In his happier times, the late Orange Democratic Movement (ODM) leader Raila Odinga, half playful, half commanding, with his voice reedy and cracked from a thousand rallies, would say over booming speakers before the song Inawezekana (“it’s possible”): “D.J… hapana leta mchanganyiko! ” (D.J… don’t bring confusion). There’s a brief swell of noise: the crowd murmurs, microphones hiss, the DJ testing the waters. And Raila cuts in with his famous, “Haaaaaya, haaaaaya.” The syllables land with the precision of a fish‑fillet knife, splitting open the air. The crowd becomes still. And then the benga bassline rolls in — thick, gruff and unmistakably Western Kenyan — sounding like the cough of an ageing Land Rover before sharpening into the regularity of high octaves.
The guitars enter next, their lines sliding against each other like rival suitors. One is pure Lake Victoria, the sound of oars in deep water. The other is coastal, spiced, the product of a hundred Taarab nights spent watching couples in the dark. The sounds meet in the middle, growing louder — competing, then collaborating, always threatening to dissolve into a squabble but never quite fracturing. The rhythm locks into a groove that inspires euphoria as the crowd goes wild.
Raila’s personality added to his mystique: hero, rebel, unbreakable exile. Raila punctured myths, skewered presidents, shone a light on our pretences, breached barriers, and scaled walls — but never made it past the State House front door as president.
Former ODM leader Raila Odinga (centre) is mobbed by coast women leaders during an ODM meeting in Mombasa on October 13, 2024.
Photo credit: Kevin Odit | Nation Media Group
Yet even after electoral defeats, under Raila, ODM was held tightly together — its farthest edges pulled up and close by a thin and graceful ribbon. After his death, that ribbon has seemingly snapped. There is now mchanganyiko (confusion) in ODM — the lights have gone off and the shades drawn tight. There is a whirring maelstrom in ODM. It feels like a season at the darkened end.
In the meantime, the political landscape is growing more desperate and unforgiving — black smoke, foul, choking. Vultures are circling for a piece of the party.
The force field — the man who held ODM together — is gone. Raila enforced order in the anarchy of Kenyan party politics, through tact, sheer gravitas and absolute restraint. Now what remains are memories. And the aesthetic disintegration of those memories is desolate, haunting. Perhaps inevitable, even expected. But painful, nonetheless.
ODM is now at a crossroads, facing the predicament that confronts every movement, republic, or empire after the death of its leader. In literature, Shakespeare highlighted succession crises, generational conflict, and the chaos that follows the fall of a unifying figure. The death of Raila Odinga has a powerful Shakespearean analogy: the old order collapses, the young scramble for power, and the empire trembles and splits asunder.
Shakespeare’s Henry IV offers the closest echo to the situation in ODM right now. The play reflects Rome after Emperor Augustus died in 14 A.D., when the empire entered a moment of anxiety for reasons that resonate with ODM’s current state.
First, after Augustus, the old republican elites — guardians of a fading world — eyed the younger imperial loyalists with suspicion. Augustus had built a system held together by the personality of a great ruler (and in ODM, even in death, Raila still looms large).
The same is happening in ODM. There is a clear division: old elites versus young loyalists, with an apparent rift between the old guard led by Oburu Odinga and the young loyalists comprising Babu Owino, Edwin Sifuna, Winnie Odinga, and others. In ancient Rome, the youth raised under Augustus’ long shadow believed the future belonged to them. In ODM, the youth who grew up under Raila’s long shadow also believe the future belongs to them — they have resisted calls to leave the party.
Second, after Augustus’ death, Tiberius, the reluctant heir, stepped into the breach. He was no darling of the crowds, though he steadied the empire through sheer endurance. In ODM, after Raila’s death, Oburu stepped in. Though some say he was Raila’s greatest adviser, unlike the charismatic Raila, Oburu may not be a darling of the crowds. Rome survived because Tiberius, like Henry IV, understood that sometimes the greatest act of leadership is simply preventing collapse — and that should be Oburu’s job description.
ODM party leader Oburu Oginga addresses the public rally at Kamukunji grounds in Kibera, Nairobi County on January 14, 2026.
Photo credit: DENNIS ONSONGO | NATION
In Shakespeare’s King Lear, one finds historical echoes of Rome after the death of Constantine the Great, when a war between brothers broke out. When Constantine died in 337 A.D., he left behind three sons—young, ambitious, and utterly unprepared to share power. The empire was divided among them, a gesture meant to preserve peace. Instead, it ignited fierce rivalry. Older generals and administrators tried to restrain the young emperors, but the sons of Constantine were determined to carve their own destinies. The result was civil war. If ODM is not careful, a political civil war will break out, and the greatest losers will be the party and its membership.
ODM now stands in the same charged space where Augustus, Constantine, and King Lear once left their empires. The question is not whether factions will emerge — they already have. The question is whether ODM will choose the path of Tiberius, who held the centre, or the path of Constantine’s sons in Rome (and King Lear’s children in Shakespeare), who tore it apart.
