Mma Makutsi snatched the paper from Mma Ramotswe, peering at the list of names. Suddenly she pointed indignantly at the now-crumpled sheet. “Oh yes, Mma? Oh yes? What is this here, then? Number eighty-one: Mma Silvia Potokwane. See? And just in case they are talking about another Mma Potokwane altogether, what does it say? It says, Mma Silvia Potokwane is the well-known matron who has looked after hundreds of children over the years. She does not live in a shoe, this lady, and she certainly knows what to do!”
Mma Makutsi lowered the paper and fixed Mma Ramotswe with an accusing stare. “I think that is definitely our Mma Potokwane, Mma. I think there is no mistake about that.”
Mma Ramotswe was silent. The situation was irretrievable, she decided. But there was more to come, and this was heralded by a sharp intake of breath from Mma Makutsi as she glanced once more at the newspaper. For a moment she appeared to struggle, and then, wordlessly, she thrust the paper at Mma Ramotswe, her finger jabbing at a place on the list where, with utter shamelessness, was to be seen the name of Violet Sephotho, at number fourteen—fourteen!—with the following encomium: A lady whose fingers are in every pie, Violet Sephotho B.A. is the mover and shaker who puts Gaborone on the map! Onward and upward goes this lady of the future.
Mma Ramotswe’s jaw sagged. Mma Makutsi had every right to feel outraged. This was an abomination.
“B.A.?” shouted Mma Makutsi. “Since when is Violet a B.A.? What did she get in the final examinations of the Botswana Secretarial College? I can tell you, Mma. Barely fifty per cent. And now she calls herself a B.A.”
“Mover and shaker,” groaned Mma Ramotswe. “I have never liked that expression, Mma. Now I like it even less.”
“This country is finished,” Mma Makutsi wailed. “If this sort of thing can appear in the papers, then this country is finished, Mma. Over. Finished.”
* * *
—
BUT NOW, here was Mma Boko starting some story about a Mma Magadi and the supermarket.
“No, perhaps you don’t know her,” said Mma Boko. “But you might recognise her, because she is, like you, a large lady, Mma. She is larger, perhaps, and her children are all quite large too. Not tall, you understand, but large this way—out to the side and to the front. And at the back too. She has five of them, and I was in the supermarket when she came in with them. All five.”
“That cannot be easy,” said Mma Ramotswe. “Feeding five children will be a full-time job, I think.”
Mma Boko agreed. She had had three children, she said, and although they were all grown up and away from home now, she still felt exhausted. Just think about the effort that had been required to get meals on the table, day in, day out, year after year. “People don’t always know what it’s like,” she said. “They forget how hard it is to be a mother.”
“And a wife,” said Mma Ramotswe.
“Yes, and a wife, because a husband is just like a child in many cases, Mma. Not all the time, of course, but often. People forget that.”
Mma Ramotswe waited for the conversation to continue. Sympathy had been expressed for this mother of five, but was that the point of her having been mentioned? Had she been the victim of some outrage that Mma Boko was now to report, or was there another reason for her appearance in this discussion?
It now became clear. “Having five children is no excuse,” said Mma Boko. She spoke firmly. “No, Mma, even if you have five children, you are not entitled to take them into the supermarket and feed them there.”
Mma Ramotswe sighed. “Ah, Mma. I have seen that sort of thing happen. I have seen people sneaking a bite of something in the supermarket—and then not buying it.” She paused. “Of course, sometimes it is very tempting. They put this food in front of you, and sometimes temptation is very strong.”
Mma Boko was staring at her, and Mma Ramotswe quickly qualified her remark. “Not that you should give in to it, of course. I would never say that you should give in to temptation.”
And yet, and yet…There were occasions on which she gave in to temptation, in spite of every resolution she might make not to yield. Doughnuts were such an occasion—and fat cakes too. And Mma Potokwane’s fruit cake, come to think of it. And those chocolate bars with coconut in the middle. There were many, many temptations in one’s way on the road through life, and one would not be human if one never succumbed.
“You are right, Mma,” said Mma Boko. “When I am faced with temptation, I am happy to say that I do not yield. Not one inch, Mma.”
Mma Ramotswe sighed again. “You are fortunate, Mma. You must be very strong. Sometimes I think that I am one of the weaker sisters. In fact, I know I am. Fat cakes, you see…”
“Then you must get the Lord to help you,” said Mma Boko. “He is well aware of fat cakes.”
There had been the feeding of the five thousand, Mma Ramotswe remembered. Had fat cakes been involved in that? She stopped herself. That was disrespectful. She glanced at Mma Boko. She suspected that she was as weak as the next person, in spite of all this talk of being above temptation.
“There is a very good reverend,” Mma Boko said. “He is the one who helps people overcome temptation. I am lucky that I have met him.”
Something chimed, but Mma Ramotswe was not sure what it was. A very good reverend…But she wanted to get on with her conversation with Mma Boko, and it seemed that they would have to dispose of Mma Magadi first. “So this lady allowed her children to eat in the supermarket,” she said. “That is not right. It is stealing.”
“Not only that,” Mma Boko continued. “That was shocking enough, Mma, to see this mother telling her children to eat things while she kept a look-out for the supermarket staff. That’s a very bad example to a child. But there was something else. I had to go and inform the cashier, Mma. I went and told her that there were five children all eating things.”
Mma Ramotswe nodded. “That was the right thing to do, Mma.”
Mma Boko shook her head. “You would think they would be pleased. You would think that she would have said, ‘Thank you for this information—we shall attend to it immediately.’ You would think she would have said that, and instead, what did she say? She said, ‘Mind your own business.’ That is what she said—her exact words. Mind your own business.”
“But that is terrible, Mma. She should have done something.”
“Exactly,” said Mma Boko. “But that is what we are coming to these days, Mma. People don’t care.”
Mma Ramotswe allowed a few moments to pass, and then she said, “Next door, Mma. When I knocked on your door a little while ago and told you that I am a private detective wanting to find out about something, that was about next door actually.”