Pearls and Piojos

Peering out the window in the La Marín art room, I turn to Hilda and ask if we should risk it. My Girls Program was in need of materials and I promised I would take them that Thursday afternoon. The girls are all too good at holding you to your promises and so, despite the approaching storm clouds, I say to Hilda, “No importa. Vamos.” She responds with her usual sweet giggle and we go.

We take each other’s hands and frantically scurry across the street. Just as we step onto the curb the sky opens and we are drenched. For some reason, we didn’t think to turn back. Instead, we laugh hysterically and then… we run. We take refuge in the Caravana on the corner and wait for the rain to slow. While inside, the girls make friends with some boys selling gum and tell them about the WBC. The boys then turn to me and ask, “You are their teacher?!” I respond with a simple, “Si.” They looke perplexed and can’t quite seem to grasp the idea that a gringa actually worked with the poor of Quito. The girls and I cordially invite them to the Center and, realizing the rain had slowed, we venture out again.

Finally, we arrive. We enter the shop and the women working there look concerned when they see us. The girls were under strict instructions to be quiet and respectful, but as they feast their eyes upon the plethora of beads, buttons, lace, fabric, and pearls they cannot be contained. As I ask for our materials, I see the employees’ patience wearing thin, so I send the girls to sit on the stairs and wait in silence. They obey and I work with Hilda to get what we needed. The last item on the list is wire, which is located around the corner. As we head to that section I think to myself,  “Wow, the girls really are quiet. Let me see what they are doing.” I was shocked when I saw them hovered over Allison’s head picking out lice! Hilda and I motion to them to stop immediately and use our bodies to block what they are doing. We finish our order and, much to our dismay, the girls persist in the lice picking efforts.

It was in that moment a fierce wave of emotions came crashing over me. I looked upon those eight girls and saw my sisters. Their mischievous smiles, joyful laughter, and naive enthusiasm filled me with a profound peace and reverence for the work we do. When I reflect on this experience in its’ entirety I am left speechless. There are no words I can craft to adequately express the transformative nature of this time at the WBC. I can only say that I have found a purpose, a direction, and a great love I could have never otherwise encountered. The Working Boys Center – a family of families is no exaggeration. We are a family and all are welcome.