Now, in mid-September, as storm clouds gather two weeks before the Wall Street crisis, Blankfein says to me, “Would we have committed so much this year had we known? No. It wouldn’t have occurred to us.”

In the short term, Goldman can’t pull back even if it wants to. The $100 million for the 10,000 Women project is already locked into a bank account and can’t legally be used for anything but the program. Most foundations are set up this way, and for that reason, their multiyear commitments are not likely to suffer now from Wall Street’s outsize woes—not in the near term. “The real question,” says Melissa Berman, president and C.E.O. of Rockefeller Philanthropy Advisors, is “What will Goldman be able to put into the future?”

The same question applies to the entire industry. “There’s no question the turmoil on Wall Street is going to have a significant impact on giving,” says Berman, who expects the pullback to begin in 2009 and last as long as three years.

Blankfein says that Goldman will persevere with 10,000 Women because it is emblematic of smart, long-term thinking. “We try to do things that make sense over a cycle. We’re not going to put up a garbage building just because this is a bad year, when we’re going to be in it for 40 years.”

Ironically, this initiative may actually turn out to be a particularly shrewd move for Goldman’s new way of doing business. In the aftermath of the crisis, the firm has asked the federal government to allow it to become a commercial bank. The new designation strips Goldman of much of its power to make unregulated and highly leveraged deals—which had earned it huge profits—as well as its swagger. In return, Goldman’s Jaguar class will cozy up to the pedestrian public and the safer haven of steady cash that comes from checking and savings accounts. These 10,000 women and their trading partners and families were unlikely to ever become investment-banking clients. But they will be very relevant to a commercial-banking business. They could easily become direct customers—making deposits, borrowing money, and saving for their children’s college educations.

As the U.S. share of capital markets shrinks, and as Goldman’s own fortunes are increasingly found overseas—53 percent of last year’s earnings—Blankfein is looking to create and capture wealth in countries like Nigeria. “That’s how the world is changing,” he says. “Our interest is served by having a good reputation in these places. And it gets us more embedded and involved and focuses the firm on these places. As long as the people and capital are there, we will go there.”

On a hot, rainy morning, the Nigerian security team hustles the Goldman group—22 all told, including support staff and the hired crew from documentary-maker Ric Burns’ Steeplechase Films—into four black Toyota Land Cruisers for the 10-minute ride to Pan-African University. The security detail consists of four Nigerian police officers, two drivers, and two security commanders. The arrangement costs Goldman about $5,000 a day, an amount that is more than some of the women in the program hope to earn in an entire year. On the trip with the Goldman group, carrying a walkie-talkie, is a quiet man named Scott Sforza, an image consultant who previously worked in the Bush White House, manufacturing heroic backdrops for the president, including the mission accomplished banner on the U.S.S. Abraham Lincoln aircraft carrier. At the school, the Goldman “delegates,” as they refer to themselves, will meet the 25 scholars, talk about the program, and bring back footage to rouse in-house support, as well as to show current and prospective clients. No one is more excited than Dina Powell, Goldman’s director of Global Corporate Engagement and a one-woman warm front of cheeriness.