“Come to our class,” called out a woman as she passed me one day. “Come to our women’s  literacy class in the mosque.” Um. A literacy class in the mosque. That sounded very interesting. My mind went to the usual scene of young boys chanting the Koran in mosques. The thought of a group of women in the mosque learning to read intrigued me.On our second to last day we finally made it there. The teacher hadn’t shown up that day, but there they were, a room full of women sitting at their desks. No learning materials. No books. Just waiting patiently for the teacher to show. Bedecked in their glorious African plumage, they stared at us as we walked in. Mazungus (white people) are virtually never seen in this area. Surely they must have wondered what we were doing there. One of our Kenyan interns interpreted for me as I asked if we could join them. “Yes!” they smiled. I started asking questions. “How long have you been meeting?” “Is there any resistance from the males in your lives?” “How far have you traveled?” “What made you decide to become literate?” “What are you finding to be the biggest challenge?” My questions went on and on. They spoke with pride about being there, about doing something so bold and self-determining.A group of children had gathered at the door, watching this unusual encounter. More of them were gathering by the minute. Curiosity always seems to bring children to where we are. The little ones, both frightened and intrigued by the color of our skin, wanted to see what we were doing.“We need a good ice breaker,” said my son-in-law Nate. “Let’s sing a song." So we did. The women instantly perked up. Music was something they knew! We had them sing a song for us, a glorious African song about learning. Then it was our turn. “Let’s try the hokey pokey,” said Aly. “Who knows if their English is good enough to catch on to this, but let’s give it a try.So we did. “You put your left foot in. You put your left foot out. You put your left foot in and you shake it all about.” The concentration was palpable in their faces. A few tries and they started to get it. Their smiles lit up. “You do the hokey pokey and you turn yourself about,” now that part they loved! The turning around and swinging their hips. That’s something African women can DO! Their laughter started to bounce off the walls. The children joined in, laughing and dancing around. “That’s what it’s all about – YEA!” They slapped their legs, they roared with laughter. They ran up to hold our hands so we could try it together. “Again!” they said. “Again!” So we did it again. This time the right foot in. The next time, the head in. When we put our bottoms in and our bottoms out they looked like they were going to die laughing.It was one of those moments. “Am I really here? Is this really happening - that I’m doing the hokey pokey in a mosque with these darling women?” We may have started out feeling like aliens, but by now we all felt like one big family. The cultural barriers had dropped to the ground. Any preconceptions we might have had about Moslem women had been overturned. We were just a bunch of people, young and old, having a good time together.I read once that if two living heart cells are put in a petri dish together, before long they will start beating as one. It felt like that in the mosque that day. We started out with beats awry, enclosed in our strangeness. To feel our hearts start to beat as one was unforgettable.Note:  The following week Kenya Keys interns took the women’s literacy class on their first field trip. Hand in hand, they crossed the highway and went to the Kenya Keys Community Library. The women were overcome by joy! “We can borrow these books?” they asked, incredulous. “We can take them home?” They covered their mouths, smiles like saucers. “Yes!” said Halima, our librarian.  “Would you like it if I read you one of the books?” They grinned and sat. All together they settled in for their first story.