Never was a Kenyan political hero so beloved by those he led

In decreeing that he be buried within 72 hours of his death, Raila Odinga, the East German-trained mechanical engineer, must have imagined his final journey with the engineer’s mindset: systematic, structured, precise.

But his plan appears to have ignored the norms and customs of his people, and the raw passions and emotions that he whipped up among the millions who followed his beck and call for over 40 years. A hurricane and force of nature had fallen, without warning, in a strange land thousands of miles away from home, no less, leaving them shaken, listless and lost – like a lone fishing boat on a dark night in the middle of a fierce storm. Bid him bye in 72 hours? Tall order.

For hours, they awaited the ODM General’s triumphant return from his last and final battle, set to mourn Jakom, who led them into many a political skirmish, turning left when he so ordered, charging forward at his command, and ceasing fire when he waved a flywhisk, as they never had mourned another leader. 

And charge they did into Jomo Kenyatta International Airport (JKIA), one of Kenya’s most secure government installations.  In hundreds, even thousands, they came. On foot, motorcycles, bicycles,  and matatus, they came, and camped pensively at dawn – awaiting KQ Flight 202 to touch down at 9.30 am with their hero’s remains aboard. A country was mourning its most steadfast son, the ‘People’s President’.  Baba was coming home. It was his final homecoming. 

In the Presidential Lounge at JKIA, President William Ruto, Retired President Uhuru Kenyatta, Raila’s widow, Mama Ida Odinga, Kenya’s Chief of Defense Forces and other dignitaries sat, waiting to receive the body of the great leader once hailed by the Agikuyu as “Njamba” – the cockerel – and by the Kalenjin as “Arap Mibei” – Son of the Lake – with the requisite rituals of religion and state. A man of the people was returning to his people, and no one was ready for what followed. The people took over.

A crowd of passionate and wailing supporters swarmed forward, tree branches aloft, and scattered the army honour detail and resolutely took charge, wailing over the casket, boarding the aircraft to retrieve Raila’s spirit. 

And unlike in his lifetime, Agwambo’s absence roared louder than any voice could. His void was palpable, a silence that not command, siren or microphone could fill.

One by one, government officials, politicians, Chief of Defence Forces abandoned their futile attempts to contain the surging sea of mourners. The only person who could call that mass of humanity to order was Raila, and Jakom was, alas, lying in a casket, dead to the world.

He was not there to speak to them, to stretch out his hand in that familiar calming gesture, to tame their passion with a word, a smile, or a raised palm.

Without him, the crowd became its own language: Raw, unrestrained, and driven by love. They wanted to mourn him their way, uncontrolled, uncoordinated, as wild and genuine as the bond they shared with Baba.

For the first time, motorbikes in hundreds got into the airport, and President William Ruto, his security team were helpless. At the State Pavilion at the airport, consultations were intense as things got out of hand outside.

Security breach

It was following the unprecedented security breach that Kenya’s airspace over JKIA was briefly shut down, in a rare moment that spoke to the magnitude of emotion surrounding Baba’s final return.

In quick order, it became obvious that a brisk commute to the Lee Funeral Home on Nairobi’s Expressway was out of question, and that the body wouldn’t be viewed at Parliament as planned, what with a restless crowd already massed at the gate. Public viewing would instead shift to Kasarani Stadium, and would Lee Funeral Home come to Agwambo, instead of the mountain going to Lee?

Passengers aboard the flight expected the usual pre-takeoff routine on safety instructions, flight duration, and weather updates.

But what came through the speakers was different, deeply human. The pilot’s voice, steady with emotion, broke tradition. Instead of a standard briefing, he offered a tribute, a solemn and heartfelt tribute full of reverence.

He spoke not just as a professional at the helm of an aircraft, but as a Kenyan mourning a legend, Raila Amolo Odinga, the Pan-Africanist who always aspired to see a prosperous, united and great Africa.

“Our thoughts go out to the Odingas’ family; Mama Ida Odinga, his friends, his supporters and all Kenyans during this difficult time. We honour and celebrate his legacy as a leader; we will always hold a special place in our hearts. May his soul of Rt Hon Raila Amolo Odinga rest in eternal peace,” the pilot mourned.

While in India, moments after the Kenyan delegation arrived, Winnie Odinga, Raila’s fourth child, cradled her father’s signature hat, that timeless symbol of his boldness and dignity, and gently placed it atop the flag-draped coffin bearing his remains.

It was a moment suspended between love and loss, a daughter’s farewell to a father who had belonged to both family and nation.

At the JKIA State Pavilion, her mother sat quietly, clutching the same cowboy hat in both hands as though it were the last bridge between presence and absence.

Her eyes, fixed on it, seemed to search for him still, while tears traced silent paths down her cheeks. Then, in one tender sight at the airport, Winnie knelt before her.

A mother and daughter bound by grief, both holding onto that hat. It was more than cloth and leather now; it was a relic of love, resilience, and the memory of a man who had carried Kenya in his heart all his life.

Finally, the entourage made its way to Kasarani Stadium, where Baba, for years, passionately worked the crowd, whether it was a football match or a political rally. There, too, his people waited, chanted and wailed as they crowded to view his body one last time. It was not to be, as at the airport, the security breach was immense, and the viewing was called off temporarily. However, with the setting of the sun, the casket was opened in the stadium.

The family and leaders, led by the President, bade farewell to a man they learned to respect and admire. The people, too, said their goodbyes to their leader.

On social media, journalist and political blogger Gordon Opiyo explained: “It is never easy at the funeral of a prominent Luo. Juogi (spirits) takes control and all protocols are disrupted. Things will be more complicated because Raila is the ‘ultimate leader’. We are lucky that the terror buru bulls were not allowed into the airport. This is how we mourn. Juogi takes over.”

Throughout Kenya’s history, juogi has always taken over when the Luo mourn political giants.  At the burial of Raila’s father, former Vice President Jaramogi Oginga, where 100 bulls were slaughtered in 1994, mourners escorted the hearse on foot for 33km from Awasi to Nyamira Kang’o. The funeral itself was a rowdy, messy spectacle.

Even rowdier was the burial of independence leader, the great Tom Mboya, in 1969. In a poignant story titled “Under the Ayieke Tree”, Time Magazine details a shambolic requiem mass at Nairobi’s Holy Family Basilica where a crowd of 20,000 mourners jammed the cathedral square, with Archbishop J.J. McCarthy’s words “lost in a shriek of sirens, the lamentations of women and crash of plate-glass windows.”

Time describes an agonisingly slow progress for the funeral party through Luo-Land, with women flinging themselves onto the road, men and boys clinging to the hood and body of the car, while others sat half-naked on the road, their bodies smeared with clay, as “witchdoctors in white ostrich feathers and monkey-skin skirts pranced among them.”

Juogi. 

In Raila’s case, juogi, the spirit, never awaited his passing. It was alive from the moment he stepped into the political battlefield after detention, perhaps earlier. It lay in songs, myths and parables; in his fiery political speeches and defiant, teargas-fogged marches against injustice; in the charismatic wave of a black flywhisk and the unquestioning loyalty of his followers. He was a commanding and spiritual force – a movement.

When Raila died at an Indian hospital on Wednesday, Prof Anyang', mourned, saying the ODM leader was a lion that had returned to the mountain.

Whence will this spirit go? Will it pursue the fading roar up the mountain or find a new leader? Will its force helplessly dissipate in lamentations, and get scattered to the four winds in time?

Additional reporting by David Odongo and Jacinta Mutura