The path leading to the entrance was lined with bamboo chutes. Incense was smoldering inside each stalk, sending seductive streams of smoke into the air. A little girl was sitting on the stoop with a yellow balloon and two stray dogs, one on either side of her. Neither animal nor child seemed phased by the thunderous noise that was coming from just behind them. I waved at the girl and she timidly waved back. The woman in the entrance way who is standing behind the little girl was not as inviting. She was indifferent to my arrival. It was clear that this was an area of town not for tourists; one of the only bastions of solitude for a people whose entire community is subject to poking and prodding. I started to feel guilty for the only blurry photograph I managed to furtively snap.

Inside the hall, towards the back, two men stood on stage. One operated the music. The other held a microphone, yelling psalms and expressions of praise over what could best be described as Spanish Christian rock music. In front of the stage dozens of teens in jeans and white shirts jumped up and down. Some embraced each other. Some pointed to the ceiling. Some with arms extended, violently shook their hands back and forth. Sweat seeped through their shirts. Their cheeks were bright red, adding color to their uniformly tanned skin. Elderly women sat in folded chairs along the edges. Parents held their infants and watched.

The path leading to the entrance was lined with bamboo chutes. Incense was smoldering inside each stalk, sending seductive streams of smoke into the air. A little girl was sitting on the stoop with a yellow balloon and two stray dogs, one on either side of her. Neither animal nor child seemed phased by the thunderous noise that was coming from just behind them. I waved at the girl and she timidly waved back. The woman in the entrance way who is standing behind the little girl was not as inviting. She was indifferent to my arrival. It was clear that this was an area of town not for tourists; one of the only bastions of solitude for a people whose entire community is subject to poking and prodding. I started to feel guilty for the only blurry photograph I managed to furtively snap.

Inside the hall, towards the back, two men stood on stage. One operated the music. The other held a microphone, yelling psalms and expressions of praise over what could best be described as Spanish Christian rock music. In front of the stage dozens of teens in jeans and white shirts jumped up and down. Some embraced each other. Some pointed to the ceiling. Some with arms extended, violently shook their hands back and forth. Sweat seeped through their shirts. Their cheeks were bright red, adding color to their uniformly tanned skin. Elderly women sat in folded chairs along the edges. Parents held their infants and watched.