By Prof Peter Okoth

I guess that this is the question many are struggling with currently. Yes — but why? The answer is simple: it takes a giant to create a political colossus, the kind that Baba Raila created. Raila Amolo Odinga wasn’t just a name — and that is what is confusing many.

Raila was a political student of his father, Jaramogi Oginga Odinga, President Jomo Kenyatta, Tom Mboya, and many other leaders from pre-independence to the present day. He travelled the world and understood global politics, and knew many global politicians personally — and how they governed their countries.

He knew the Kenyan struggle for independence and understood what brought independence to Kenya. He knew hate because he suffered it and was abhorrent of it. He persuaded his political enemies to walk the middle ground and have the country’s interest as the guiding principle to guide decisions.

He knew that political competition is real and was always prepared for it. He learnt how to dust his coat and move on after a bruising political contest. He knew that elections were necessary in any democracy and that there would always be winners and losers. The end should never be bloody.

He was calculated and always took a path whose end he followed to completion.

Raila knew how his birthplace denied him the presidency — utter discrimination without any justification, despite everyone else knowing the truth. He was a master mobiliser and a friend of many, both young and old. He helped many through their education and political journey. He gave more to other communities than his own and, apart from being a Pan-Africanist, was also an ardent nationalist.

These values form the guiding principles that should steer the ODM Party — not raw hatred nor unfounded rhetoric about this or that leader. Raila knew that it took time to learn government and governance, and that only when ready could a leader govern a country into prosperity.

Presidents Uhuru Kenyatta and William Samoei Ruto realised that Raila was a good political father figure and a great mentor. ODM must find a person or a group of people dedicated to its success through active conversation and collective reasoning for the common good and in the interests of the people.

Like all political parties, it must have its grassroots support bases guarded and protected. This is realised through engagement and consensus building on issues and by whoever represents those people and their interests.

Lastly, every political party wants to govern and win power. Their vision and mission for the country must be based on the needs of the people, and more so for the youth: give them education and jobs. Create industries in every county that offer employment to more than one million people every year. Give them affordable and functional health systems. Make clean water available.

It must be understood that ODM is a political organ and not an administrative institution. Yes indeed — it requires structures and systems, but those are supported by human charisma and character. Every leader must know that they have more responsibility than personal interests.

The human beings left in ODM must use Raila’s language and syntax the same way they do in Tanzania with Mwalimu Kambarage Julius Nyerere. Otherwise, any institution could be branded as a political party and attract political support — but this only happens in textbooks.

What we should do is write a concise, small, thin reference compendium on Raila’s perceptions of certain issues that everyone who wants to lead a political party should learn from. The entire ODM body should always remain alive to those tenets and values.

I like what CS Mbadi said at the funeral of Baba: there is a Joshua out here, and there are Aarons amongst those left behind. It might be difficult to know who they are today, but time shall allow it to happen organically and depending on need.

Most important of all — gather all, scatter none.

By Anderson Ojwang

In the Mbeere community, his songs soothe souls and give hope to the hopeless.
In his song, Kimulu (lantern), the symbol of his party lights the region.
In him, they converge and dance with vigour, anticipating a better day ahead.
In markets and social places, his voice speaks to the masses, and the words carry them along.
Even the bravest and most cunning fall to his drum beats and the rhythm of his music.

In Embu County, he is the king and the father of the community’s traditional music — the voice of the voiceless.
The speaker, listener, and healer of grieving hearts — the voice that carries their sorrow and happiness deep into the mountain.

Newton Karish, the Democratic Party (DP) parliamentary candidate, is not a pushover. The Benga maestro sings to the heart of the community.
Through his music, he forced the self-declared leader of Mt Kenya, former Deputy President Rigathi Gachagua, to patiently pay attention to his Democracy for the Citizens Party slogan “Sikiza Ground.”

Indeed, Gachagua listened to the ground, and after a sponsored opinion poll placed Karish at 43 percent, DCP at 20 percent, and UDA at 18 percent, he threw in the towel and rallied behind the DP candidate.

Karish, the immediate former Muminji Ward Member of the County Assembly (MCA), in the 2022 general elections left a mark after he won in all the polling stations in the ward — a mark of trust and faith by the electorate.
In his music, they danced to the polling station and spoke through the ballot — a resounding victory it was.

Head of Campaigns, Mr Sammy Njiru, says through music, Karish’s popularity has grown beyond the mountain, and his contribution to nurturing upcoming musicians from the community has endeared him to the locals.

“Karish is the father of Mbeere community music. He is the voice of the community. His music soothes and appeals to the community. In his music, the community gets its identity. That is why he is liked and so popular with the voters,” he says.

Njiru says the DP candidate, in his manifesto, has four agendas for the community — education, health, agriculture, and roads.

He says Karish has been the MCA for the ward for the last three terms and was first elected councillor in a by-election after the 2007 general elections.

“In 1997, in his 20s, Karish had declared interest in contesting for a parliamentary seat in the area. But when the former Attorney General JB Muturi declared interest in the same seat, he stepped down in his favour. For him, Muturi was his political father and he could not face him at the ballot,” he says.

Njiru says in 1997, Karish’s popularity had grown because of his music, and he was one of the strongest candidates then, but out of respect, stepped down for JB.

“Karish carries the aspirations of the DP party, and the by-election is ours to lose. This seat was previously held by our member, Geoffrey Kiringa Ruku, before he was appointed Cabinet Secretary for Public Service,” he says.

Ruku was appointed to the seat after President William Ruto sacked Muturi from the Cabinet position.

For Muturi, the by-election presents an opportunity to square it with President Ruto — once an ally turned bitter political rival.

For Ruto, he wants a second win over Muturi to showcase his political superiority and might over his former Attorney General — proving that he remains the king of the mountain even after their fallout.

And for the Deputy President, Prof Abraham Kithure Kindiki, it is a test of his life — whether he can be relied upon to deliver the 2027 mountain votes to President Ruto.

The candidates are Karish; Chama Cha Kazi (CCK) hopeful Duncan Mbui, who also recently served as the Evurore Ward MCA; and UDA candidate Leonard Muthende.

Muthende enjoys government backing, while Karish, the renowned Benga maestro turned politician, is banking on his performance track record — having served as Muminji MCA for three consecutive terms — and the support of seasoned politicians Muturi and Lenny Kivuti, who are backing him.

On the other hand, Mbui is banking on the number of votes in his Evurore Ward, which he has served as MCA for two terms. Given that it is the most populous ward in the constituency, this could tilt the scales in his favour.

Other candidates who have been cleared to vie include Lawrence Ireri, Isaac Muringi, Albert Ngari, Daniel Ngari, Reuben Njeru, and Simon Waiharo.

By James Okoth

He stood among mourners dressed in black — the tailored suits, designer shades, and polished grief.
Yet Edwin Sifuna arrived in startling simplicity: a red unbranded, unironed T-shirt, light beige trousers, and a branded ODM cap tilted lightly over tear-drenched eyes.
It was a look that said little but meant everything.

In a crowd choreographed in ceremonial mourning, Sifuna’s outfit was rebellion in plain cloth.
Not rebellion against Baba, but against the theatre the funeral had become.
Where others came adorned for farewell, he came clothed in conviction — mourning a leader, not performing loss.

The red T-shirt glowed against the muted tones around him — raw, emotional, unfinished — just like the struggle Raila Odinga had left behind.
Unironed, it bore the wrinkles of truth.
Unbranded, it carried the honesty of purpose.
Red — the colour of courage, sacrifice, and the restless heartbeat of a movement unwilling to die.

When Sifuna rose to speak at Opoda Farm, the air thick with politics disguised as condolence, his T-shirt had already delivered the preface to his message.
He did not flatter, nor did he soften. He spoke as one who had walked with truth too long to pretend otherwise.

“If there’s one thing Baba taught us,” he began, his voice steady yet scarred by emotion,
“it is that the struggle must live beyond him. You don’t honour Raila by folding the flag; you honour him by raising it higher.”

The crowd stirred — unsure whether to cheer or stay silent.
Around him sat party dignitaries already embracing the new era of “broad-based government,” exchanging loyalty for relevance.
But Sifuna, dressed in rebellion and mourning at once, would not yield.

“We cannot pretend that the struggle ended with Raila,” he continued.
“It would be betrayal to turn ODM into a souvenir of the past. The movement must outlive the man.”

It was a brave sermon delivered in the temple of conformity.
And as his words cut through the polite applause, he stood there — the only man unarmoured by fabric or fear.

That red T-shirt was more than attire; it was metaphor.
In it was the residue of struggle, the hue of protest, the pulse of ODM’s founding fire.
It was the colour of unfinished revolutions — of nights spent in police cells, of rallies charged with purpose, of Raila’s unyielding political spirit.

His branded ODM cap crowned the defiance, completing a look that balanced grief with grit.
Together, the red and the beige spoke softly but firmly — that Sifuna came not to mourn the movement’s leader into silence, but to remind the living that silence is betrayal.

As one senior official whispered that Sifuna “was isolating himself from the new reality,” others saw in him the last echo of authenticity — the man who refused to let grief be used as a curtain for compromise.

When the speeches ended and the politicians drifted towards the marquees of power, Sifuna’s image lingered — the lone mourner in red, eyes swollen, shoulders straight.
He had dressed not for ceremony but for conscience.
He had mourned not in formality, but in truth.

His T-shirt was creased; his loyalty was not.
In a day drenched with scripted tributes and carefully measured tears, he remained the honest punctuation at the end of a long political sentence.
He mourned differently — and in doing so, he reminded Kenya that even rebellion can be reverent.

In the hours and days after the funeral, murmurs rippled through ODM’s inner circles.
Some senior figures, eager to align with the emerging “broad-based” government, hinted that Sifuna’s tone was “divisive” — even warning that his posturing could threaten his position as Secretary-General.

But for the younger wing of ODM — the idealists who grew up chanting “Chungwa Moja!” — Sifuna’s stand was not defiance; it was doctrine.
He had spoken what many whispered: that the party risked losing its soul while chasing seats at the high table.

Now, he stands at a dangerous intersection — between loyalty to the late Raila Odinga’s ideals and the pragmatic pull of survival in post-Raila politics.
If he bends, he keeps his title. If he holds, he may lose it — but gain history’s respect.

In the end, the red T-shirt may come to symbolise more than mourning — it may mark the rebirth of conviction in a party at risk of forgetting its colour.
For on that day in Opoda, Sifuna did not just wear red; he became it — bold, unyielding, and unwilling to fade.

By James Okoth

When the soil closed over Raila Amolo Odinga at Opoda Farm, it did more than bury a man — it sealed the era of Kenya’s most prolific political tutor.
Across the political divide, men and women who had once found both purpose and protection under his shadow stood exposed — no longer protégés, but orphans in a political wilderness.

The country watched as disciples without a patriarch looked at each other with quiet confusion.
For decades, Raila was not just a political leader; he was a school. A movement.
A political seminary from which Kenya’s current and next generation of leaders graduated — some loyal, others prodigal.
Now, his absence has left them scrambling for identity, as though the very air of politics had thinned overnight.

The Architect and His Apprentices

No Kenyan politician has produced as many giants — and rivals — as Raila Odinga.
From William Ruto to Kalonzo Musyoka, Musalia Mudavadi, Eugene Wamalwa, Hassan Joho, Wycliffe Oparanya, Charity Ngilu, Anyang’ Nyong’o, James Orengo, Junet Mohamed, John Mbadi, Opiyo Wandayi, and Samuel Atandi, all passed through his crucible of political steel.
Each learnt the rhythm of defiance, the art of mass mobilisation, and the moral vocabulary of opposition from one man — Baba.

He taught them patience in betrayal, endurance in loss, and humility in victory — though few ever mastered all three.
To work with Raila was to be both forged and tested; to oppose him was to grow sharper, for he fought his enemies with strategy, not spite.

In a political landscape built on convenience, Raila raised conviction as currency.
He turned defeat into a doctrine and taught a nation to see losing as learning — a lesson that shaped Kenya’s democratic resilience itself.

Ruto — The Rebellious Son Who Learnt Strategy

Today, President William Ruto stands as perhaps Raila’s most successful graduate — though one who left the classroom early.
It was in the crucible of ODM that Ruto learnt the grammar of populism, the pulse of street politics, and the gospel of defiance.

The chants of “ODM! Tuko Tayari!” that once lifted Raila’s rallies in 2007 now echo in Ruto’s “Bottom-Up” crusades — different slogans, same soul.
Even his campaign theatrics — the direct connection with hustlers, the sense of siege against the elite — are dialects of Raila’s old language.
The teacher may be gone, but the student rules the republic.

And yet, at Raila’s funeral, when Ruto chanted “ODM!” and the crowd roared back, it wasn’t just nostalgia — it was the orphan’s tribute to the master who first showed him how to lead from the ground up.

Kalonzo — The Loyal Lieutenant Turned Custodian

Stephen Kalonzo Musyoka, ever the loyal lieutenant in Raila’s many coalitions, now finds himself at an existential crossroads.
For years, he was the bridge between Raila’s idealism and political reality — the one who patched cracks when tempers flared.
But with Raila gone, Kalonzo’s calm diplomacy suddenly feels lonely, almost antiquated in an age of loud populism.

He wept openly in Opoda, not just for the man but for the partnership that gave him relevance.
Kalonzo’s greatest fear is not losing political space — it’s losing ideological anchorage.
Without Raila’s moral compass, even the faithful risk wandering into transactional politics.

Mudavadi — The Pragmatist Who Learnt Timing

For Musalia Mudavadi, Raila was both rival and mirror.
He borrowed Raila’s calm but not his risk.
He learnt patience but not protest.
If Raila was fire, Mudavadi was ash — steady, surviving, but rarely sparking.

Under Raila’s mentorship in the early 2000s, Mudavadi found how to articulate reform in economic terms.
But his instinct for stability often kept him from the storms that made Raila a legend.
Now, with the elder gone, Mudavadi’s quiet diplomacy seems almost pale beside the roar of populism that defines Kenya’s next phase.

Still, as he sat by the graveside, head bowed, one sensed a man mourning the last true statesman of conviction — the only one who could unite Kenya’s contradictions and make peace sound revolutionary.

Joho and Oparanya — The Governors of Style and Substance

From the Coast to Western Kenya, two governors — Hassan Joho and Wycliffe Oparanya — embody Raila’s dual legacy: charisma and competence.
Joho inherited Raila’s flair for theatre; Oparanya, his discipline of numbers.
Joho’s sunglasses and speeches turned rallies into festivals of loyalty, while Oparanya’s spreadsheets gave ODM a reputation for managerial maturity.

But with Baba gone, both men find their political stage dimmed.
ODM was never just a party — it was a movement built around a heartbeat.
Without the heartbeat, the dance feels forced.

Their next chapters will determine whether they can transform inherited loyalty into independent leadership — or whether they, too, will fade into nostalgia.

Junet Mohamed — The Jester Who Became a Strategist

Junet Mohamed, once dismissed as Raila’s comic relief, quietly evolved into the bridge between the high table and the grassroots.
Behind the laughter was a mind honed in the fires of Raila’s political theatre.
He mastered the art of messaging — of turning complex ideology into memorable lines.

But Raila’s death leaves Junet suddenly voiceless, like an actor whose stage lights have gone out mid-performance.
He must now choose whether to remain the echo of a legend or reinvent himself as the strategist of a new ODM order — one less about personality, more about purpose.

John Mbadi — The Technocrat’s Burden

When John Mbadi was appointed the first Luo Cabinet Secretary for Finance, history smiled.
It was the ultimate vindication of Raila’s long fight to break ethnic ceilings in public leadership.
Mbadi’s discipline, intellect, and party loyalty had made him the embodiment of ODM’s technocratic side — steady, silent, strategic.

Now, with Raila gone, Mbadi carries not just a docket but a destiny.
He is expected to balance service to the Republic with loyalty to a fallen mentor’s ideals — a delicate dance that will define whether ODM’s reformist spirit survives in government corridors.

Opiyo Wandayi — The Engine That Must Now Drive Itself

Opiyo Wandayi, now Cabinet Secretary for Energy, was one of Raila’s most trusted organisational generals — a man who knew both the fire of the streets and the structure of Parliament.
He was the whip who held ODM together during storms of division, and the strategist who gave the movement intellectual muscle.

His appointment to Cabinet was Baba’s quiet endorsement of generational transition.
But with the patriarch gone, Wandayi must now learn to generate power — not just manage it.
Can he light the next phase of ODM’s journey, or will he, too, dim under the weight of compromise?

Samuel Atandi — The Defector in the Mirror

Then there is Samuel Atandi, the eloquent, youthful legislator who once wore Raila’s loyalty like a badge — only to now pledge allegiance to President Ruto.
His shift, symbolic and controversial, represents the fragmentation of ODM’s once-iron grip on Luo Nyanza.
To some, Atandi is a realist aligning with power; to others, a prodigal chasing convenience.

In him lies the reflection of a generation torn between ideology and opportunity — the orphans who find it easier to defect than to rebuild.
Yet, even in his defection, he carries traces of the master’s mentorship — the confidence, the cadence, the conviction — only redirected elsewhere.

Orengo and Nyong’o — The Intellectual Custodians

In the intellectual wing of the movement stood James Orengo and Prof. Anyang’ Nyong’o — men of letters and loyalty.
For them, Raila was not a politician but a philosopher of struggle.
He gave meaning to protest, dignity to dissent, and reason to risk.

At Opoda Farm, Orengo’s voice cracked as he said, “we are not just burying Raila; we are burying courage.”

That line captured the mood of an entire generation of reformists — now ageing, surrounded by political mercenaries who speak of reform but practise convenience.
The scholars of struggle now stand as curators of a fading gospel.

The Next Line — Orphans and Inheritors

Beyond the familiar names, a new crop of leaders — Winnie Odinga, Edwin Sifuna, Babu Owino, Gladys Wanga, Jeremiah Kioni, and others — stare at a different inheritance: a movement without its moral monarch.
They are the orphans of energy — restless, articulate, but unanchored.
Without Baba’s presence to calibrate the rhythm of protest, they risk mistaking noise for ideology, rebellion for reform.

For them, Raila’s death is both tragedy and test.
Will they carry forward the philosophy or merely perform it?
Will ODM become a think-tank of democracy or a relic of resistance?

The Political Republic of Orphans

In truth, Kenya itself feels politically orphaned.
For decades, Raila Odinga was the conscience of the Republic — the voice that called out excess, that legitimised opposition, that made power earn its place.
His absence exposes a vacuum not just in ODM, but in national moral leadership.

In every corner of politics, there are traces of his tutelage — in Ruto’s rhetoric, in Kalonzo’s alliances, in Mudavadi’s diplomacy, in Joho’s charisma, in Mbadi’s intellect, in Wandayi’s discipline, in Junet’s humour, and even in Atandi’s ambition.
But no one carries the whole.
Each holds a fragment of the gospel — none, the gospel itself.

The Sun Without Its Orbit

Raila Odinga did not just raise politicians; he raised Kenya’s political consciousness.
He was the sun around which orbits formed — some bright, others faint.
Now the sun has set, and the planets drift — luminous but lost, each seeking gravity of its own.

The orphans of Raila’s political house may one day find their voices again.
But for now, Kenya listens to an echo — the fading timbre of a man who taught a nation to speak truth to power, and power to conscience.

And when history writes of this moment, it will say: the teacher died, but the lesson refused to.