Help Kids in Kabiria, Kenya, into Proper Education

Ten years ago, I stepped foot in Nairobi for the first time, unaware that that moment would change my life and the lives of hundreds of others. I remember vividly arriving at Jomo Kenyatta Airport with my friend Bianca. It was rush hour, and we met the driver who would take us to the apartment where we’d live for the next few months.

We were driven by the excitement of experiencing a little bit of the African continent through volunteer work. We had enough money for two months, along with some funds raised through a crowdfunding campaign to support local projects.

The day after our arrival, a terrorist attack at Garissa University killed at least 148 people. I had no idea what was happening. Until then, my understanding of Africa was superficial, the Brazilian media rarely covered news from the continent. It was only by watching English-language news that I began to truly understand where I was and what that meant. I went to the supermarket, and we spent our first week indoors.

A few days later, during a visit to a mosque in the city centre, I met a Kenyan woman who helped me access places I had only seen online, such as the 50 Smiles project and Kibera, one of the largest slums in the world. That’s when I began to understand how I could help, and what truly made sense to my heart.

One month and three days later, Hai was born. Looking back, I can now trace its origin. It started with over 60 children’s names written on small pieces of paper, thirteen of them were drawn from a kitchen bowl. We had only two small rented rooms, each just seven square meters, with no bathroom. There, we offered food and toys made from recycled materials for children who couldn’t attend school. In Kenya, free public education does not exist and many children, with nowhere to go, remain on the streets. Bianca and I took turns playing with the kids, who didn’t speak our language and cooking meals, trying our best to prepare dishes they loved, like ugali and chapati.

There was no comfort at all. Those were the most challenging months of my life in every possible way. I was alone, afraid, and didn’t speak the language but I finally understood where I was. More importantly, I believed in what I was doing. I always knew I’d remember the good parts more clearly. And that’s exactly what happened.

When I left in October 2015, the school had 25 “Babies”, that’s what I call the children. My heart was full, and I was certain of one thing: I would come back. And I did.

Since then, ten years have gone by. There have been many conflicts, crises, and moments when I thought about giving up. But every day, I’m grateful for the courage to continue. At the end of 2019, after three intense months working in Hai and navigating a cultural conflict among staff, I received the confirmation I needed: Hai must exist. As one of our teachers says, “Hai is the light of Kabiria” and I still cry every time I realize that it exists.

Today, we impact more than 250 families. We support 206 children who, without Hai, wouldn’t be in school or have access to healthy meals. We work with 10 “mamas” who earn income as artisans and receive therapy and professional training through our partnership with Project Três. Our team is made up of community members. Our purchases are made locally. We’ve built the most beautiful school in the world: a space full of light, with round windows, colourful chairs, green grass, real bathrooms, and a beautiful kitchen for shared meals. A space that’s abundant and joyful just as we always dreamed.

As someone who has always believed in the power of education, I’m grateful every single day for the existence of our organization.

I also want to thank every person who has crossed my path along this journey and has been part of Hai in some way. Without you (and you know who you are), Hai would not exist.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.