Raila Odinga: The God Who Lived Among Men

A Selfie of me when i first met Raila in Person at Kaaga Primary school in Meru.  Photo/Felix Kinyua.

There are deaths that stop a nation — and then there is the death of Raila Amolo Odinga. For many of us Millennials and Gen Zs, this is not just another obituary; it feels like Kenya has lost its political north star. Raila wasn’t just a politician — he was a constant, a storm, a myth, and somehow, a comfort.

I first met Raila in school — not in person, but in print. He appeared in our history books right between “The 1982 Coup Attempt” and “The Birth of Multi-party Democracy.” I read his name before I could spell “opposition.” Then I grew up and realized that Raila wasn’t just a name in a textbook — he was the chapter, the recurring one that every government tried (and failed) to close.

And today, like many Kenyans, I find myself in disbelief. Because somewhere deep down, I thought Raila was immortal. That man survived political arrests, betrayals, coups, election rigging, and still came out smiling with a new slogan every five years. Immortality didn’t seem far-fetched.

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Raila: The Only Opposition Leader We Ever Knew

Let’s be honest. For those born after the Cold War, Raila Odinga was the opposition. There was no other. Governments changed — Moi, Kibaki, Uhuru, Ruto — but the opposition seat remained permanently reserved for Raila. It was almost constitutional.

He was the man who turned dissent into a national sport. Every government in power, no matter how mighty, always had to factor in one thing: “What will Raila say?” He was Kenya’s unofficial Chief Auditor of Democracy.

And while many Kenyans saw him differently — some as a hero, others as a headache — we all secretly knew that he kept the powerful in check. Even those who booed him in public often whispered, “But Baba ako na point.”

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The Raila I Knew — Through History and Heart

The Raila I knew — the one I grew up studying and later admiring — was born out of defiance. He was part of the 1982 coup saga, accused of helping Ochuka in an attempt to overthrow President Moi. Whether he did or didn’t, Kenya’s political script changed forever. Four years after Moi took over from Mzee Jomo Kenyatta, Raila was already knocking on the gates of power — literally and figuratively.

Then came Saba Saba in 1992 — Kamukunji grounds — where Raila and others demanded a multi-party system. That day, Kenya took a democratic leap forward. I may have only read about it in history class, but it shaped the country I live in today.

Raila was the stubborn flame that refused to die, no matter how many times the system tried to snuff him out.

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The Man Who Could Lose and Still Win

After finishing school, I fell in love with politics — Kenyan politics — that endless soap opera with no season finale. And naturally, Raila was the main character.

He was the man who could lose an election and still come out as the moral victor. He could turn political pain into poetry, and every defeat into a rallying cry. He was cheated, bruised, insulted — but never broken.

He accepted defeats that many believed he didn’t lose — for peace. Think about that for a second. In a nation where some people fight over parking spaces, this man conceded entire presidencies. If that’s not statesmanship, please, enlighten me.

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The Curse of Never Being President

Of course, Raila’s story would be incomplete without the folklore that followed him — the so-called “curse.” Some said his father, Jaramogi Oginga Odinga, who turned down the presidency from Kenyatta in the 60s, passed on that curse to his son. That Raila was destined to come second — always the best man, never the groom.

But even that “curse” became part of his legend. Where others saw defeat, Raila saw destiny. He may never have held the highest office, but he owned the political soul of Kenya.

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Raila’s Controversies: From Coup to Kasarani

Raila’s life was not short of drama — even his death couldn’t escape controversy. Some claimed he died weeks before the official announcement, as if he had been resting quietly somewhere while the nation argued about timelines.

Then came the body viewing at Kasarani, which of course couldn’t end without incident. Reports say six lives were lost during the viewing — a tragic but fittingly chaotic Kenyan farewell. Because if there’s one thing Raila taught us, it’s that in Kenya, even mourning comes with headlines.

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The Immortal Spirit

Despite the scandals, the accusations, and the myths, one truth stands firm: Raila Odinga’s good deeds far outweighed the bad. His sacrifices gave us a voice. His struggles shaped our democracy. His courage gave meaning to opposition politics.

Even at Makutano, my locals are still in shock. The bar talk is quieter, the banter more reflective. People who never agreed on anything now sit on one table, sharing stories of “the time Raila said…” or “the day Raila did…”

We will remember his fearless speeches, his roaring laughter, his love for football, and that unmistakable wit that could roast a president and unite a crowd in the same breath.

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Raila Odinga: The God Who Lived Among Men

For me, Raila was more than a politician. He was a myth that walked, joked, and fought among us. He was Kenya’s last standing symbol of defiance — a god who refused to retire, even when age demanded it.

He leaves behind a nation that is freer, louder, and more aware — because he taught us that no government is above criticism and no voice is too small to be heard.

Rest in Peace, Jakuom. The man, the myth, the god who lived among men.

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About the Author

Felix Kinyua is a Kenyan writer, political observer, and storyteller with a deep love for democracy, satire, and all things Kenyan. He writes about the country’s ever-entertaining political theatre with humour, nostalgia, and truth. When he’s not writing, he’s debating politics over tea at Makutano — probably quoting Raila while pretending not to.

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