We sat together in the preschool, worn benches resting on dirt floor, the tin roof shading us from the sun. In the small room we could hardly have been closer; culturally, we could hardly have been further apart. On our third visit to Losimingori, a Maasai village not far from Arusha, I had requested that there be an opportunity for me to meet with the women and here we were. I was thrilled.

On our initial visit, the women had been a quiet backdrop to the warm and welcoming meeting Tim and I had with two elder brothers of Tim's university student, Wilson. It was a meeting I will never forget - Tim and I sat inside the round thatched hut, listening, sharing tea together, watching their eyes, earnest and full of the dream of having a secondary school for their children. On our next visit, we met briefly with a larger group of elders who pointed across a long low valley to the opposite hillside where they had set aside land for a school. We were accompanied by Angelika, a German nurse who has lived in Tanzania and worked with the Maasai for 28 years, and has established two schools. Fluent in Swahili, conversant in Maa (the language of the Maasai), with a rough and ready friendliness, Angelika builds bridges wherever she goes. We ended our visit with laughter and smiles as she let loose with a traditional Maasai "yeeeeow!!". She brought the house down. It was fabulous. I still hadn't really met any village women much less talked with one.

But this third visit I had made a point of inviting a female interpreter, Wilson's wife, Rosey, who is a rare example of an educated Maasai woman. And I had made a point of requesting to meet with some of the village women. And here we were, all of us daughters, sisters, mothers - much the same, worlds apart. I asked them the same questions we had asked the men. What did they want for their community? Why? What changes did they hope would come to the community? I cared very deeply to know what they would say.

I was surprised to hear that, as much as they wanted a school, they wanted a church more. They wanted "good things to start happening" in their community. I know the momentum is for building a school. I also know there are already two churches that are not too far away. I know I don't fully understand, so there are more questions I will ask the next time we meet.

As for a secondary school, yes, the women want one. One of their first questions to me was whether girls would be allowed to attend. (The question itself speaks volumes, doesn't it?) When I asked them what changes they hope a school would bring, two women spoke for the group saying, "We have no voice in our community. We want to have a voice, we want to be part of making decisions. Right now only the men have a voice." They wanted their 14 and 15 year old daughters to have choices in marriage. They wanted their children to be able to earn a living for themselves.

These women know what they want.

After our talk, they led in a prayer, then we stood outside talking, waiting for the men to finish meeting. They wondered about my hair. Was the black thing (my scarf) part of my hair? I took it off and shook my hair out for them to see. We talked jewelry (the Maasai men and women make fine, colorful beaded jewelry), we talked children, we talked about my next visit. When they heard our three children were grown, one of the women offered me one of hers. (I know, I know.) I could see her intent was one of generosity within the culture that is hers.

In case you're wondering, I didn't accept.

(-:  We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

I can't express what a privilege it is for me to have met the people of this community. I am grateful beyond words.