There are moments when an entire nation holds its breath, when time seems to stand still and hearts beat together, waiting for news we already know will devastate us.
That morning, October 15, 2025, the news came like a gentle, devastating whisper: Raila Amolo Odinga was gone.
Not with the political thunder we had expected from him, but with the quiet finality of a setting sun.
Across cities and villages, in crowded matatus and quiet homes, millions of Kenyans felt the same profound loss. We had all lost a beloved father.
From Lunga Lunga on the southern coast to Mandera in the far northeast, from Busia on the western border to Moyale at the edge of Ethiopia, Kenya wept as one.
In the cool highlands of Nyeri, the bustling markets of Eldoret, the sun-baked plains of Turkana and the winding alleys of Mombasa, people paused, some in disbelief, others in tears.
When they brought him home, the air was thick with love—so much love. People reached out with trembling hands, not in anger or frenzy, but with tenderness, yearning to connect one last time with the man who had given them hope for so long.
And when tragedy struck, when five beautiful souls were lost in the stampede, the nation’s grief deepened.
We were no longer mourning one man; we were mourning the children who loved him too much to say goodbye from a distance.
Beyond the rallies and the roar of crowds was a gentler Raila Odinga—the leader who remembered not just names, but stories; who asked after sick parents and celebrated children’s graduations.
My political journey was deeply shaped by him. He took me under his wing when I was still finding my footing, held my hand through the early uncertainties and showed me what leadership grounded in compassion truly meant.
He did not just teach politics; he modelled humanity. In every conversation, he reminded me that power means nothing if it doesn’t serve people. When his daughter Winnie spoke of his capacity to forgive and to always find hope, even hardened politicians wiped their eyes. Their practised composure melted into something raw and human.
His famous handshakes and political compromises came from a place of deep love for this country.
He knew that every decision touched millions of lives, and he bore that burden with humility and grace—the quiet strength that defines true statesmanship.
Now he rests in the soil that raised him.
The speeches have ended, the cameras have gone and what remains is the quiet. A tender silence where his voice used to be.
Across the country, people move through their days a little differently now. There’s a softness in how we speak of him, a gentleness in our memories.
The politics can wait. For now, we are simply remembering a father. Our collective Baba.
To the nation he loved so deeply: It’s okay to grieve. It’s okay to feel this loss in your bones.
True love does not disappear with one’s last breath. It lives on in the memories we cherish, the values he taught us and the hope he planted in our hearts.
Baba may have fallen silent, but the love he inspired continues to speak; in our kindness to one another, in our shared grief and in the gentle understanding that some losses change us forever.
Rest now, Baba. You have earned your peace. We will keep your memory safe in the most sacred place—our hearts.
Strategic advisor, political commentator, and expert in leadership and governance
