Free Tales of a Female Nomad by Rita Golden Gelman

Frenchwoman, Brigitte, who is working to set up a day house for street kids in Guatemala City. She and her staff live in Antigua. I’m hoping she’ll let me be a part of the project. One of the things I missed most in my L.A. life was a hands-on, face-to-face involvement in helping people. As a teenager in Connecticut, a college student in Massachusetts, and a young mother in New York, I spent many hours volunteering in orphanages, mental institutions, city beaches, public schools. Somehow, I never got it together to volunteer in L.A.
    When Brigitte hears I’m a writer, she welcomes me warmly. She has been looking for someone to help her write a proposal in search of additional funding. I join the team: Brigitte, the Frenchwoman, who has already raised enough money to buy a house in the central part of Guatemala City; Amy, a British woman who has been working with Brigitte for several years. And Gary, a seventeen-year-old American who recently signed on; he’s a hard worker, bright, and probably a runaway.
    The day I make contact with Brigitte, she is taking some people to see the scene in the central city, kids sniffing glue hidden in paper bags, kids sleeping in the gutter, other kids begging. They are the homeless, the rejected, the castaways. Brigitte’s idea is to give them a place they can go during the day, with a toilet, a shower, a place to sit, and some lunch. I am looking forward to working with the kids and ecstatic to be a part of the project. This is it; this is what I’ve been needing and wanting. Even before I begin, I feel fulfilled.
    My first assignment is to write the proposal. I’d rather be wandering the streets talking to kids, but I take the job seriously. After nearly two weeks of intense writing, the proposal is finished. Brigitte is pleased with my work and she invites me to join the team in the city. The house is nearly ready, but it needs scrubbing and painting and patching.
    I don’t see much of Brigitte during the days of “housework”; she is off being political and soliciting support from the local officials. But her energy infuses all of us as we sweep and wash and fill in cracks in the walls.
    And as we work, we talk and sing and share our life stories. Each day I feel closer to Amy and Gary. Often we eat together; and at night we sit around talking. I cannot believe how lucky I am to be a part of this project. It’s a perfect fit. I walk around smiling. Brigitte comments one day that my walk has a new bounce.
    Somewhere toward the end of the spackling and scrubbing, I make a quick trip to the United States for a family event. I am radiating with joy as I tell everyone that I have found the meaning of life and it’s in giving and sharing and hands-on helping. I am bursting with enthusiasm; and I haven’t even begun working with the street kids.
    When the house is ready, Brigitte plans an open house for city officials, local donors, and an assortment of invited guests, mostly Guatemalans. I buy a simple blue dress, a pair of silver earrings, and black leather sandals. I am heart-pounding excited to be a part of it all.
    I arrive at Brigitte’s house in Antigua ten minutes before we are to leave for the city. Gary and Amy are in the living room.
    “Rita, I have to talk to you,” says Amy, taking me aside. There is something about her eyes that tells me this is not going to be good news.
    “Brigitte has decided that there are too many gringos involved in this project. She feels the local officials will be put off if they see so many foreigners. She does not want you to attend the open house.”
    I am disappointed, but I understand. It’s probably true that this invited crowd of Guatemalan officials and moneyed society people would be more receptive if there were more Guatemalans than gringos in the group. Brigitte has recently hired two local women.
    “OK,” I say. “I can wait until tomorrow.” The next day the doors will open for the kids. “I’m much more interested in