Unfamiliar with many of the traditions and customs of Monjas, I found myself in a situation that made me feel like I followed an unlit path. A lady I had befriended asked me to attend the fifteenth birthday party for her daughter. I knew this celebration took precedent over many others, and young girls looked forward to their “Cinderella” day. Because of its importance to the family, I wanted to be there and gladly accepted the invitation.

Uncertain about being alone in the Spanish community, I called for reinforcements. “Girls, I’d like to have you come to the celebration with me, and please help me with anything I don’t understand. I’m counting on you.”

“No problem, Mama Carroll. We will be there for you,” chorused the three older girls.

The party started out at the church and looked like a wedding. Cari* wore a gorgeous dress that could have passed for a wedding gown, except for the beautiful blue color. She had ten attendants wearing matching formals. It amazed me how elaborate the decorations and flower arrangements looked. We had fifteenth birthday parties for the girls in the orphanage, but this one surpassed what we did.

I thought I would be an honored guest at the party but soon found out that I represented one of four “patrinas” (godmothers). What had I gotten myself into? I put on my everything-is-calm face and determined I could go through this with peace and grace. I had my “team” with me to help with the language and advise me of what I needed to do. However, I found myself in a special section with other godmothers, and my girls sat across the room watching me closely. My heart rate accelerated as I focused on the three ladies, ready to copy whatever they did. I made it through the program, the congratulations, and the hundreds of photographs. All went well until the celebration moved to the town salon for the dinner and last part of the celebration.

Again, I found myself sitting at the family’s table with my girls on the other side of the room. I’m sure they saw my frantic looks. They tried to move closer to where I sat, but someone ushered them back to the same table. After the meal, the emcee came over to the table and asked me to share some of my thoughts, and he would not take “no” for an answer. With his insistence, all thoughts fled my mind—Spanish and English. Lord, I need you to guide me through this. It’s important to these people, and I don’t know what to say. The girls watched for a signal from me to come and help, but I mustered up a smile and nodded to them that I’d make it through this. To this day, I do not know what I said to the hundreds of people in the salon that night.

After the meal, people mingled in the room chatting with various friends and family. The girls came over to my table, and we agreed we would slip out the door. Just as we reached the outside, two men approached me. One of them spoke English and said that his friend wanted me to speak to him in English. Willing to oblige this request, we talked Spanglish for a few minutes.

Just as they departed, I noticed all three girls had surrounded me. Miriam had a large Pepsi bottle in her hand, holding it in a threatening manner. Sandy had a smaller bottle of water ready to use as a weapon. Irma’s hands were fists ready to strike at any moment. When they saw me observing them, Miriam said, “Don’t worry, Mama Carroll. We are protecting you.” The seriousness of their actions made me realize how they had grown up in a country where they needed to be on alert at all times. We protected them at Shadow of His Wings, and they were protecting me outside the walls of the orphanage. I realized I had my own personal security team during this birthday celebration.

*Name has been changed.