Onjalazbroz- Testing the Foundation of Knowledge

I never met Raila Amollo Odinga. He never knew my name. And yet he walked with me through every stage of my life. I saw him through the eyes of a child, a teenager, a young man, and now a teacher. I loved him, I was angry with him, and in the end I learned that love and disagreement can live in the same heart. This is not a political eulogy. It is the story of growing up with Raila, and of what he meant to me. My earliest memory of Raila goes back to 1997. I was in Class Two, and Kenya was heading into a general election. Raila was vying under the National Development Party, whose symbol was a tractor. A song swept through the streets of Manyatta in Kisumu, where we lived: “Tinga onyono pier gweno ba gweno otore.” The tractor has crashed the cock. The tractor was NDP, and the cock was KANU, the party that had ruled since independence. To a child, politics wasn’t policy. It was story and song, something the adults around me carried in their chests.  I remember our neighbour, Nyar ...