On October 15, 2025, Kenya lost one of its most defining and unyielding leaders — Raila Amolo Odinga. His passing in India closed a monumental chapter in the nation’s political story, a chapter defined by struggle, defiance, and relentless faith in the promise of democracy.
Raila’s life was a testament to conviction. Few leaders have walked through such turbulence with so much endurance. For more than four decades, he stood at the centre of Kenya’s political transformation — alternately loved and loathed, but never ignored. He was a man of fire: passionate, impatient for change, unwilling to bend to convenience or silence.
His story is not merely that of a politician, but of a revolutionary spirit that refused to fade. From the repression of one-party rule through the dawn of multiparty democracy, Raila was the restless heartbeat of resistance. Detained, maligned, and often betrayed, he still refused to surrender his belief that Kenya could be more just, more inclusive, and more honest. Even his fiercest critics acknowledge that he reshaped Kenya’s politics forever. He redefined opposition not as rebellion, but as the patriotic duty of speaking truth to power. He stood for reform when it was dangerous to do so and insisted that justice was worth any personal cost.
When Kenya stood on the brink after the disputed 2007 election, Raila’s resolve and willingness to negotiate helped steer the country back from catastrophe. The power-sharing government that followed — however imperfect — reflected his pragmatism, his recognition that peace sometimes demands compromise without surrendering principle. As Prime Minister from 2008 to 2013, he championed constitutional reform, devolution, and accountability, embedding in the 2010 Constitution values that still anchor our democracy today.
Throughout his career, Raila stood with those on the margins — the poor, the jobless, the disenfranchised. His speeches carried the rhythm of ordinary life: the market woman, the matatu driver, the young hustler searching for dignity. He did not simply speak for the people; he spoke from them, and often with them. His capacity to mobilise hope made him larger than politics. To millions, he was Baba, Jakom, Agwambo — names of endearment and awe, capturing both mystique and humanity.
Even in defeat, he stood tall. He ran for the presidency five times — in 1997, 2007, 2013, 2017 and 2022 — and though he never captured State House, his influence was unmatched. Each campaign became a referendum on Kenya’s soul: on fairness, justice, and the meaning of democracy itself. The question was never simply whether Raila would win; it was whether Kenya could live up to the ideals he embodied.
In his later years, Raila looked beyond Kenya, seeking to serve as Chairperson of the African Union Commission. That ambition reflected his conviction that Africa, too, required courageous and ethical leadership. Even in his final months, his gaze was continental, his passion undiminished.
To many of us who have worked with vulnerable communities, Raila Odinga’s legacy was not just political, it was profoundly personal. During my years working with youth and families in Kibera, Kenya’s largest informal settlement, I witnessed firsthand how his name carried a rare kind of power, not the power of authority, but the power of hope.
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In many households where despair often lingered, his name evoked belief. For children who had lost their parents to poverty or disease, Raila symbolized the possibility that their lives still mattered; that the powerful could still care about the powerless. I remember mothers and fathers I worked with speaking of him with a mixture of affection and reverence: not because he had solved their struggles, but because he made them feel seen. In a country where so many feel invisible, that visibility meant everything.
For the young people I worked with, the boys who dreamed of finishing school, the girls who dared to imagine leadership, Raila’s journey gave language to their own yearning. They saw in him not perfection, but a promise: that one could rise from adversity like years of imprisonment and still fight for justice without apology. His politics, though turbulent and often polarizing, carried a heartbeat that resonated far beyond rallies and elections. It was the heartbeat of those who had been forgotten, the echo of those who still believed in something better.
Raila’s voice was never just about power. It was about possibility. Even when he could not change every policy or fix every injustice, he carried the burdens of the marginalized in his speech, his defiance, and his relentless pursuit of fairness. In him, the people of Kibera — and indeed, millions across Kenya — found not a savior, but a reflection of their own resilience. His story reminded them, and me, that democracy is not only about ballots and laws, but about dignity — about knowing that one’s life, however small or overlooked, still counts
I did not always agree with him. There were decisions I questioned, moments that disappointed. Yet disagreement never dimmed my respect for his courage. He was imperfect, yes but profoundly human, capable of both fury and forgiveness, of unwavering conviction and rare tenderness. Among my father’s generation, he was a hero; among my children’s, a legend. When he was on the national stage, even amid uncertainty, there was a sense of reassurance, a feeling that someone still stood watch over the ideals we professed as a nation.
With his passing, Kenya must confront an uncomfortable truth: Raila Odinga was more than an opposition figure. He was a mirror. Through him, we saw our highest aspirations and our deepest contradictions: our yearning for justice, our temptation toward despair, our hope that courage could still redeem politics.
He leaves behind a freer, more pluralistic nation; a constitutional order born of struggle; and a generation emboldened by his example. Yet he also leaves unfinished work — the task of turning rights into reality, and equality into everyday life.
In the final measure, Raila’s story is not one of defeat but of unfinished victory. He may not have worn the presidential sash, but he conquered fear, complacency, and silence. He lived out the truth that democracy is not a gift, it is a struggle renewed in every generation.
If I were to write his epitaph, I would struggle. But it would read something like:
“Here lies Raila Odinga, the Son of Africa.
He chose fire over comfort, conviction over compromise,
and in eighty years he dared to bend a nation toward justice.”
Rest in peace, Jakom. Your courage will outlive your critics. Your legacy will outlast your losses. And your fire, the fire of conviction, will keep burning in the hearts of all who still dare to dream of a just Kenya.
David Kennedy Apopo is a Kenyan graduate student in the USA. His academic and professional work focuses on justice, poverty, and education, with years of community engagement among youth and families in Nairobi’s informal settlements.
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By David Kennedy Apopo