Yisel Uranga: A WITS Inspiration

By Marcia Chamberlain

I met Yisel, her sisters Tahlia and Paula, and their mom Sandra at Footprints in the Sand, a transitional community for homeless women and their children, in 1999.  In those days the Footprints community, located in Northeast Houston, was really a small village arranged around a circular driveway.  There were approximately 24 cottages, a 2-room schoolhouse, a church, and a communal kitchen.  

Families stayed at Footprints for three months to three years.  While the children attended nearby schools, the mothers took self-improvement classes, developed vocational skills, and sought steady employment. No men were allowed to live on the property.  It was meant to be a place of healing, a haven where survivors got a second chance.

Jane Huntington, the Harris County Department of Education (HCDE) Adult Literacy Coordinator, was the one who contacted WITS about offering after-school programming at the shelter. She knew from the mothers she worked with that their children needed educational opportunities that affirmed their self-worth and raised their self-esteem.  

It was a good match. WITS provided structure and safety for the Footprints children, whose lives were full of upheaval and trauma. Even more importantly, WITS offered hope. To us, the kids were not “economically disadvantaged,” “at-risk,” and “homeless”—they had names, and we knew them.

My own stint as a writer at Footprints was supposed to last one summer, but I ended up teaching there twice a week for several years. In the beginning, whenever I pulled through the compound gates in my ’89 Volvo station wagon, children appeared out of nowhere, running alongside the car, laughing and tapping on my side view mirrors.  To announce my arrival, they would shout, “The writer’s here!  The writer’s here!”  

Kelvin would speed over on his bike, and the others would follow—Destiny, Jessica, David, Kristina, James, Yisel, Tahlia….  A few stray cats usually joined us as well.  All of us would gather at the yellow schoolhouse—and with or without air conditioning—we would paint bright masterpieces, make up mini plays, and write odes to the sun and pizza. At the end of every WITS workshop, we would snap our fingers and give each other high fives to celebrate our accomplishments.  I would smile as I locked up the schoolhouse; I felt proud of the community we had created.

Of course, like most long-term relationships, there were shadows too. Some days the children’s sadness, depression, and rage felt like too much to handle.  I would think to myself, I am not cut out for this.  I am a writer, not a psychologist or a magician. On those days I dreamed of quitting.

But then, without fail, I’d get a second wind. Yisel Uranga was my “second wind” for two straight years.  Whenever I got discouraged, she gave me a reason to breathe and believe.  

When we first met, Yisel was a 4th grader with a wide smile, intense eyes, and a big ponytail that would swing in arcs when she walked.  She had a high-pitched laugh that she couldn’t contain. It spilled out of her when she was worried or uncertain. It tumbled out when she couldn’t think of the word she wanted to say.  It even burst out of her when she was overjoyed or excited. It was her trademark expression, one that I loved because it was absolutely contagious.

Despite Yisel’s lovely laugh, she often seemed solemn beyond her years.  Yisel was close to her mom, plus the oldest of three children.  You could see in her eyes that she took her roles as daughter and as sister seriously, and she always rose to the occasion.  She was the kind of girl who served gracefully as translator for her Spanish-speaking mom and  protector and best friend for her sisters.

At the shelter, Yisel never ever missed writing class.  (That’s why I wasn’t surprised at all when she won a 3-foot tall trophy for perfect attendance at her elementary school!).  Yisel, towing her sister Tahlia in hand, came to the Footprints shelter every Tuesday and every Thursday in the scorching heat, in the freezing cold.  She wrote until her fingers began to cramp: odes, pantoums, autobiographies, adventure stories, litanies, lullabies.  She also dove into the arts, making masks, painting murals, composing songs, and even writing, directing, and filming a movie.

Those afternoons were magical. The children had permission to express their innermost secrets and dreams, and they did.  In the process, they blossomed. Yisel grew up right before my eyes.  I watched as she turned into a reflective writer and a strong leader.  As her English improved and her confidence grew, the load she carried seemed to lighten.  I remember watching her twirl and dance and spin with her sister in the rain one day.  Soaking wet, they arrived to class.  Yisel’s laugh brightened the whole room.  

When the creative writing workshops at the shelter ended in 2002, I unfortunately lost track of Yisel. Although Yisel had come a long way in the 2 years we’d known one another, I didn’t have high hopes for her or her family. The cycles of poverty and abuse and hopelessness at the shelter seemed entrenched; the system seemed so much stronger than three girls and their mom.

A few years later my fears seemed confirmed.  I saw a friend of Yisel’s from the shelter locked up in a maximum-security youth detention center. He was no longer the cherub-faced boy who had given me my first tour of Footprints. Where had all the other 9 and 10 year-old kids from my writing workshops at Footprints ended up?

Then, out of the blue, something special happened. I got a message on Facebook one day that read, “Hi. This is Yisel.  Is that you, Ms. C?”  Only my WITS students call me Ms. C!  Yisel and I re-connected and soon Yisel, her mom, and I met in person. Today we have re-established our friendship. It is not a teacher-student relationship any more; today we meet as two women, wishing each other happy new year, nodding at one another’s successes, wondering at life’s twists and turns.  As we visited one recent afternoon in the Houston Heights, Yisel told me how much she has grown since her days at Footprints.  

“When I tell people I once lived at a homeless shelter, they assume it was all bad.  But I remember the bright spots, like WITS.  Where else would I have gotten the chance to write poems and do fun art projects? It was a tough time in my life, but participating in WITS was really good for me.  It helped me tell my story, and it turned a negative into a positive,” Yisel explains.

Together we recall a definitive moment in May 2001 when Yisel walked on stage at The Menil Collection to read her “Staircase Poem” selected by judges for the Young Writers Reading.  She was shaking, but after she read, the audience erupted in applause. The loudest cheering of all came from the raucous group of shelter kids on the back row.  Yisel remembers how happy she was at that moment: “I was always shy, but WITS exposed me to a strength I didn’t know I had.  Getting up on stage to read my own poem that night changed my life. That night I realized I am a writer and an artist. I’ve been creating ever since.”

As we review our lives, Yisel explains how much writing has served her: “I’ve used writing to help me get through tough situations and to reflect about where I’ve been and where I’m going.  I’ve used it to win scholarships and internships and even serve as Ambassador in two programs during high school!”  

Indeed, writing has taken Yisel to places she never dreamed of going in her early days at Footprints.  Last year the admissions essay that she wrote about living at Footprints and being inspired by a mom who never gave up helped her to win a full scholarship to UT Business School.

Yisel is on her way.

Talking with Yisel makes me proud of WITS.  Social, economic, and educational inequities sometimes bury the talents of children from less privileged Houston communities, but Yisel is an important testament to the work that WITS did a decade ago and continues to do today.

We are so proud of your accomplishments, Yisel! Thank you for inspiring us to believe.

The following poem was written by Yisel Uranga.  She read it at the Young Writers Reading Series in May, 2001.

Staircase Poem

I’m the diamond that sparkles in the jewelry shop glass.

   I’m the white moon that glows in the dark night.

      I’m the angel that flies through beautiful paradise.

         I’m the rainbow that shines brightly in the sky.

            I’m the footstep you leave in the freezing snow.

               I’m the creature that tries to catch butterflies.

            I’m the cloud that lets raindrops fall to Earth.

         I’m the hand that picks out a dozen roses.

      I’m the eye that looks only to beautiful things.

   I’m the dream you wish had never come true!

I’m the memories that fly through your mind.