As I watched Siaya Governor James Orengo speak at the funeral of Raila Odinga at Jaramogi Oginga Odinga University in Bondo on October 19, 2025, a deep sense of déjà vu swept over me.
His words carried the same fire, conviction, and defiance that once shook the nation three decades ago—during the burial of Jaramogi Oginga Odinga, Raila’s father.
Back then, Orengo was not a Governor but one of Kenya’s daring “Young Turks” — the fearless crop of reformists who dared challenge the powers that were.
Among them stood names that would later shape the nation’s democratic journey: Raila Odinga, Gitobu Imanyara, Paul Muite, Mukhisa Kituyi, Kiraitu Murungi, Dr. Oki Ooko Ombaka among others.
At that time, Mzee Jaramogi, who had once been frustrated in his attempts to steer the country toward change, had switched allegiance to President Daniel arap Moi, whom he famously nicknamed “the Giraffe” — because, he said, “it sees far before the rest.”
By the time of his death, Jaramogi had realigned himself with FORD–Kenya, following the split of the original FORD movement.
The Young Turks, however, stayed on the hard road of opposition — branded as enemies of the state.
Jaramogi’s funeral became more than just a farewell; it was a political litmus test between the government of the day and the emerging reformists.
President Moi had vowed to attend.
The Young Turks, on the other hand, declared the burial “theirs.” Tension filled the air.
The scenes at Kango Kajaramogi in 1994, with crowds surging like waves toward the podium, felt strikingly similar to those witnessed at Kasarani on October 18, 2025, when thousands came to view Raila’s body.
History, it seemed, was looping back upon itself.
On the eve of Jaramogi’s burial, the Young Turks spent a long night drafting a scathing joint statement to be read by Orengo.
Some feared its contents could land him in trouble.
The document was toned down, rewritten, and finally agreed upon.
But Orengo—ever the firebrand—had something extra in his heart.
When he finally rose to speak, the crowd fell silent. And then came the unscripted thunderbolt:
> “Some of you seated before this casket, pretending to love the people of this country, are the swine of civilization in our society.”
The words struck like lightning.
The crowd roared. The ceremony spun into chaos.
President Moi’s speech was hastily wrapped up, and the burial concluded in a rush.
The aftermath was brutal. From that day, the phrase “orders from above” carried a chilling addition: James Aggrey Orengo was not to be seen addressing any public rally anywhere in Kenya.
He had become, overnight, an enemy of the state.
I remember that day vividly. At The Standard, we deployed almost the entire newsroom to Kisumu. Managing Editor Mitch Odero led the team; the photo unit under Yahya Mohamed included myself, Bill Kinuthia, Jacob Waweru, and the late Hudson Wainaina Reporters Jacinta Sekoh, Haroun Wandalo, P.G. Okoth, Noel Okoth, the late Amos Onyatta, Bakr Ogle, the late Amos Marenya, and Kihu Irimu handled the stories.
Chaos erupted after Orengo’s speech and President Moi’s hasty exit.
Despite our plan for coordinated coverage, P.G. Okoth’s humor-laced story outshone the rest—it became the splash headline of the next day’s paper.
And now, three decades later, watching Orengo again—older, wiser, but still unbowed—speaking at Raila’s funeral about stolen votes and betrayed democracy, one can not help but feel the wheel of history turning full circle.
The same voice that defied the state in 1994 still echoes—only this time, before a nation that has changed, yet somehow, still remains the same.