Death is never easy, but when it comes for a figure as towering as Raila Amolo Odinga, the reverberations are felt far beyond political circles. In the days following the former Kenyan prime minister’s passing on October 15, 2025, the nation has been swept by a tidal wave of grief, remembrance, and—perhaps most strikingly—music. Across Kenya, Remmy Ongala’s somber refrain, “Kifo, kifo…,” has become the unofficial anthem of mourning, echoing through city streets, rural homes, and the digital spaces where Kenyans gather to share memories and process a monumental loss.
Odinga, who died of a heart attack while receiving medical treatment in Kerala, India, was 80 years old. According to Devamatha Hospital, efforts to revive him after he collapsed during a morning walk were unsuccessful. His death was immediately confirmed by Kenyan authorities, and President William Ruto declared a seven-day period of national mourning. Flags were ordered to fly at half-staff, and Friday, October 17, was designated a public holiday for the state funeral—an extraordinary display of reverence for a man whose life was inseparable from Kenya’s democratic evolution.
The outpouring of grief was immediate and overwhelming. On the morning of October 16, thousands of mourners descended on Jomo Kenyatta International Airport (JKIA) in Nairobi to receive Odinga’s body, which arrived at 9:20am aboard a chartered Kenya Airways Boeing 737. The crowd’s sheer size and emotion quickly overwhelmed airport security, forcing the Kenya Civil Aviation Authority and Kenya Airports Authority to temporarily close the airport and its airspace—a rare disruption that underscored the depth of public feeling. A planned ceremonial reception by close family and top leaders was overtaken by mourners demanding access to view the casket. As the military vehicle carrying Odinga’s body made its way from the runway, it was flanked by people waving twigs and singing songs of tribute, transforming the somber procession into an impromptu national ritual.
With the Parliament and airport venues overwhelmed, officials moved the public viewing to Nairobi’s Kasarani Stadium, a 60,000-capacity football arena. Here, the mourning took on a life of its own. Mourners filled every seat and spilled onto the field, escorting the body on foot from the airport—a distance of nearly 18 miles. But the raw emotion of the crowd soon boiled over. When mourners breached the presidential pavilion, police responded with tear gas, leading to a chaotic stampede at the stadium gates. Leaders present remained locked in a room for their safety, and an unknown number of people were injured in the crush. The incident was a stark reminder of both the passion Odinga inspired and the challenges of managing public grief on such a scale.
Odinga’s influence extended far beyond the ballot box. Born in Kisumu on January 7, 1945, the son of Kenya’s first vice president, he was shaped by both privilege and struggle. After studying engineering in East Germany, he returned home to teach at the University of Nairobi and launch several businesses. But it was his activism against one-party rule in the 1980s that truly defined him. Detained multiple times and accused of treason after a failed coup attempt in 1982, Odinga endured years of imprisonment and reported torture. Despite these hardships, he never advocated violence, insisting, “If a regime is undemocratic, if a regime does not enjoy legitimacy, the people are justified to resist that regime.”
Odinga’s political career was marked by both triumph and heartbreak. He won a seat in the National Assembly in 1992, became energy minister in 2001, and played a pivotal role in the 2002 election of Mwai Kibaki. But it was the 2007 presidential race that proved most consequential. Running against Kibaki, Odinga secured 44% of the vote—just two points shy of victory in what remains Kenya’s closest election. The disputed results triggered protests and ethnic violence that left hundreds dead and shattered the country’s reputation for stability. In the aftermath, Odinga became prime minister in a unity government, a testament to both his resilience and his willingness to compromise for the sake of national unity.
Over the next decade, Odinga continued to shape Kenya’s political landscape, running for president five times but never clinching the top job. His final campaign in 2022, backed by the outgoing president, ended in another narrow defeat—this time to William Ruto. Yet, in a surprising turn, Odinga and Ruto recently signed a political pact that brought opposition members into government policymaking and Cabinet positions. Ruto, in his tribute, called Odinga “a patriot of uncommon courage, a pan-Africanist, a unifier who sought peace and unity above power and self-gain.”
As Kenyans mourn, music has emerged as both a balm and a rallying cry. According to Nile Post, songs like Remmy Ongala’s Kifo and Siku ya Kufa are being streamed across the country, their meditations on mortality offering comfort and context. Franco and Tabu Ley’s Kabasele en Memoriam and Mokolo Nakokufa have also found renewed relevance, their lyrics resonating with the collective longing to reverse the unthinkable. “Raila Odinga, you will remain the father of democracy in Kenya,” wrote Gabriel Mungai in the comments section of a tribute song—a sentiment echoed by many who saw in Odinga a symbol of resilience, justice, and national pride.
Local traditions have also taken on new significance. Luo laments, Kikuyu funeral chants, and coastal taarab music are being woven into the fabric of public mourning, connecting contemporary grief to ancestral practice. From Kasarani Stadium to social media feeds, music is not just background noise but the heartbeat of a nation in mourning. As Kifo, kifo hakuna huruma (“Death, death has no mercy”) reverberates through speakers, Kenyans are reminded that grief is as much about rhythm and melody as it is about tears and vigils.
Odinga’s funeral arrangements reflect both the scale of his legacy and the intimacy of his wishes. His body will be laid to rest at his home in Bondo on Sunday, October 19, following full state protocols and military honors. According to family members, he had requested a quick burial, ideally within 72 hours—a rare request for a leader of his stature. Before the burial, a state funeral will be held at Nairobi’s stadium, with another public viewing set for Saturday in Kisumu, near his rural home. The entire process, from the airport procession to the final rites in Bondo, is being broadcast live, ensuring that even those who cannot attend in person can share in the nation’s farewell.
For many Kenyans, the loss of Odinga is deeply personal. “We are in mourning as a country. We loved Baba so much, he was the defender of the people,” said Beatrice Adala, one of the mourners at the airport. The use of “Baba,” a Kiswahili honorific for a beloved father figure, speaks volumes about the bond between Odinga and the people he served. His activism, his sacrifices, and his vision for a more just Kenya have left an indelible mark—one that will not be erased by time or politics.
As the nation prepares to lay Raila Odinga to rest, the songs, the stories, and the collective memory of his life serve as both tribute and testament. In the rhythms of mourning, Kenya finds not just sorrow but strength, carrying forward the legacy of a leader whose influence will echo for generations to come.