Former Prime Minister Raila Odinga /FILE
I was a student leader at Moi University the first time I felt the pull of Raila Odinga. It was 2007, and a few of us had been asked to help mobilise. That evening at 64 Stadium, we stood three rows from the dais, close enough to watch him rise to speak, and close enough to see that the crowd would not let him.
All he could say was “Haayaaa!”, again and again, and each time the stadium drowned him out. In the end we simply broke into song. I left in tears, never imagining that one day I would sit across a table from him.
That day came ten years later. On 1 April 2017, weeks after the doctors’ strike and my brief time in Kamiti, he called me to Capitol Hill. I came ready to brief him on the health sector, but before I could begin, he wanted to know how I was. Had I rebounded? A small question. I have never forgotten that a man carrying so much made room for me first.
We talked for nearly two hours about devolution and healthcare. He asked me to put my thoughts on paper, then insisted I fly with him to Kisii that same day. We kept talking on the plane. That afternoon, I sat in the hall and heard my own ideas come back to me in his voice.
From then on, he kept me close. Lunches. Phone calls. Anyone who walked into his office with a health matter was sent my way. Whatever I’ve built in healthcare and public leadership, I am grateful that he spotted me and kept opening doors when he didn’t have to, especially when I didn’t ask it of him. When I sought his advice on joining Nairobi Metropolitan Services, he only asked, “How do you think your name got there?”
He was my leader. Always, he was my friend. Many times, he was a father guiding my steps.
We spoke on a Monday last October. He promised that H.E. President Ruto would attend my function that Saturday. By Wednesday, he was gone. I went straight to his Karen home that morning and, as the crowd swelled, found myself arranging seating and security with a heavy heart.
Then Mama Ida asked me to go to India and bring him home, and minutes later the President asked the same. That journey to India and that week remain unforgettably painful. I’m grateful that he bears the CGH event if post-hummusly. I felt indebted to request this specific one of HE President Ruto. Thank you, Mr President, for such a gift of remembrance and many more, including a mausoleum.
A year has passed, and I still have not properly mourned him. Perhaps because he has never quite left. We continue to share in bits. And live his legacy in actual deeds. Rest well, Baba.
