A Town Wrapped in Silence and Sorrow
The sun rose slowly over Bondo, but it brought no warmth — only sorrow.
The usually bustling lakeside town stood still, wrapped in disbelief after news broke that Raila Amolo Odinga, the man they lovingly called Baba, had died.
From the narrow dusty paths to the market stalls, silence blanketed everything. Then, as if on cue, the silence broke — replaced by the ancient cry that has echoed through Luo history for centuries:
“Jowi! Jowi! Jowi!”
The word pierced the morning air. It carried pain, reverence, and a deep sense of loss that no words could explain.
The Cry of a People
In Luo culture, Jowi is more than a chant — it’s a cry of the soul. It is used when a great one falls. It announces to the world that a warrior, a father, a leader, has departed.
And today, the people of Bondo shouted it with trembling voices. Old men sat by the roadside, tears glistening on their cheeks. Mothers clutched their children tightly, whispering Raila’s name between sobs. Young men waved tattered ODM flags, their faces streaked with dust and tears.
“Baba has left us,” one woman cried, collapsing beside the road. “Who will speak for us now? Jowi!”
Memories in Every Corner
Every corner of Bondo carries Raila’s memory. The school he helped rebuild. The road he pushed to have tarmacked. The hospital where he once donated medicine. For many here, his name is stitched into their daily lives.
“He was more than a politician,” said Otieno Ochieng, a motorbike rider who parked his boda to join the mourning crowd. “He was hope itself. Even when he didn’t win, he made us believe change was possible.”
At Kang’o Ka Jaramogi, the Odinga family home, the crowd swelled. Songs of lament filled the air as people laid flowers and lit candles. Some knelt on the ground, praying. Others stood in stunned silence, unable to speak.
The Weight of a Legacy
For decades, Raila Odinga was the heartbeat of Kenya’s democracy struggle — a man who endured imprisonment, exile, and betrayal but never stopped dreaming of a better Kenya.
To the people of Bondo, his courage was their pride. His humility, their lesson. His battles, their own.
“We used to say Raila is immortal,” said an elderly man leaning on a walking stick. “Maybe we were wrong. But what he stood for — that will never die.”
The Echo Beyond Bondo
As word spread across Kenya, thousands from other counties began streaming toward Siaya.
In Kisumu, Nairobi, and Mombasa, candlelight vigils were being organized. Churches planned special prayers. Social media was flooded with emotional tributes, poems, and photos.
Messages from world leaders began to circulate, describing Raila as “a voice for Africa’s democracy” and “a lion who roared for justice.”
But in Bondo, none of that mattered right now.
Here, the loss felt personal. Real. Raw.
Waiting, Hoping, and Praying
Even as people mourn, uncertainty lingers. Some still cling to hope — that the news might be false, that Baba might appear and calm the storm as he always did.
Yet, the tears don’t stop. The songs don’t fade. The people keep chanting “Jowi!”, as if their voices could reach the heavens and bring him back.
Children, too young to understand, watch their parents weep. To them, the story of Raila will be told for generations — of a man who dared to dream big, fought for his people, and inspired millions to believe in Kenya again.
Farewell, Baba
As dusk settles on Bondo, bonfires flicker along the roadside. The air smells of smoke and sorrow. From the hills, the final echoes of Jowi rise into the darkening sky.
Whether gone or not, Raila Odinga’s spirit walks tonight in the hearts of his people.
Because heroes like him never truly die — they live on in the tears, chants, and memories of those who loved them.
Jowi, Baba. Rest easy, son of Bondo. Kenya will never forget you.
