Letter from Nairobi: Politics and mourning

Nairobi, Kenya 
October 2025, 26°C during the short rains (October–November) 

Death is the great equalizer, but not all deaths are treated equally. When Raila Odinga – ‘Baba’ to millions (‘father’ in Swahili) – died this October, Kenya was convulsed with grief. Rumours had swirled when it was revealed that the former Kenyan prime minister and political titan was receiving medical treatment in India, but few predicted his demise. Within hours of the news breaking, crowds thronged the streets. Songs and tears mingled with marches and gunfire. Some mourners were even killed in the mayhem. For a newcomer from Europe, this raw emotion, almost religious verve and outpouring of love for a political figure felt at odds with the political cynicism we have become accustomed to in the West.  

At 80, Odinga had come to embody Kenya’s democratic story. His trademark wide-brimmed fedora and the gentle shuffle of his ‘Baba dance’ gave him the aura of a benevolent patriarch. Yet beneath the persona lay one of Africa’s most determined reformers. He endured years of imprisonment under Daniel arap Moi’s one-party state and helped usher in multiparty democracy in the 1990s. ‘Without Baba’, one Kenyan told me, ‘we’d be like Uganda or Rwanda – one party forever.’ 

Odinga never became president, despite five attempts. He also narrowly missed out on becoming the African Union commission chairperson this year. But he became something rarer: for many, the embodiment of a national conscience despite brokering difficult compromises to keep the peace. A post-election handshake in 2018 with rival Uhuru Kenyatta, aimed at reconciliation after a fraught campaign, has become a defining moment in his story. More recently, he reached a settlement with the current president, William Ruto, over the government’s controversial 2024 Finance Bill that sparked the youth protests. 

His supporters from his Luo ethnic base saw in him not just a politician but a perpetuator of the struggle for dignity. Kenya counts more than forty ethnic groups, each with its own language and customs. As one journalist remarked, ‘A Kikuyu and a Luo can be as different as a Russian and an American.’ Few could transcend such divides as he did. To the young, he was a bridge between the liberation generation and the 2024/25 Gen Z street protests – even if some felt his compromises came too close to selling out.  

Since the post-Cold War period, there have been few European political leaders who could inspire such cross-boundary loyalty and genuine affection. Over the years, Odinga accumulated other monikers alongside ‘Baba’, or father of the nation, including ‘Jowi’ (buffalo in Luo) and ‘Tinga’ (tractor in Swahili), for his ability to plough through obstacles, and ‘Agwambo’ (the mysterious one in Luo) for his political sleight of hand. Germany’s Angela Merkel was affectionately known as ‘Mutti’ although even at the height of her popularity, the nickname carried a hint of irony. The ‘Jupiter’ tag for Emmanuel Macron likewise captures a touch of teasing grandeur, whereas ‘BoJo’ for Boris Johnson underscores the unseriousness of Britain’s then prime minister.   

Here, in Kenya, history is a vibrant story in living memory that infuses the country’s politics. Since independence in 1964, there have been only five presidents. Odinga’s father, Jaramogi, was the country’s first vice-president and one of the architects of independence. That unbroken thread, from anti-colonial struggles of the 1950s and ’60s to today’s Gen Z street protests, gives Kenyan politics a directness and purpose that Europe struggles to muster. Europe experienced a ‘return of history’ after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine; Kenya is fully immersed in it.  

As Europe rediscovers the language of power and purpose, it might glance south for inspiration. In Kenya, politics is still animated by conviction, sometimes chaotic, sometimes dangerous, but undeniably alive. Kenya, of course, has youth on its side – the average age is 19 compared to a greying 44 in Europe. A more middle-aged sense of irony has overtaken the youthful sense of mission on the European continent. Europe needs to find its own political unifiers who can transcend political and geographic boundaries as Odinga did in Kenya. Whilst an ironic sense of distance from the ills of the world may have been the preserve of a European continent at peace, it is no longer appropriate for one facing threats to its geographic integrity. 

If Europe is to mourn anything, it is its ability to tell its own story with purpose and vigour, embedded in a historical context. The sense of mission and narrative in Kenyan politics can, at least, give pause for thought. Only by having the confidence to turn the page and start a new chapter – blank as it may be – will Europe be on a path to penning its own future.