights, devolved power, and reimagined citizenship. As a minister and opposition leader, he pressed for infrastructure and oversight, championed devolution as a shield against the tyranny of distance and the hoarding of opportunity. He empowered county voices and normalised the idea that Nairobi is not the only centre of gravity and a place where all development should emanate — but gave counties rights to the development of their choice.

There have been lows too, and they humanise the legend. Party fractures that disillusioned supporters. Alliances that shifted like Nairobi weather and changes like a chameleon’s colour. The painful string of electoral defeats that left many wondering whether Kenyan politics can ever fully reward those who carry the heaviest load for reform. The whispers and wars of succession inside and outside his camp. The bruises of tear gas he once absorbed on countless protest lines. And the endless toll that public life exacts on private peace. When you thought he was written off, he reincarnated and came back in a different form — but still peaceful and fighting for democracy.

But even in the lows, there was humour and humanity — the two quiet engines of his resilience. Raila made politics feel like a stadium, a classroom, and a theatre all at once. He loved a good kitendawili — a riddle to teach a lesson without a lecture. He could deploy slogans with the cadence of a drumbeat: “Tialala! Tibim!” He baptised the political moment with memorable phrases — “nobody can stop reggae” — that turned rallies into rituals of hope. The country laughed with him in memes — “Baba while you were away” — because even his absence could spark communal creativity and questions from both the opposition and those supporting the government of the day. And on football terraces with Gor Mahia and Arsenal faithful, he reminded us that a leader’s truest face sometimes appears not on the dais, but in the stands of conviction.

Raila’s peace-making is not the peace of quietism. It is an active peace — one that stares down injustice, confronts institutions, and then, when the final whistle blows, insists that Kenyans must still share a country, a language, a culture, and a future. To shake hands with opponents is not to surrender principle — it is to declare the nation larger than any one man’s destiny. That is the paradox of Raila’s politics — unyielding in pursuit, unifying in purpose.

The Mugumo tree shelters many. Around Raila’s canopy grew legions of young leaders who learned to speak truth in full voice, women and men who discovered that power can be earned outside the old gates and not given, counties that realised they could dream big and budget bigger courtesy of the 2010 Constitution that devolved powers and development. Even those who opposed him acknowledged the scale of his influence — the way he could move the crowd, reframe the debate, reset the stakes.

And yet, a tree also bears scars — the machete marks of harvest, the carvings of passing lovers, the age rings of drought and flood. Raila’s scars testify to a life spent on the frontier between what Kenya was and what it could be. In the seasons when the ground shook with detention, disputed election outcomes, courtroom battles, and coalition mistrust, he did not scatter but came out stronger. He stood, gathered, and called the birds back to the branches to continue fighting for justice.

If legacy is the story we leave in other people’s mouths, Raila’s is a song — sometimes a dirge, often a chant, always a chorus. It sings of a people who refused to surrender their future to fear, of a leader who never confused stubbornness for strength nor compromise for weakness, of a country still becoming, season by season, election by election, to achieve its true democracy.

And so, to the Mugumo, we honour you. May your roots continue to nourish the soil of our democracy; may your shade remain a refuge for argument without enmity; may your fallen leaves fertilise new ideas, new leaders, and new courage. For if the ground must shake when a great tree falls, let it be the kind of tremor that wakes us all to our duty — to keep faith with one another, to keep peace with our differences, and to keep walking toward a Kenya broad enough to hold us all.

Baba, tosha today, tomorrow, and for the generations learning under your branches how to stand tall. Indeed, the Mugumo tree has fallen and birds perched on it must scatter; the ground must be shaken, but also the roots that remain shall yield new leaders to continue with his legacy. Indeed, Raila is a Prince who never became a King, but also a King who never ruled.

Long live Raila’s legacy. Long live Agwambo. Long live Wuod Mary.

Cyber Crime Act Ushers New Era of Freedom with Responsibilities

By
-
0

By Billy Mijungu

As you post on your socials, you must now be responsible enough to say the truth and nothing but the truth, without hurting anyone, any institution, or any legal person. The new Cyber Crime Act is not just another law; it is a social contract reminding us that freedom of expression must walk hand in hand with accountability. From today onward, I must strike a balance between speaking freely and speaking truthfully. It had become almost impossible to disabuse the falsehoods spread online by those motivated by hate, politics, or malice.

Many will argue that good manners cannot be legislated, but the Kenyan experience seems to have proved otherwise. When the unwritten rules of decency failed, the law had to intervene. The new legislation now draws a firm line between freedom and abuse, between expression and destruction. For far too long, social media platforms have been battlefields where reputations are assassinated, lies are polished into truths, and dignity is shredded in public view. It is time to restore order and civility to the digital space.

Under this new legal framework, you can no longer be cyberbullied in the name of freedom. Online violence, character assassination, and malicious propaganda will now have consequences. Freedom, after all, was never meant to be a license to destroy. It was meant to empower citizens to speak, to innovate, to engage, and to question, all while upholding respect and honesty. We now have the virtual and moral police guiding behavior in these digital spaces. The Cyber Crime Bill might finally steer online behavior toward productivity rather than toxicity.

We have seen situations where Kenyans online have gone to the extreme of metaphorically killing someone’s reputation, burying them in virtual caskets of slander, and celebrating their downfall. How did we come to normalize such cruelty? Words have power, and when used recklessly, they destroy more than any weapon can. This law may be the turning point, a chance to reclaim our collective morality and rebuild trust in the digital public square.

However, as much as citizens must learn to be responsible, the Government too must labor to apply this law justly. The measure of its success will not be in the number of arrests or fines but in the fairness of its enforcement. Justice must not be selective, and the law must never be used as a tool to silence dissent. When both citizens and the state embrace responsibility, freedom thrives in its purest form.

ARE THE TERMS ‘PARASITES’ AND ‘WARRIORS’ GOOD FOR ODM?

By
-
0
odm party

By Prof Peter Okoth

The terms ‘Parasites‘ and ‘Warriors‘ were used in a panel discussion on Citizen TV’s Tuesday morning show to describe the emerging ODM leadership. The panellists included Barack Muluka, Nelson Havi, Professor Kivutha Kibwana, and one other panellist. The originator of the discussion was Nelson Havi, who, in his thoughts, tried to describe the emerging leadership scenarios in ODM. The Parasites were described as those who supported the status quo of remaining in the broad-based government because they were benefiting from the government of President William Samoei Ruto, whom they described as the host of the parasites. The Cabinet Secretaries and those supporting the broad-based government were considered the Parasites, while the Secretary-General and the Babu Owino and Caleb Hamisi faction were considered the Warriors. The Warriors were described as the futuristic political leadership of the party because they were antagonistic to the status quo and wanted a different approach in the party’s leadership and their relationship with President William Ruto. What a way of describing a political formation. It actually smells — but why?

In my view, ODM shouldn’t look far for its enemies. The panellists who supported this notion are some of them. The panellists in that discussion threw the arsenals that embers internal feuds within the party. It could have happened accidentally, but it is something that ODM must keenly look out for. Raila Odinga managed differences and different opinions very well. Bringing individuals with different mindsets and ambitions together and containing them on a focused course is something to admire. The problem for the party would come if those left behind are not strong enough to weather such storms or differences when they occur. A leader must learn and know when to push and when to retreat.

Remember that ODM was Baba’s political vehicle that brought together different parts of the country into a solid political support base. The question one should ask themselves is: what puts this support base together? Does the support base have any glue or interest that puts them together? I would argue yes. Historical exclusion, marginalisation, and underdevelopment are some of the shared interests.

In furtherance of this conversation, some of the original founders may not be in the party anymore, but many are still inside the party. We are all aware that Edwin Sifuna, the ODM Secretary-General, Babu Owino, and Caleb Hamisi do not support the broad-based government. That does not make them Warriors. They would appropriately be called internal different opinion holders because their party leader supported the idea of working together with the president to create stability and calm in the country. Secondly, the word ‘Parasites‘ is a misplaced terminology in a political discussion because its meaning is only connotative of eating without doing any work or providing any benefits to the host. Is this factual? No, it isn’t. It would be an incomplete discussion if we don’t point to the fact that the Cabinet Secretaries donated to the broad-based government by the ODM Party are working very hard in their dockets and giving the government very good services that it needs.

Furthermore, the creation of the broad-based government is supported by the party supporters and cannot be nuanced to belong to a few individuals who are fighting to be nurtured and sustained. The results obtained from their contributions so far are generally good for the country, and there is still room for improvement. Moreover, those donated to the broad-based government are also strong politicians with sufficient political appeal to lead the party into prosperity. Sometimes rebellion looks like the more attractive side in a political discourse. This should not always be considered a given truth. With critical analysis and evaluation, you might determine that it is the weaker part of the party’s leadership chain. The question that begs is: why did Raila join Ruto? Was it because he wasn’t aware that they had competed with President William Ruto? The answer is no. He knew and talked about the instability brought about by the Finance Bill of 2024 that triggered the Gen Z rebellion. The Gen Zs had legitimate questions and issues that must be addressed, and that is one of the reasons Baba joined William Samoei Ruto — to work out solutions. He even proposed the intergenerational conclave and moving Kenya to a first-world state. Several actions are already on the table, and that is what ODM should train its eyes on.

Let ODM work with the government to trigger more manufacturing and processing in order to generate more money and jobs for the ordinary Mwananchi. I think that is where Baba Raila Amolo Odinga was pointing and wanted to be part of. Any other script is a lie that must be quashed at all costs. It is good that the ODM Party, in its wisdom, decided that Dr Oburu Odinga be its interim party leader. Dr Oburu Odinga shall play the father figure that calms down the waters and helps put out the fire being lit in ODM by its enemies.

Being of a contra opinion is not bad in the party. It is the basis for engagement and furtherance of more coherent discussions that must be supported and allowed in the party. What is wrong is when those contra opinions are allowed to grow beyond party cohesion limits without them providing sufficient depth that supports growth and stability for the country. Furthermore, the party has organs that can further discuss any issues and build acceptable consensus for the party and its supporters. The supporters can also be consulted on specific issues for their input. Outcomes should always be a win-win for the party and the country at large.

In conclusion, ODM must be focused. It must allow freedom that enables any of its members with sufficient political ground support to eventually emerge as its leader. Politics is about winning people, and that is where the party’s strength lies. The alternative is collapse.

Raila’s Last Survivors Make Peace at Graveside

By
-
0

By James Okoth

The afternoon sun slanted gently across the red soils of Bondo, resting softly on a mound of freshly turned earth. The murmurs of mourners had thinned, but at Raila Amolo Odinga’s graveside, two figures lingered — men bound by the weight of memory, gratitude, and unfinished conversations.

James Orengo and Johnson Sakaja stood shoulder to shoulder, silent but connected by the unspoken truth that the man they had come to bury had once stood by each of them in their darkest hours. In that quiet moment, they were not governors of rival counties, nor politicians of clashing generations — they were survivors of Raila’s political orbit, each a beneficiary of his boundless grace.

The Hand That Never Withheld Help

When James Orengo’s health faltered and political storms gathered around him, many whispered that his days in the trenches were done. The Siaya Governor, once the fearless defender of democracy, seemed to face his twilight alone — until Raila Odinga appeared quietly at his side.

He came not as a politician, but as a brother. He did not come to command, only to comfort. Those close to Orengo recall that visit as transformative. “You must heal,” Raila had told him softly. “Kenya still needs your courage.” It was both a blessing and a command — a spark that pulled Orengo back into the rhythm of resilience that had defined his life beside Raila for over four decades.

For Orengo, that moment would become symbolic of the man he knew: Raila, the unyielding fighter who never abandoned his own, even when others turned away.

Sakaja’s Second Chance

Johnson Sakaja’s political path had taken a different turn — one of youthful ambition and early confrontation. As Nairobi’s Governor, he found himself facing impeachment, besieged by powerful forces eager to see him fall. The air was thick with political vengeance, and allies had begun to scatter.

Then, from an unexpected corner, came the voice of reason — Raila Odinga’s.

Raila, the man whose coalition Sakaja had once resisted, chose to stand between the young governor and the political guillotine. “Let him stand,” Raila said. “Don’t destroy promise because of politics.”

Those few words carried the weight of wisdom from a man who understood the fragility of leadership. To many, it was a masterstroke of political statesmanship. To Sakaja, it was personal redemption.

And now, standing beside the grave, the Nairobi Governor finally spoke — his voice reverent and heavy with emotion.

“Raila Odinga was more than a political leader — he was a symbol of resilience and unity. His dedication to justice and democracy continues to inspire generations,” said Sakaja.
His words, brief but profound, captured the sentiment of a nation and the gratitude of a man who had once been saved by the very leader he came to mourn.

A Grave That Became a Bridge

And so, as the wind whistled through the acacia trees at Jaramogi Oginga Odinga’s homestead, the two stood — Orengo and Sakaja — drawn together by the same man who had once steadied both their lives.

They spoke little after that, but the symbolism was heavy. Orengo, the veteran of the struggle. Sakaja, the inheritor of a new political age. Between them lay Raila, the bridge between Kenya’s past and its uncertain future.

Their eyes met briefly. Perhaps each saw in the other what Raila had seen all along — potential, humanity, imperfection, and the possibility of renewal.

Around them, ODM loyalists murmured quietly. The air was not one of division or partisanship but of closure. Raila Odinga, even in death, had managed what politics rarely achieves — to summon peace out of tension, to gather old foes into fellowship.

The Teacher Lives On

In the days that followed, many would speak of Raila’s unmatched courage, his defiance, his unyielding belief in justice. But for those who knew him closely, it was his capacity to forgive — to hold others up when they fell — that defined him most.

Raila Odinga had spent a lifetime teaching Kenya that power was fleeting, but compassion endured. He had fought for democracy, yes, but he had also mended broken friendships, bridged divides, and healed rivals.

At his graveside, Orengo and Sakaja were proof that his lessons had not been in vain. Their presence was a quiet pledge — that his legacy of unity would not be buried with him.

As the sun dipped behind the hills, the mourners began to drift away. Orengo lingered, laying a hand gently on the grave. Sakaja bowed his head, whispering something only the wind could carry.

Raila Odinga was gone, but his spirit — the reconciler, the forgiver, the unifier — remained alive in those he had once lifted.

In death, as in life, Raila is still bringing people together.

Did the spirit of the legendary Nyamgondho son of Obare ‘re-appear’ in Mbadi with a slip of the tongue?

By
-
0
Hon. John Mbadi Cabinet Secretary (CS) for The National Treasury and Economic Planning
Hon. John Mbadi Cabinet Secretary (CS) for The National Treasury and Economic Planning

By Anderson Ojwang

Among the Luo community, along the shores of Lake Victoria, a folklore, a story is told of Nyamgondho Wuod Ombare, a legendary figure.

The legend of Nyamgondho was a poor fisherman from Kamwela in Tanzania, who came to sojourn in the Kachwodho clan in Nyandiwa, next to the present Nyandiwa fishing beach on the Suba mainland.

Nyamgondho’s name was Julu son of Ombare and the grandson of Omae.

Nyamgondho son of Ombare was a very poor man who earned a living by fishing on Lake Victoria. He barely had anything to eat or clothes to wear, and, every evening, his underprivileged condition forced him to walk long distances looking for a place among kind neighbours to help him with a place to sleep.

One morning, Nyamgondho woke up so hungry that he thought he was going to die of hunger. Thus, he went to the lake, at least with a hope of getting his daily bread. As he was fishing, he cast his net and upon pulling it in, he saw an ugly woman.

Nyamgondho wanted to throw her back into the water, but the ugly woman persuaded him to pull her out and live with her as his wife. She promised to make him wealthy, on the condition that he never revealed to anyone where he found her.

The lady of the lake was hardworking, and Nyamgondho became very rich, acquiring many cattle and several other wives. However, he suddenly grew proud and arrogant, and one day he came home drunk; each wife, who had her own house, refused to let him in.

Even the lady of the lake refused to let him in. Nyamgondho shouted, “What? Even you, ugly creature whom I found in the lake, you won’t open the door for me?“

Enraged, the lady of the lake replied, “What have you said? What was the agreement when we met?” Nyamgondho told her that with his considerable wealth in cattle, he no longer needed such an ugly wife and he cursed her.

Upon hearing this, the lady of the lake left their home and returned to the lake and, to Nyamgondho’s horror, every one of his cows followed her: one by one they walked into the water, leaving him with no possessions.

The rock formations resembling the legendary lady of the lake’s footsteps and those of her animals can be seen at the point where she entered the water in Nyandiwa. Locals believe that the water which flows above the footsteps has medicinal powers.

This story has a similarity with the Finance and Economic Planning Cabinet Secretary, John Ngongo Mbadi’s recent political declaration.

Mbadi, who hails from Gwasi South, Seka Sub-location, some 3.5 kilometres away from Nyandiwa beach, where the stone believed to be of the legendary lady stands, could have walked into the shadows of Nyamgondho.

From a humble beginning, Mbadi was first elected as the MP for Gwasi in 2007 and went on to serve for three terms.

“I served in parliament for 17 years. I was elected on the first attempt and never tasted defeat,” he said.

In the 2022 general elections, Mbadi expressed interest in the Homa Bay gubernatorial seat but was prevailed upon by the late former Prime Minister Raila Odinga.

After the death of former Homa Bay senator, Otieno Kajwang’, Mbadi was appointed the chairman of the Orange Democratic Movement (ODM), which he relinquished after he was appointed into the broad-based government.

Mbadi was nominated to parliament and embarked on a campaign in his Gwasi South backyard. Before his appointment to the cabinet, Mbadi and his successor Caroli Omondi had turned the area into a battleground.

Recently, in Sori in Nyatike constituency, some 20 kilometres away from Nyandiwa, Mbadi consciously or unconsciously declared that he was no longer interested in any elective seat in the region.

“I was removed from politics. I know, you have heard that in 2027, I will not seek any elective seat. It is painful to the Suba people. In 2022, they did not vote for me, I saw the pain in women for failing to cast their votes in my favour, because I was prevailed upon.
In the last general election, I knew I would be the governor of Homa Bay County. I was honoured to be appointed into the cabinet by President William Ruto,” he said.

The sudden death of Raila precipitated things to fall apart and Mbadi may be watching a Nyamgondho son of Obare moment.

Will he in future return to vie for the Homa Bay gubernatorial seat or will he go back to Gwasi South in a new political dispensation?

Raila’s Public Holidays Fade as Kenyans Face Date with Destiny

By
-
0

By James Okoth

For seven days, Kenya stood still. The chatter of politics faded, the engines of business slowed, and the pulse of a restless nation softened into mourning. In those quiet days following the death of Raila Amolo Odinga, time itself seemed to hesitate — as though the country had entered a sacred pause.

They were not official holidays written into the calendar. They were Raila’s public holidays — days when the ordinary rhythms of life gave way to collective reflection, grief, and gratitude. The markets still opened, but nobody bargained as loudly. The airwaves still hummed, but with voices lowered in reverence.

Across the land, from Kibra to Kisumu, Nairobi to Nyeri, Kenyans shared one silence — the silence of loss. For decades, Raila’s name had stirred passion and protest; his voice had mobilized hope and fury in equal measure. But in death, he united the country in a stillness so deep it felt biblical.

Now, those days have passed. The flags have returned to full mast. The crowds that filled stadiums and streets have gone home. Kenya resumes its routines — but the air feels different. The public holidays of the heart are over, and the nation faces a sobering question: what next?

For the first time in its independent history, Kenya must chart its future without the man who best embodied its contradictions — a rebel and reformer, a patriot and provocateur, a man loved, hated, feared, and revered in equal measure.

Raila Odinga’s death was not merely the passing of a politician; it was the closing of a political generation. For decades, he was Kenya’s conscience in motion — the voice that reminded presidents of promises made, and citizens of rights yet to be claimed. His defiance was not only political; it was moral.

During the seven days of mourning, it felt as if Kenya had entered a classroom of the soul, revisiting the lessons he taught — courage, sacrifice, and persistence. But now that the mourning tents have been folded, and the speeches archived, the nation stands before a mirror.

Will Kenya honour his legacy in deeds, or bury it alongside him in Bondo?

In that quiet village by Lake Victoria, where the red earth still holds the weight of fresh wreaths, the story of a man and a movement finds its resting place. But for the country he fought to reform, the story cannot end. The destiny Raila spoke of — of justice, inclusion, and accountable leadership — still beckons from the horizon.

His death forces a reckoning: can Kenya finally move from politics of personality to politics of principle? Can the opposition, long defined by his charisma, reinvent itself into an institution strong enough to outlive its icons?

As one mourner in Siaya whispered, “The country stopped for him, but he stopped for the country.”

Indeed, Raila’s “public holidays” are over. But they leave behind a rare kind of silence — not of emptiness, but of expectation. A silence urging Kenya to rise to its destiny, to finish the work he began, and to live up to the democracy he dreamed of.

The world, too, paused.
From Washington, former U.S. President Barack Obama — himself of Kenyan descent — mourned Raila as “a statesman who carried the hopes of a people through turbulent decades and never stopped believing in the power of democracy.” The African Union, the Commonwealth, and leaders across the continent echoed that sentiment, calling him “a father of multiparty Africa,” “a patriot of the people,” and “a freedom fighter who never gave up the ballot for the bullet.”

From Addis Ababa to London, from Pretoria to New York, flags flew at half-mast. The grief that began on the shores of Lake Victoria had rippled into the conscience of the world — for this was no ordinary politician. He was a continental voice, a global reformer, a man whose courage transcended borders.

And yet, it was here — in Kenya — that the weight of his absence felt most profound.

For now, the mourning is done. The flags flutter again. Life resumes.
But somewhere in the national conscience, the echo of those seven sacred days still lingers — a reminder that Kenya once paused for a man who refused to pause for injustice.

“Raila is gone,” one elder said in Bondo, “but the road he built still leads forward.”

The man rests, but the movement breathes. The public holidays fade — yet the lessons remain.

And as Kenya faces its date with destiny, it does so under the watchful memory of a man who turned struggle into sacrifice, and sacrifice into a nation’s soul.

1...737475...173Page 74 of 173