For weeks, the people of Siaya and beyond had been left to wonder where their governor had gone. His once-regular appearances at county events had stopped without warning. His seat at meetings sat empty. In the absence of answers, whispers began to grow-rumours about his health, his political future, even his loyalty to the Orange Democratic Movement.
On Friday, 8 August, those whispers met their answer. James Orengo, the veteran lawyer, political strategist and now Siaya County’s governor, stepped back into the public eye. His stage was not a political rally or a county address, but a solemn gathering-the funeral of former Rangwe MP Phoebe Asiyo, a towering figure in Kenya’s struggle for women’s rights and democracy.
Arriving late in the day at Wikondiek in Homa Bay County, Orengo was ushered in by Governor Gladys Wanga. He shook hands with President William Ruto and ODM leader Raila Odinga before taking the microphone. The crowd fell silent, perhaps expecting a guarded, formal remark. What they got instead was personal and defiant.
“I am sorry I have arrived late,” he began. “I am with you in all that has been said. I want to reiterate that I am alive, I am a stone, and there is nowhere I am going.”
His tone carried more than reassurance; it carried a challenge to those who had written him off. The weeks away, County Secretary Joseph Ogutu had said, were due to a private mission abroad—confidential, but still within the bounds of his duties. The business, Ogutu insisted, was part of the governor’s executive responsibilities, and the county’s leadership remained intact.
But absence has a way of breeding suspicion. On 4 August, a letter began circulating online claiming that Orengo had resigned from ODM, citing urgent health concerns. It was signed, dated, and carefully worded—convincing enough to unsettle his supporters. The party’s response was swift. “The letter is fake. Ignore it and focus,” ODM declared. Orengo’s office echoed the denial, calling the letter a complete fabrication.
Still, the speculation had taken root. Since his last public appearance in June—at a Senate Public Accounts Committee session—calls for answers had grown louder. Civil society groups and local leaders questioned not only his whereabouts but also the functioning of county governance in his absence.
By showing up in Homa Bay, Orengo was doing more than paying respects to a departed friend of the struggle; he was reclaiming his political voice. His return, though brief, was enough to reset the narrative. The man many thought might be fading from the scene was, in his own words, still here, still unshaken.
For his constituents, the sight of their governor speaking with energy, flanked by the country’s top leaders, offered a measure of calm after weeks of uncertainty. Whether it will silence the questions entirely remains to be seen. In politics, absence leaves shadows—and only consistent presence can fully dispel them.
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