When the plane carrying Raila Odinga’s body touched down at JKIA, it wasn’t just another dignified arrival. Within minutes, the airport was transformed from a high-security hub into an open-air arena of national emotion. Barriers meant to separate the crowd from the runway crumbled under the pressure of thousands who refused to be mere spectators.

People ran across tarmac lanes as though chasing a departing dream. Some mourners, in a moment of sheer disbelief and adrenaline, climbed onto aircraft fuselages — waving flags, snapping selfies, and shouting Raila’s name as if summoning his spirit to see the commotion one last time.

The Flight of Grief and Glory

To call it chaos would be lazy journalism. It was more of a pilgrimage — just one conducted on airplane wings. Kenya has always been dramatic when it comes to its political icons, but this… this was theatre on an international runway.

Security personnel could only stare as people dangled from ladders, clutched engines, and perched like curious birds on the very aircraft that had ferried Raila’s remains. For a few hours, air traffic halted. JKIA, one of Africa’s busiest airports, was held hostage by grief-stricken citizens who refused to let decorum interrupt devotion.

Some mourners claimed they “just wanted to be closer to him.” Others insisted the act was symbolic — that Raila had ‘carried’ Kenya for decades, and it was only fair that Kenyans now carried his plane.

A Security Nightmare, or a National Mirror?

The police watched, perhaps too afraid to act, and understandably so. Who wants to be caught on camera dragging away crying citizens climbing airplanes in the name of love for a leader? Besides, how do you disperse mourners armed not with weapons but with tears and tradition?

By the time order was restored, the incident had already written itself into Kenyan folklore. Videos flooded social media — showing people waving from wingtips, hugging engines, and singing liberation songs while airport officials helplessly pleaded for sanity.

It was a moment both absurd and moving: grief unbound by protocol, devotion uncontained by fences.

Between Mourning and Performance

There’s something undeniably Kenyan about turning solemn moments into grand performances. Whether it’s dancing at funerals, shouting slogans at vigils, or now — climbing planes — we have perfected the art of public emotion.

Some psychologists might say it’s a coping mechanism; others would call it spiritual theatre. But to the ordinary Kenyan, it’s simply what love looks like when words no longer suffice.

Lessons in Emotion and Excess

In hindsight, the incident raises uncomfortable questions:

Why was the crowd allowed near active aircraft?

How did airport security crumble so fast?

And more curiously — why did people feel compelled to climb at all?

Perhaps it was desperation to be part of history, or perhaps it was our national way of saying goodbye — loudly, dramatically, and unapologetically. In a nation where politics often feels like religion, mourning becomes ritual, and ritual becomes spectacle.

So yes, it was bizarre. It was risky. It was unforgettable. But in the end, it was also undeniably Kenyan — raw, expressive, and charged with emotion that no fence or flight regulation could contain.

A Nation Still Searching for Its Poise

The Raila farewell has shown us two truths. One, that grief can unify a nation. Two, that when emotion overruns order, the line between tribute and chaos blurs quickly.

Yet, maybe that’s who we are — a people who mourn loudly, love passionately, and never shy from turning heartbreak into headline. Even as the planes stood still, Kenya was still moving — one tear, one chant, one wild act of devotion at a time.