Invisible Child: Poverty, Survival, and Hope in an American City

by Andrea Elliott

They all had funny nicknames. Muka, Mama, Papa, God, Nana, Hada, Maya, Lee-Lee. They did not know the origins of these names, which had come as fast as Chanel now braided their hair, starting in the morning so she could finish by sundown. The girls winced as Chanel brushed out their tresses, parting them into sections. Her fingers flew in a blur, leaving row after row of tightly wound perfection. No one would be calling her girls “nappy,” especially when she wasn’t around to set the matter straight. By the time she finished the last of her girls’ crowns, her hands were numb. Sherry braided the children in her own way, trying to keep them in line. Were they doing their homework and making decent grades? No one, to her mind, had more potential than Dasani. She had been born with a lucky mix of intelligence and willpower. But she also had her mother’s temper, pouncing at any slight. Such radioactivity could be her ruin.