A King Belongs to His People: Why Raila’s Farewell Must Not Be Rushed

A King does not belong to himself. He belongs to his people — their hearts, their pain, and their stories. Raila Odinga was more than a man; he was a movement, a mirror of our collective struggle. To hurry his burial is to silence millions who need to say goodbye, not just with tears but with reverence.

Across the country, emotions flow like rivers breaking their banks. In Kibra, Kisumu, and Mombasa, people sing, weep, and hold each other. They are not mourning a politician; they are mourning a father of freedom. His journey to the grave cannot be scripted by convenience or calendars. It must echo the depth of his legacy.

The hurried burial program has left many with a heavy heart. It feels unjust, almost cruel, to rob Kenyans of the right to mourn in full measure. Raila’s body deserves to travel through the land he gave his life to serve. Nairobi must host him. Mombasa must sing for him. Western and Nyanza must weep for him.

Every region he touched must be allowed its moment of farewell. A man who carried Kenya’s hopes on his back for decades cannot be buried like a file closed in haste. His burial should be a national pilgrimage — a slow, sacred procession through the soul of a grieving nation.

The will of a King bows to the will of his people. In this hour, it is not Raila’s private wish that matters; it is the people’s longing that reigns supreme. His family and the State must hear the cries echoing through the streets: “Let us see him one last time.”

Kenya has never seen such unity in sorrow. From matatu drivers to professors, from market women to diplomats, all stand in one voice demanding dignity. This is not politics; this is people reclaiming ownership of a legacy they built with their own tears and prayers.

It is time for the government to show humanity. Extend the burial program. Allow his body to rest in state in Kasarani for a full day and night. Let the people file past their leader, sing their songs, and light their candles. To deny them is to invite bitterness that will not heal.

History will not forgive haste. The burial of a man of this stature is not a formality — it is a chapter of Kenya’s national identity. Let it be written with grace, not arrogance. Let it be a story of respect, not control. Let it remind the world that Kenyans know how to honor their heroes.

We must ask ourselves, why the rush? What is the State afraid of? Why does it seem like those in power want this chapter closed quickly, as if Raila’s death is an inconvenience to their schemes? The people deserve transparency, not secrecy hidden beneath protocol.

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There is growing suspicion that the government’s urgency hides a darker motive — that Ruto and his circle want to bury the man swiftly so they can return to their looting without the nation watching. If this is true, it would be the ultimate betrayal of Kenya’s soul.

To the family of Raila Odinga, you carry the weight of a nation’s grief. We understand your pain, but know this — Raila belongs to all of us. His struggles, victories, and sacrifices shaped the destiny of a people. Please, let the nation walk with him one last time.

To Mama Ida and the children, your love and loyalty gave Kenya a hero. But allow the people to express theirs too. Do not let bureaucrats shrink his farewell into a sterile event. Let Raila’s sendoff reflect the fire that defined his life — bold, open, and full of heart.

To President Ruto, this is not a time for control or political calculation. It is a time for leadership, humility, and respect. You stand at a moral crossroad. Will you honor a man who challenged power with courage, or will you be remembered as the one who buried a nation’s conscience too quickly?

Kenyans are watching. The world is watching. Raila’s farewell must not be a rushed affair guarded by police and hidden behind screens. It must be a people’s farewell — raw, loud, and beautiful. Anything less would be an insult to democracy itself.

The cries in the streets are not mere noise; they are the voice of the nation speaking. They say, “Do not bury him yet.” They say, “Let us grieve our King properly.” To ignore them is to deny Kenya its catharsis, its right to closure, its emotional truth.

For six decades, Raila Odinga gave his all — his freedom, his peace, his comfort — for Kenya. The least we can give him now is time. Time to say farewell. Time to mourn. Time to honor. Rushing this process is cruelty disguised as efficiency.

Let the burial procession become a journey of unity. Let the roads from Nairobi to Kisumu become rivers of remembrance. Let the airwaves play his speeches. Let the choirs sing his name. Let this be the farewell of a man who taught us to dream of freedom.

The State must recognize that Raila’s life transcended politics. He was a moral compass in a nation of confusion, a lighthouse when hope dimmed. His burial must carry that same moral weight. It must teach Kenya what reverence means.

Ruto’s administration must not use this tragedy as a distraction from accountability. The people see through the veil. They know when power hides behind funerals to mask its greed. Let the mourning of a patriot not become the curtain for corruption’s return.

It is not just Raila being buried — it is a generation’s memory, a chapter of struggle, a lifetime of resilience. To compress that into a day is to erase history itself. The government must not treat this like a logistical task; it is a spiritual responsibility.

Every nation has its rituals for farewell. Mandela’s funeral lasted ten days. Nyerere’s body toured Tanzania. Kenyatta’s death brought days of mourning. Why should Raila’s be different? What are we so afraid of remembering in full light?

Kenya owes Raila a sendoff worthy of his sacrifice. Let him lie in Kasarani. Let him rest in Mombasa. Let him travel through the West. Let him come home to Nyanza. Let each region pour out its gratitude. That is how a King returns to his people.

In his final journey, let him unite the country one last time. Let his coffin be the vessel of healing, carrying forgiveness, memory, and pride across counties divided by politics but bound by love. This is the Kenya Raila fought to build.

The government must not fear the people’s emotions. It is not rebellion; it is reverence. It is not chaos; it is closure. To suppress it is to suppress love. Raila taught us to confront power — even now, that lesson must guide us.

Ruto, hear this: the people are speaking. Do not silence their grief. Do not rush their goodbye. You may command the State, but you cannot command the hearts of millions. Respect them, and you might just redeem yourself in history’s eyes.

As the nation grieves, let us remember that Raila’s spirit cannot be buried in haste. His story will live in classrooms, in songs, in our politics, in our prayers. But how we handle this farewell will define our moral character as a nation.

Kenya stands at a crossroad — between decency and deceit, between respect and convenience. Let us choose decency. Let us honor Raila not just in words but in action, by giving him the farewell he deserves.

A King belongs to his people. Raila belongs to us. His burial must reflect our collective heart, not the ambitions of the few. Let the journey be long, let the mourning be loud, and let the love be endless — because no Kenyan deserves a hurried goodbye less than Baba.

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