A Note on Kibera from Captain Mike’s Perspective

I had been to the Kibera Slum once before. I was ready for the smells. I was ready for the sites. I was ready to see the poor and the sick and hurting. I was not prepared for my reaction this time.
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Those who know me will be surprised; those who have just met, or don’t know, me won’t be. 

Fifteen years ago (or there about), I was an adventurer, a dare-taker, and a tough guy. I was single, drank, smoked, and cursed like the commercial fisherman I was. I played the part well (if I must say). Then, I got married and had a kid. So, things changed. I had my last pack of Marlboro Reds in December 2008. I put away the booze. And, then, I joined a program to help me become a better person.  

This last July, on the third day of my most recent trip to Kibera, while I was standing in front of about 35 dancing and laughing children, I cried. I'm not sure where it came from, but it hit me out of the blue. One minute I was fine, covered in dust and dirt and sweat.  Then out of nowhere, my sinuses filled up, and my eyes teared up. I even had a little trouble with my breath.
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The innocence and joy of these children in contrast with the total lack of money, possessions or creature comforts was too much for my emotional grid. I thought of how much my daughter was given on a day to day basis. The delta between growing up with only the clothes on your back and the full-on, open, loud joy they demonstrated was simply staggering. How could they be so happy? And more importantly, why wasn’t I? 

Why don’t I see this kind of love and positive energy from the kids in my town? Why wasn’t I dancing and shouting with the same energy? Why did I deserve to witness this joy in such a difficult place to live and thrive? 

I came back to Kenya to help build another school—a school for these children who don’t have one. Crossing Thresholds is not the only NGO building schools in the Kibera Slum, but still thousands and thousands of kids are without a school where they can learn and grow. 

Some of you have heard the numbers - Kibera, the size of Central Park, about a million people, a third of the children under the age of 12, no public services, scant opportunity. True or not, the poverty is daunting AND I felt it. I felt myself inside of these kids who share this planet with me.  

These emotions are new for me. I am still learning how to deal with them. Talking about it helps. But doing something like carrying blocks, mixing cement, and building safe places for children to be children, that helps a lot!

Three times in one very short week, I cried. I am stronger for it and will use the energy and lessons to continue building. Heck, I’m almost crying just writing this. I still don’t drink, and I traded the cigarettes for a few good cigars now and again. I am slowly becoming proud of my emotions – turning them into positive energy to give these kids a chance at a better life. These great folks and their children have not heard the last of me.
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With Peace,
Captain Mike Harden
​Crossing Thresholds Volunteer