Rest in Power, Tinga. Rest in Power, Jowi.
Okay, my WhatsApp status alone can’t accommodate my big, beautiful emotions so let me vent here.
As a young Val, there are three things my dad made me grow accustomed to.
The first; whenever we were going somewhere, he’d lift me onto his shoulders. Anytime he didn’t, I’d feel this tiny wave of disappointment.
The second; watching soap operas. Yes! my big guy loves soap operas. And reading novels. Recently, I got him onto Things We Never Got Over by Lucy Score, such a lovely read, but yooooh! Some of those scenes are nasty! I keep thinking, “Woi, my dad is gonna read that part… what will he think about me?” Anyway 🤣.
So technically, he’s the reason I turned out a hopefull romantic.
The third thing my dad got me hooked on was His Honourable Raila Odinga, “Baba,” the former Prime Minister of Kenya. And I’ve been shying away from calling my dad in the last three days because I know I will break down. I just know. Hopefully he’s taking Tinga’s death with strength.
This one, though, grew from something I picked up from him to something I deeply connected with on my own.
Like I’ve said before, I’m not big on politics, but I’m not ignorant of it either, because politics shapes our everyday lives. It shouldn’t just be treated like background noise, okay?
Still, I found myself drawn to this enigma.
Anytime he appeared on screen, my heart would melt. If he cried, I’d cry. When he smiled, my heart would swell.
As a member of the fourth estate, I deeply respect Raila Odinga for never suing the media, not once. Even when absolutely horrendous things were said about him, he allowed freedom of speech to thrive. Maybe he understood its power, or maybe it was his emotional intelligence as a leader.
Either way, that kind of restraint and grace left a mark.
I recognize that in the last few years, he disappointed many of us in some ways, but I also recognize that he was human. People in the public eye make mistakes, too. Sometimes they act out of self interest, but that never erased the good in him for me.
Nothing could make me hate Raila for long. He had my heart in the world of politics.
I sit down and try to imagine how long six years really is, and then remember that he was detained for that long. He fought for our freedom, and for that, I respect him immensely.
I’ve seen him get crushed after every election. What angered me most was hearing people say, “Rao hatoangi kakitu… Rao ni mgumu, that’s why huwa hapati kura.”
Really? That’s what it boils down to!!! handouts? C’mon!
His wife’s eulogy was beautiful raw, graceful, deeply moving.
Ever since he died, my heart’s been breaking.
It’s wild because, just a week before his passing, I told a friend, “If Raila ever dies, my heart will break.” And it did.
I’ve never cried this much for someone who didn’t even know I existed. Every time I wipe my tears, I remind myself, “Val, this is your cue not to attach yourself to any politician again.”
But truly, none will ever live up to Raila’s charisma, at least not to me.
So this will be the last time my heart breaks over a politician.
I think about his family, his daughter, who probably hoped she’d return from India with her father in good health, only to come back carrying his famous hat.
How they must have waited, hopeful, for his return on Thursday, only for him to arrive as remains.
I’ve cried so hard.
Maybe because I understand the brutality of death…
Or maybe because I just genuinely loved the man Raila Odinga was.
I honor him.
I’m writing this here because I never want to forget him. Maybe history books won’t do him the justice he deserves, but if God blesses me with children, I want them to stumble upon this and ask, “Mama, Who was Raila?”
And even if they don’t, I’ll tell them anyway, about his aura, his charisma, his strength, and how he went all the way to Kijana Wamalwa’s funeral bearing seven bulls and chanting, “Jowi!”
I’m proud of my big heart, for holding space for such big, beautiful emotions.
Rest in power, Tinga.
Rest in power, Jowi.
I’ll live to tell your tales.
Shadow to my light. 