Farewell Baba: The President Kenya Never Had, But Forever Needed

Raila Amollo Odinga has rested, yet his name still trembles through the air like thunder after a storm. His story is not of a man who merely existed in politics, but one who defined it. He was the axis around which our democracy spun — admired by millions, feared by his enemies, and studied by generations. To speak of Kenyan politics without Raila is to tell the story of rain without clouds.

As Wamalwa Kijana once said, there was “Raila Mania” and “Raila Phobia.” He was both the dream and the nightmare of those who sought power. Those who loved him, did so with fire in their bones. Those who despised him, feared the size of his shadow. In him lived defiance, compassion, and a stubborn love for Kenya. He carried the weight of an entire nation’s hopes, even when that nation mocked or misunderstood him.

For decades, Raila Odinga was the constant in every political equation. His name could ignite streets or silence parliaments. Those who opposed him built entire careers around his resistance, using him as the convenient villain to justify their ambitions. Those who walked beside him needed only his smile to win elections. For years, he shaped Kenya’s political soul — by love or by fear, by admiration or by defiance.

In Central Kenya, you couldn’t win without mentioning his name. To praise him was rebellion, to insult him was strategy. He was the political currency of every campaign — demonized, adored, yet indispensable. Now that he’s gone, the question hangs heavy: who will Mt. Kenya blame or bless? Who will they invoke when the next election comes? The silence of his absence will echo louder than their speeches.

Deep down, even his fiercest enemies know the truth — that Raila Odinga was the most consequential politician of our lifetime. Baba carried a moral authority that money couldn’t buy and power couldn’t erase. He was the mirror through which Kenya saw its contradictions — our courage and our cowardice, our hunger for justice and our addiction to tribalism. He stood tall even when the system crushed him again and again.

Even those who hated him are now mourning. They have realized that their political lives drew meaning from his defiance. They built their relevance from opposing him, yet his death has left them exposed — hollow without a cause. For us who loved him, the pain is deeper. We mourn not just a man, but a generation’s unfinished dream — the dream of a Kenya where justice reigns and power serves the people.

The irony of death is that it humbles even the arrogant. Today, those who mocked him stand in black suits pretending to grieve, yet we know the truth. They will never inspire crowds, never command belief the way Baba did. Their words will always sound rehearsed because authenticity died with him. Their ambition is loud, but his silence is louder.

Some are already using his funeral to seek attention, trying to inherit his roar. They speak of unity, yet they seek power. They speak of peace, yet they plan betrayal. But those who truly knew Raila know that he was not just a man — he was a movement, a heartbeat that refused to die even when the body was weary. There can never be another Raila Amollo Odinga.

My heart is heavy. My head spins at the thought that Baba is truly gone. I’ve prayed for it to be a dream, for the headlines to lie just once. But the closer the burial came, the heavier the truth became. The Lion has fallen. The ground of Kenya feels bare, like a tree uprooted from its ancestral soil. We will never see another leader quite like him.

Generations will remember his charisma and conviction. They will speak of a man who lost elections but never lost the people. They will tell stories of his courage — of prisons, betrayals, and near-deaths — yet how he always rose again. He was more than a politician; he was the embodiment of resilience. Raila Odinga was not the president we had, but the president we deserved.

Baba’s life was not measured in titles but in transformation. He turned politics into art, protest into prayer, and leadership into sacrifice. His words could turn anger into action, despair into movement. He showed us that true power comes not from the State but from the people who dare to dream. He reminded us that democracy has a heartbeat — and its rhythm was the chant, “Baba!”

Even in death, he commands the nation’s attention. His funeral is not just a farewell — it is a reflection, a reckoning, and a reminder that we lost more than a leader. We lost a moral compass. And yet, we gained something eternal: his spirit. Raila’s fight for justice will live on in the blood of every young Kenyan who dares to speak truth to power.

His detractors called him stubborn, but that stubbornness gave us multi-party democracy. They called him radical, yet his radicalism gave us freedom of expression. They called him divisive, yet his politics taught us that unity without justice is slavery disguised as peace. He was imperfect, but he was real — and that’s what made him extraordinary.

Those who claim to lead after him cannot inherit his fire by speeches. They must walk the dusty paths he walked, feel the sting of betrayal, and still love this country enough to forgive it. For Raila was not defined by victory or loss; he was defined by endurance. Every tear he shed watered the roots of Kenya’s democracy.

As the earth closed over his coffin, it felt like history folding into silence. But that silence is not the end; it is the beginning of a new echo. Every chant, every protest, every defiant tweet — they will carry his name. His spirit has entered the bloodstream of this nation. He is gone, but he will never truly leave.

Farewell, Jakom. You did not just live — you moved mountains. You carried Kenya through fire, through betrayal, through hope. You stood tall when others bowed. And though you never wore the crown, you wore the people’s love, which is greater than any office or title.

Rest well, Baba. The Lion sleeps, but his roar will echo forever through the valleys of Kenya, reminding us that freedom is not a gift — it is a fight renewed with every generation. Your story is written not on stone, but in our hearts. And there, it will never fade.

Read Also: The Man Who Built The Stage For His Own Critics: Why Baba’s Legacy Will Outlive The Noise, The Betrayal, And The Political Season Of Small Men