Ilze Thielmann, founder of The Little Shop of Kindness in New York, helps behind the front desk.
At this New York City boutique, migrants shop for free
Story by Alaa Elassar
Photographs by Laura Oliverio
Published March 24, 2024
Ilze Thielmann, founder of The Little Shop of Kindness in New York, helps behind the front desk.
New York — Thousands of miles away from the violence that threatened her family, a 16-year-old girl sits in a wooden chair trying on a pair of colorful Converse sneakers, breaking into a smile when they turn out to be a perfect fit.
Like most teenagers, Kamilu Lozano loves shopping. But as a migrant who fled with her family from Peru to New York City with almost nothing, simple pleasures like picking out a new pair of shoes have become a luxury.
It’s only at the Little Shop of Kindness in the city’s Upper East Side neighborhood that migrants like Kamilu get a rare opportunity to choose their own clothes from racks instead of desperately digging through donation boxes.
“It feels like we’re finally being treated like human beings,” Kamilu tells CNN, lamenting how difficult it’s been adjusting to life in a new city where many people regard migrants as a burden. “We forgot what it was like to be treated normally again — like we’re just normal people.”
The boutique, tucked quietly inside a red brick church building on First Avenue, is run by Team TLC NYC, a nonprofit group that has met migrants at Port Authority Bus Terminal since 2019 to provide them with basic necessities and legal assistance.
The group opened the free shop last March to help address the city’s growing migrant crisis and counter the hostility many say they face from some city officials and residents. The items they offer are new or lightly used and donated by volunteers and city residents.
“It’s just so easy to call these folks the problem as opposed to being the victims of global changes and crises that exist around the world,” says director Ilze Thielmann. “These are families with children and young men in the worst moment of their lives. How can we turn our backs on other human beings?”
To help migrants feel welcomed and respected, the group designed the Little Shop of Kindness to look like an ordinary boutique — and has since clothed more than 13,000 people.
“The shop is unique and important as it provides some dignity and normalcy to people, giving them that feeling that ‘I’m a person, not a problem; I’m a valued customer, not a charity case,’ ” says Thielmann, 57, before being interrupted by a toddler collapsed in a fit of giggles.
“I hope when people see this,” she says, pointing to the boy being cared for by volunteers as his mom shops, “they see the human side of the story, they see for themselves who it is we’re helping.”
Desperate to build a new life
Erika Ramos, Kamilu’s mother, nervously recounts the three times she was robbed at gunpoint in Peru and the panic that came with the realization that if she didn’t find a way to leave, she or one of her three children could be killed.
“The situation is very bad and life threatening in Peru, not only politically, but in the streets. There are lots of gangs. They rob you and hurt you. If you don’t cooperate, they hit you,” Ramos, 49, says as she anxiously twists and rubs her hands together. “A lot of people have been shot and killed by them. I was scared for my life.”
Ramos and her children arrived in New York City three months ago, joining its growing population of migrants desperate to build a new life in the United States.
Since the spring of 2022, when the latest wave in New York City’s long relationship with immigration began, an estimated 184,500 migrants have been processed and housed in city-funded shelters, according to the Office of Mayor Eric Adams. About 64,500 migrants remain in the city’s care, his office said.
Some of those people were bused from Texas to New York by Texas Gov. Greg Abbott in a political stunt intended to draw the ire of Democrats over issues of border security. Others arrived on their own.
In response, New York City opened more than 200 emergency shelters, which were quickly overwhelmed with migrants filling every available bed. The city has even gone so far as to house migrants in hotels and erect tent facilities, like the sprawling 3,000-capacity migrant center on Randall’s Island.
Under a decades-old “right to shelter” mandate, the city is legally required to provide shelter to anyone who requests it, including migrants. But in an effort to lessen the strain on local resources and help migrants be more self sufficient, Adams has made some changes. In October, he announced a new rule that forces migrant families to move out of city housing after 60 days. Earlier this month, he introduced a provision that limits most single adult migrants to 30 days in a city shelter, with extensions granted only for “extenuating circumstances.”
Still, not everyone has housing. Many migrants camp on the street outside of shelters, waiting for assistance in freezing temperatures for hours, days and sometimes weeks.
Ramos, whose family lives in the migrant center on Randall's Island, considers herself one of the lucky ones but says life there isn’t easy. Despite narrowly escaping from criminals, she’s often treated like one herself, she says.
“I’m always grateful and thankful, at least we have a place to stay, a bed, hot water. But the bad thing about the shelters is how poorly we’re treated,” Ramos says. “They treat us like we’re criminals. Social workers are always mad at you, shouting and screaming. They treat us badly, they discriminate against us.”
Experiences like this are why Thielmann and her team decided to open the Little Shop of Kindness in March of 2023 — and again in January after a flood forced them to temporarily close and relocate.
“You see people struggling, suffering. You get to know that conditions in their home countries were horrendous for them to make the journey here,” Thielmann says. “They came here because they felt they had no choice.”
“We just want them to feel loved and appreciated, to make sure they know we’re happy they’re here.”
Little acts of kindness that change lives
People who visit the Little Shop of Kindness usually don’t know what to expect — but it certainly isn’t the warm hug and shopping spree that awaits them.
After migrants are greeted, they’re signed in and paired with a volunteer who guides them through the store and waits nearby to assist with whatever they need.
The boutique has everything — clothes, shoes, bags, winter gear, underwear, personal hygiene and feminine products. Rather than make people scavenge through piles of random, crumpled items or handing over clothes that may not fit, they’re given the space and time to explore options, which are all donated and in excellent condition. There’s even a fitting room to try on clothes.
Its design is as quirky as it is welcoming, with volunteers adding their personal touches to nearly every corner.
The fitting room curtains and chair cushions were designed and sewn by Barbara Lakin, a volunteer who also buys old Barbie dolls and restores them for migrant girls.
Another volunteer spends hours putting up decorations and organizing the cozy reception area separating the adult and children sections, hanging lanterns from the ceiling and putting out snacks like cookies, fruit and tea.
“The volunteers love their work more than anything,” Thielmann says. “You can see the way they interact with the migrants, some don’t speak a word of Spanish, French, Portuguese or Arabic, but they communicate by being so kind and warm.”
After migrants finish shopping, volunteers ask important questions: Do you have health insurance? Do you know what immigration forms to fill out? Are your children enrolled in school?
If the answer is “no,” the volunteers guide them step-by-step on how to access whatever programs or social services they need. The boutique also has a legal clinic with a lawyer who takes on immigration and asylum cases pro bono.
“We bring them in with the lure of clothing and snacks and toiletries and supplies, and then we assess their individual needs while they’re here,” Thielmann says. “Most of the migrants who come in are not undocumented, they’re documented asylum seekers or under temporary protected status and just need help understanding the steps to take, so we try to do just that.”
Before families leave, their children are gifted goody bags filled with candy and chocolate. They’re also allowed to choose a toy from the many on display.
Andrea DeGeorge Garbarini, a volunteer, says one of her favorite things is watching the kids’ eyes light up when they get their bags.
As the granddaughter of an Italian immigrant who was 14 when she arrived in New York by boat and survived by working in the garment industry, Garbarini doesn’t take her blessings for granted.
“I don’t think anybody’s life should be dictated by where they’re born, where they live, or how they survived the journey here,” Garbarini, 62, says. “I volunteer because I want to give these people a chance.”
The retired nurse spends most of her free time helping migrants establish their new lives. Each has shared with her a tale she’s collected in her mind like chapters of a heart-wrenching, yet beautiful story of unwavering hope and resilience.
Garbarini shudders thinking about the robberies, gang rapes and murders migrants have told her about.
“Most of them have horrifying stories you can’t even begin to imagine. When they get here, no one looks out for them,” Garbarini says, pausing the game of peek-a-boo she’s playing with a baby in a stroller. “But we try to.”
‘We haven’t given up’
Before leaving the boutique, Kamilu lingers by a glass display showcasing rows of wallets, sunglasses and jewelry. A nearby shelf is teeming with makeup, tubes of black eyeliner and bottles of pink nail polish.
“I loved that we got to pick everything, clothes and shoes, but really my favorite part of today was picking out jewelry, the necklace and the earrings, because I really love accessories,” she says, pointing to her new treasures.
“Being treated normally, I loved that and I loved how kind people are,” she adds. “It made my family really happy.”
Here, accessories are just as essential as, well, essentials, Thielmann says.
“That’s why we have things like jewelry and makeup, it’s like telling them you can breathe a little bit, you can have the frivolity of putting on a bracelet or putting on a pair of earrings and trying to feel pretty,” she says. “That’s just the most human thing there is.”
Kamilu says she’ll wear her new earrings to high school, which has opened a new world of opportunity for her.
“The education here is better than in Peru, which makes us really excited. For me, school is the best part, I’m in an EMT (emergency medical technician) program,” she says. “I’m studying really hard because I’m trying to make my GPA really, really high so I can get scholarships and go to college for nursing.”
Her mom is studying just as hard and has already completed two classes required to earn a GED.
“I’m studying because I have a plan to become a social worker, and I will treat immigrants perfectly,” Ramos says, glancing sideways at Kamilu, who takes her hand and laughs.
“Watch, she’s really going to do it, she’s not going to give up, I know this because she’s my mom and I know her,” Kamilu adds.
In between studying for her GED, helping her children adjust to their new life, and filling out endless legal paperwork in hopes of obtaining asylum, Ramos is doing her best to find a job.
“I don’t want to be dependent on the government,” she says. “I am because of our situation, but I knock on doors, I’m looking for help, any way to get a lawyer and the paperwork I need to be able to work.”
Kamilu pauses to reflect on her family’s situation compared to her American classmates.
“I know we have a disadvantage, that my friends have many more opportunities than I do, but the world we live in isn’t easy for us and still we haven’t given up,” she says.
“Sometimes the path is dark, but at the end of the tunnel there is a light.”