My friend, my rival, my brother in the struggle – President Mwai Emilio Stanley Kibaki – greetings from the land we both loved and served with conviction, though often through different paths. I speak to you now not as a politician addressing a former president, but as a fellow Kenyan reflecting on the journey we began together, the battles we fought, and the dream of a nation that still seeks its full freedom.
Kibaki, the Kenya you left behind still remembers you fondly. The people still speak of your quiet brilliance, your discipline, and your refusal to be drawn into the chaos of empty rhetoric. They remember a man who, in his own understated way, led by example – with intellect over drama, policy over politics, and service over showmanship.
You inherited a nation weary from corruption, cynicism, and political despair. But you reminded Kenyans that leadership could be calm, competent, and purposeful. You breathed life into a broken economy, restored investor confidence, and gave millions of Kenyans a sense of dignity through work and enterprise. The roads you built still carry our dreams; the schools you expanded still nurture our future; and the free primary education you introduced remains one of the boldest social interventions in our history.
We may not have agreed on many things, Kibaki – in fact, we often stood on opposite sides of the battlefield. But history will record that beneath our political rivalry was a shared belief: that Kenya must be a nation that works for all, not just a few. You were a man of few words, but when you spoke, Kenyans listened. And even those who disagreed with you respected your intellect, your humour, and your composure.
I remember the difficult days of 2007–2008. Kenya was bleeding; our people were divided, and hope seemed lost. Yet, in that moment of darkness, we both rose above ourselves. We sat down, face to face, and placed the nation above ego. We reached out to each other – not because it was easy, but because it was right. The handshake of February 28th, 2008, became a symbol of Kenya’s resilience. It taught the world that even the fiercest rivals can choose peace over pride.
Kibaki, you taught me – and perhaps taught all of us – that politics must serve people, not destroy them. You believed in reason over rage, in policy over propaganda. You valued development over division. Even when others shouted, you remained calm, analytical, sometimes distant – but always focused on what mattered most.
Yet, my brother, I must also tell you the truth as it is. The Kenya you left behind still struggles. The same vices we both fought against – corruption, tribalism, impunity – continue to haunt us. Public service, which you treated as a duty, has become for many a means to personal enrichment. The dignity you brought to leadership is now a rare virtue.
Our politics has become a theatre of insults, deceit, and greed. Many who invoke your name do so not to emulate your example, but to hide their failures behind your legacy. They forget that your strength lay not in flamboyance but in quiet efficiency, not in populism but in results.
Still, there are bright spots. The 2010 Constitution – which we both championed, though from different vantage points — remains one of the greatest achievements of our democratic journey. Devolution, that bold experiment in local governance, is alive. Counties now manage resources, make decisions, and shape their destinies. That, Kibaki, is part of your enduring legacy.
The children who benefited from free primary education are now young adults — some are doctors, teachers, innovators, and entrepreneurs. The economy you liberalised has birthed a generation of digital pioneers, from fintech innovators to creative artists. Kenya is still the hub of Eastern Africa, still admired for its stability and energy.
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But, Kibaki, you would frown if you saw how debt has burdened our people. You would worry about the cost of living, about the jobless youth who wander the streets, and about the erosion of accountability in public life. You would remind us, perhaps, in your usual understated tone: “Stop the noise. Get to work.”
And you would be right. Kenya’s salvation lies not in endless politics, but in discipline, honesty, and hard work – the very virtues you embodied.
I often think of what you might tell today’s leaders. You would tell them to listen more and talk less. To build institutions, not empires. To serve quietly, not boast loudly. You would remind them that leadership is not a performance, but a responsibility.
For me, I carry forward the torch – not for glory, but for justice. The journey we began with Jaramogi, with Tom Mboya, with Dedan Kimathi, and with you – continues. We still dream of a Kenya free from the chains of poverty, corruption, and discrimination. We still believe in the promise of equality and opportunity for every child, from Turkana to Taveta, from Kisumu to Kiambu.
You taught us that transformation is not a sprint but a marathon. That development requires patience, planning, and prudence, so it is better to build slowly and surely than to shout and achieve nothing.
As I speak these words, I imagine you resting among the greats – Jomo Kenyatta, Daniel arap Moi, and all who shaped our national destiny. You are in that calm, thoughtful silence that was your trademark – perhaps smiling, perhaps wondering whether we finally learned the lessons you left behind.
Sleep well, Mzee. Kenya honours you. Even in our disagreements, we celebrate the values you stood for. You were not perfect – none of us are – but you gave this nation stability when it needed it most, and you left behind an example of servant leadership that generations will study.
Tell the heroes of our liberation – Jaramogi, Kimathi, and Pio Gama Pinto – that the struggle continues. Tell them that we have not given up, even when the path seems steep. Tell them that Kenyans still believe in the power of unity, hard work, and truth.
And when my own journey ends, when I, too, cross that great divide, perhaps we shall sit again – not as rivals, but as comrades – to laugh about our battles, our blunders, and our stubborn love for Kenya.
For now, rest easy, Kibaki.
Your work endures. Your name inspires.
And your country – our beloved Kenya – marches on.
Raila Amolo Odinga (Baba)
By Kamomonti wa Kiambati
Kamomonti teaches English and Literature in Gatundu North Sub-county and serves as Dean of Studies.
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