There was not a single cloud in the sky that noon summer day in Sao Paolo, but there was rain. The favelados called it Imaculado Chuver, since the rain was born seemingly out of God’s own eyes. Old man José Carlos cried as well. He bowed his old knees and kissed the muddy ground. After all the violence he had seen and caused in his life, it was miracle enough that he was alive. He never thought that God would offer a true miracle to the favela before he died. Little Davi splashed his bare feet under the warm trickle of dirty water from the gutters above. The twins, Maria and Mariana, laughed as Maria fried plantains and Mariana sewed up her child’s torn pants. The bare-chested men practicing capoeira at the bottom of the hill stopped to squint at the rain falling from the sun. On that day, the favelados said that all sins had been washed away, that they were given another chance. When the rain dried, the capoeira dancers at the bottom of the hill began their dance again. Refreshed by the rain, their lightning feet struck the air, kicking out rainbows over the hillside of the favela. For the entire day, the favelados celebrated. They only had this one day before the miracle rain would dry up again.