The Last Chant of Jowi: Farewell to Raila Odinga, Kenya’s Relentless Fighter

Nairobi Kenya 

In Summary

• Jowi, the buffalo, became the spiritual image through which Raila Odinga’s courage, resilience, and contradictions were understood in Luo culture and beyond.
• His public life carried both triumph and heartbreak — from chants of liberation to songs of farewell, from prison scars to tears of betrayal.
• In mourning him, Kenyans confront not only the man but the idea of endurance itself: that strength can ache, and even giants get tired.

In Luo land, the word “Jowi” is not spoken lightly.

It calls forth the image of the buffalo — strong, deliberate, a creature that does not flee when threatened. In every chant of “Jowi! Jowi!” there is memory: of a people who have suffered but never bowed, of one man whose name became their echo — Raila Amolo Odinga.

He called it not just a name, but a spirit. And when he took the spear at funerals of great men; Kajwang, K’Oyugi, Seme: and chanted “Jowi! Jowi!”, it was not mere ritual. It was an invocation of power, a statement that those who fought for justice never die quietly. Witnesses say the air changed when he did it; voices hushed, hearts tightened. The buffalo had spoken.

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When he sang, he did not sing protest songs alone. At one rally, smiling faintly, he recited verses from “Jamaica Farewell” — a song about leaving behind love and light.

“Down the way where the nights are gay and the sun shines daily on the mountaintop, I took a trip on a sailing ship. And when I reached Jamaica, I made a stop, but

I'm sad to say I'm on my way.

Won't be back for many a day.

My heart is down.

My head is turning around. I had to leave a little girl in Kingston town," Raila recited the lines.”

Crowds cheered, but those close to him saw the weight in his eyes. The song of departure was also his story; of journeys taken, comrades lost, and a nation he could not quite let go of. The melody of exile, disguised as charm.

Raila’s life was an unbroken confrontation with power.

He spent years in detention (nine of them) for daring to dream of democracy in a one-party state. In a 2021 speech at Kasarani, his voice wavered but did not crack:

 “I am neither repentant nor regretful of my experiences in the fight for a liberated Kenya... I bear these physical and psychological scars with pride because my country was worth it.”

Even after democracy came, the struggle continued: in the streets, in Parliament, in broken coalitions and shifting loyalties. His leadership of ODM cemented him as both a movement and a mystery: a man loved like a savior, doubted like a prophet too human to live up to his own myth.

In October 2024, NTV cameras caught him crying quietly during an interview: tears he didn’t wipe fast enough. He was remembering prison nights and political betrayals, those who never made it out. The clip went viral not because people pitied him, but because they had never seen Baba; the buffalo: falter.

Then there was the painful confession: “Kenyans, you have betrayed me.”

It wasn’t bitterness. It was exhaustion. The words carried a truth few wanted to face; that leadership, at its rawest, can be lonely. That the cost of faith in a fickle public can hollow a man’s chest.

When he died, tributes poured from every corner of the continent. Presidents, freedom fighters, youth leaders, even rivals called him a statesman, a political giant, the conscience of Kenya. Yet among his people in Nyanza, the mourning sounded different. It wasn’t about titles. They gathered in open fields, some beating drums softly, and whispered “Jowi” not as chant, but as prayer.

To them, he wasn’t gone. The buffalo had simply returned to the forest.

President William Ruto, in declaring seven days of national mourning, captured what even opponents felt but rarely said:

“In honor of the life and times of the former Prime Minister Raila Odinga… the nation will observe a period of national mourning until sunset on the day of his interment.”

There’s a quiet irony in it all — that a man who fought against authority now lies honored by it. But maybe that’s how cycles end: not with vengeance, but with recognition.

“‘Jowi! Jowi!’ — the cry that defined Raila Odinga’s journey from prison walls to the nation’s heart. A tribute to Kenya’s buffalo — fearless, wounded, and unforgettable.”

So the chants continue Jowi! Jowi!: not as eulogy, but as reminder. That every nation needs its buffaloes. That even when their hearts break, they still walk forward.