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The first group was made up mostly of friends who had already been involved with Bahia Street in the States for some time: Phyllis, Meps and her husband Barry, and a few others. Rita and I planned to invite them to the end-of-year presentation that the girls gave each year to their parents and other community members. We figured the foreign visitors would then just be part of a bigger celebration and not have too much of an impact. In the meantime, Rita and I were racing around trying to get everything done before these visitors arrived.

Rita invited me to sit in on one of her end-of-the-year teacher evaluation meetings. Geldon had left Bahia Street because he wanted to continue his studies, and so Rita had hired Luciano as the new math teacher. Luciano lived in a Candomblé community, and had begun an educational center of his own with the support of his Mother of the community and based upon the model of Bahia Street. So far, they were teaching classes in math, science, and literacy to children in the neighborhood, and had a small library of donated books.

Luciano and the other teachers discussed a curriculum they were developing that would relate directly to the lives of the girls in Bahia Street. A problem with the general public school curriculum was that it was written for a middle-class life that bore no relationship to the reality of the girls. But creating an alternative, relevant curriculum was not as simple as it might have appeared, even for those who had grown up in these conditions themselves.

“I tried to write a math story problem relating to the lives of girls,” Luciano said at the meeting, “This is what I wrote: if you spend 10 reais a month on rice, 10 reais a month on beans and 10 reais on vegetables, how much does a family spend a month on food?

“I gave this story problem to the girls and one of them wrote, ‘In our household, we spend nothing in a month on food at all.’” Luciano looked up. “I am having to rethink my story problems.”

“Can I take photos?” Meps asked.

We had just arrived at the Bahia Street Center for their celebration. I looked around and saw other people with cameras. “I think so,” I said. “Let me ask Rita.” I waved to Rita my query and she nodded. “Of course!” she shouted, holding up her own camera.

The day began with a breakfast of bread, cakes, and fruit prepared by the families of the girls. Rita showed a video they had all made about Bahia Street. This video had been part of a project to teach the girls about the power of media. Rita and Fio had encouraged them to make it on anything they wished and they had chosen Bahia Street. In the end, everyone thought this was a good idea anyway, since Rita and Fio were nervous about them running around the streets of Salvador with a video camera in their hands.

From the video, we moved on to a barbecue lunch. The place became more and more crowded as parents, other relatives, friends, and assorted community members arrived. The girls were beside themselves with excitement and nervousness. They were dressed to the hilt, their hair braided with shells and ribbons. Together with Edson, the Arts teacher, and Fio, they had written, produced, and were now going to perform a play. We, the audience, were all handed programs. The play was called Vamos Colorir o Mundo (Let’s Color the World). The audience, seated on folding chairs and on the floor, quieted down. In the next room we could hear the girls shouting and their teachers telling them to get ready to start. Rita stood at the back of the room, camera in hand, trying not to look too nervous.

The first group of girls came out. They were dressed in brilliant-colored groups—yellow, red, orange, white, and black. It quickly became clear the colors were meant to represent different ethnicities or classes, symbolizing how arbitrary color and class discrimination can be. The scenes the girls had written dealt with their lives: of a young baby being left alone and dying, of drugs and death, race and discrimination.