Word of their beautiful and delicate designs spread. They were displayed for sale in Bali's top tourist area and neighborhood kids started visiting, first to watch, then to request their own.
"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Putu, 21, says to Alit after adding a final stitch to a traditional batik gown, pulling it over Barbie's golden locks and then tightening a clasp around the iconic doll's petite waist and high bust.
"Yes," the pigtailed 11-year-old whispers. "So sexy."
Indonesia's resort island of Bali - with its white-sand beaches, five-star hotels and throbbing nightclubs - attracts millions of tourists every year. They include everyone from Paris Hilton (who gushed to fans during a recent visit that she'd finally found "paradise") to backpackers and surfers. And with her starring role in "Eat, Pray, Love," Julia Roberts helped bring a different pilgrim to the "Island of the Gods": spiritual seekers.
But there is a dark side as well for children like Putu and Alit, who cannot stand or walk because of problems that occurred during their breech births.
Unlike the rest of the sprawling archipelagic nation, which is predominantly Muslim, most Balinese are Hindu. Their unique form of the faith stresses worshipping of ancestors - and a belief that prosperity can only be achieved with the blessings of dead relatives.
Those with deformities are said to embody the "bad" spirits of those who have lived before. An embarrassment to families, some are locked away. In the most extreme cases, they are abandoned, left to fend for themselves. That's what led to the search for Putu two years ago.
Sakti Soediro, a volunteer with a health foundation that helps disabled youths, was looking through a midwife's files describing a breech birth nearly two decades ago in which the baby was born feet first and the mother nearly lost her life. After the difficult delivery, the girl disappeared without a trace. She had never gone to school or visited health clinics or hospitals, so no records of her were on file anywhere.
"We were determined to find out what happened," said Soediro, who looked for a month, first going door-to-door in villages dotting Bali's stunning coasts, and then venturing deep into the island's interior, where many still live in abject poverty.
After navigating a windy, dirt road that climbed the long-dormant Mount Batur volcano, she reached the rice-farming community of Songan.
There, in a concrete shack at the end of an alley, Jero Widiani, a seamstress abandoned by her husband years earlier, was struggling to raise five daughters. Three were healthy. Neighbors were not even aware of the two others. Putu, the eldest, was sitting on the ground, her distorted legs folded beneath her as she sewed together scraps of material. Alit, huddled beside her, was no bigger than a toddler, with a ribcage pressed tightly against her lungs, making it difficult to breathe, much less speak. She has no mobility in her legs or right arm.
Soediro came back a few days later with some Barbie dolls. When she returned a third time, the girls showed her a stack of miniature dresses, sarongs and shirts. One had been fitted, beautifully, on the Barbie.
"It was amazing!" said Soediro, who has helped the girls sell the dresses and bring in up to $70 a month, enough to help feed the family. Neighborhood kids pay just 5 cents, but the interaction after years of isolation is priceless.
"They just want to be our friends," Putu says with a smile, as girls run in and out of the living room, others lingering curiously in the doorway. "And that's what we want, too."