Dedication
To the sons and daughters of Kenya — those who dare to dream, to question, and to rise again when hope seems lost. This book is for every soul that refuses to bow before injustice, for every heart that still believes our nation can be better. And to Raila Amolo Odinga — the man who taught us that courage is not about winning, but about never giving up.
Author’s Note
Many will come and undertake to draw up an account of the things that Raila Amolo Odinga did among us. Some will tell you stories that shine, others will give you a distorted image — for that is the nature of history. With this in mind, since I myself have carefully observed, studied, and lived through the times of Raila, I too decided to write a sound and honest account, so that you may know with certainty the best of what this man gave to our nation. I do not want the spirit that lived in Raila — that rare, unbreakable spirit — to be forgotten in the noise that will follow his departure.
I write this book because Raila’s life awakened in me the spirit of resilience — the strength to fail and still rise, again and again. His journey is a living sermon on endurance, a testimony that you can fall a thousand times and still rise with purpose. The man failed often in the eyes of the world, yet he never bowed. He died while still rising, and that is GREATNESS few ever achieve.
Beyond politics, beyond the arguments and allegiances, I want the world to see that failing is not bad — bowing is. I want people everywhere to understand that resilience is a form of victory, that strength is not the absence of defeat but the refusal to surrender to it.
I write this for those who have been crushed by life but still dare to dream — for those who need to be reminded that no matter how deep you fall, there is always another rise waiting within you. That is what Raila taught me. That is what I want the world to remember.
David Waithera
Baba; The Fighter
© 2025
The Son of the Struggle
The afternoon sun hung lazily above the stadium, its heat rippling through the air like a silent drumbeat. The crowd stretched as far as the eye could see — a sea of faces, flags, and faith. Some stood on benches, others climbed trees and lamp posts just to catch a glimpse of the man who had walked through fire yet still stood unburnt. The chants came in waves — “Baba! Baba! Baba!” — a name that had grown beyond one man to become an anthem of longing, a symbol of unfinished freedom.
In the middle of the roar stood Raila Amolo Odinga. His eyes, slightly dimmed by age but still sharp with defiance, scanned the faces before him. He had seen them all before — the young, restless, unemployed faces full of hope and anger; the mothers with calloused hands who had walked miles to be there; the old men whose eyes still carried memories of Jaramogi’s battles. In that moment, it was not just a political rally — it was a reunion of wounds and dreams. He raised his hand, slowly, the way he had done countless times in decades of protest and promise. The noise grew louder, then softened as people leaned in to listen. He didn’t speak immediately. He never rushed words, because words were weapons, and he had learned long ago that the...
To the sons and daughters of Kenya — those who dare to dream, to question, and to rise again when hope seems lost. This book is for every soul that refuses to bow before injustice, for every heart that still believes our nation can be better. And to Raila Amolo Odinga — the man who taught us that courage is not about winning, but about never giving up.
Author’s Note
Many will come and undertake to draw up an account of the things that Raila Amolo Odinga did among us. Some will tell you stories that shine, others will give you a distorted image — for that is the nature of history. With this in mind, since I myself have carefully observed, studied, and lived through the times of Raila, I too decided to write a sound and honest account, so that you may know with certainty the best of what this man gave to our nation. I do not want the spirit that lived in Raila — that rare, unbreakable spirit — to be forgotten in the noise that will follow his departure.
I write this book because Raila’s life awakened in me the spirit of resilience — the strength to fail and still rise, again and again. His journey is a living sermon on endurance, a testimony that you can fall a thousand times and still rise with purpose. The man failed often in the eyes of the world, yet he never bowed. He died while still rising, and that is GREATNESS few ever achieve.
Beyond politics, beyond the arguments and allegiances, I want the world to see that failing is not bad — bowing is. I want people everywhere to understand that resilience is a form of victory, that strength is not the absence of defeat but the refusal to surrender to it.
I write this for those who have been crushed by life but still dare to dream — for those who need to be reminded that no matter how deep you fall, there is always another rise waiting within you. That is what Raila taught me. That is what I want the world to remember.
David Waithera
Baba; The Fighter
© 2025
The Son of the Struggle
The afternoon sun hung lazily above the stadium, its heat rippling through the air like a silent drumbeat. The crowd stretched as far as the eye could see — a sea of faces, flags, and faith. Some stood on benches, others climbed trees and lamp posts just to catch a glimpse of the man who had walked through fire yet still stood unburnt. The chants came in waves — “Baba! Baba! Baba!” — a name that had grown beyond one man to become an anthem of longing, a symbol of unfinished freedom.
In the middle of the roar stood Raila Amolo Odinga. His eyes, slightly dimmed by age but still sharp with defiance, scanned the faces before him. He had seen them all before — the young, restless, unemployed faces full of hope and anger; the mothers with calloused hands who had walked miles to be there; the old men whose eyes still carried memories of Jaramogi’s battles. In that moment, it was not just a political rally — it was a reunion of wounds and dreams. He raised his hand, slowly, the way he had done countless times in decades of protest and promise. The noise grew louder, then softened as people leaned in to listen. He didn’t speak immediately. He never rushed words, because words were weapons, and he had learned long ago that the...
