“No, Rra,” she began. “We must expect the same standards from both men and women. Men cannot say there is one rule for them and another rule for women. We are all bound by the same rules these days.”
“But you do not expect a woman to have two boyfriends,” protested Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni.
“Then you must not expect a man to have two girlfriends,” Mma Ramotswe countered. “We must treat men and women equally.”
“Are you saying there is no difference between men and women?” asked Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni.
“I am not saying that, Rra.”
He was smiling. It was a serious discussion, but he was nonetheless amused by it. Women were always insisting that no distinction should be made, but who did they turn to if there was some hard piece of physical work to be done? To men, he told himself. And if there was noise outside at night that needed investigating, then who was sent out to look into it? Who had to take the risk of coming face-to-face with a leopard, or even a lion? Men. That is what he thought. Men were still expected to do things that women were reluctant to do.
“I know that women do not think very highly of men these days,” Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni continued. “I know that they think men are useless, Mma.”
Mma Ramotswe denied this vigorously. “I do not think that,” she said. “I am not one of those women who run down men.”
Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni knew that this was true. Mma Ramotswe liked men, and was kind to them, just as she was kind to everyone. But there were women, he was sure of it, who seemed to enjoy belittling men. And it seemed to him that these women were allowed to say disparaging things about men, whereas men were definitely not permitted to say such things about women. Only the other day a member of the legislative assembly—a man—had found himself in terrible trouble for having said a political rival—a junior government minister—should go back to cooking in her kitchen. He had been heavily criticised for this—and rightly so, thought Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni—but there had been no criticism of a female politician who had recently expressed the view that girls were doing better at high school than boys because they were more intelligent. “Boys can be very stupid,” she had said. “They are good at making noise and disturbing the class—they are not so good at learning things and writing examinations.” That was a double standard, thought Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni, and he was fed up with people saying unpleasant things about men and not being pulled up on it.
It was a complex issue—and a fraught one. But on one thing, at least, Mma Ramotswe and Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni agreed: they did not want the country torn apart by a war of accusation and counter-accusation between men and women—an argument that seemed to have made so many other countries unhappy with themselves. How can you have a peaceful country where one half of the population thinks that the other is wrong, or hostile, or determined to do them down? What better recipe for unhappiness was there than that?
They skirted round the question of double standards. “The important question,” Mma Ramotswe said, “is this: Is this the reason why Nametso is avoiding her mother?”
Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni was not long in answering. “I think so,” he said. “If you do something that you know your mother will not like, what do you do? You keep her away from the thing that will disturb her. And you say to yourself: I am going to lead my life without her poking her nose into my affairs. That is what you do, Mma.”
“And that is what has happened here, Rra? Is that what you think?”
“It is exactly what has happened,” he said, adding, “I think.”
She asked him what she should do. Should she tell Calviniah that her daughter was seeing two men? How did one put that tactfully? Did you say, “Your daughter is being very wise, Mma. If you want to avoid being left with one boyfriend, make sure that you have a spare one all the time”? That was one way of conveying the information, but she was not sure that it would make much difference to the recipient. No parent likes to hear that sort of news about their offspring.
Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni thought for a while before he gave his answer. When he spoke, his opinion was firm. “You do not tell her anything about this, Mma Ramotswe. That is my advice to you. Stay quiet. Forget that you ever found this out about this Nametso lady. Say nothing, Mma.”
She asked him why.
“Because it will not help for her to know this about her daughter. It will only make it worse if the mother comes along and chides her for carrying on with men.”
“Why, Rra? Why will it make it worse?”
“Because the young woman will be angry with her mother. She will tell her to mind her own business.”
As she considered this answer, Mma Ramotswe suddenly had a moment of epiphany. Yes, that would explain it. It was obvious, once one came to think of it.
“I think I know what to do,” she said. “I think it is clear now.”
He waited for her to explain.
“When a child behaves badly,” Mma Ramotswe said, “it is often because it wants attention. That is so, don’t you think, Rra?”
He shrugged. “I am not a great expert in these things, Mma. Usually it is women who know why children do the things they do.”
“Well, I think that is true,” Mma Ramotswe said. “Children behave badly because their parents are not giving them the attention they want. So the child thinks: If I do something bad, then at least my mother or my father will have to look at me.”
Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni looked out at the darkening garden. The last rays of sun had gone now, and there was only a faint glow left in the sky. “But if she wanted her mother to see what she was doing, she would have told her about it. How can she expect to get her mother’s attention if the mother has no idea what she’s doing?”
“That is a very difficult question, Rra.”
He nodded. “Well, what’s the answer?”
Mma Ramotswe had a cup of red bush tea on the table beside her. She reached for this, but she had let it become cold, and so she put it down without taking a sip.
“What if the mother does know?” she asked.
“But you said that she’s avoiding her mother. That is why I thought that Calviniah wouldn’t know.”
Mma Ramotswe nodded. “Perhaps, Rra. Perhaps. But what if she does know and doesn’t want me to know that she knows? What if it is the mother who is ashamed of the daughter? What if Calviniah wants me to do something, but cannot bring herself to tell me what her daughter is up to?”
Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni sighed. This was becoming too complicated for him. He was on firm ground when it came to mechanical issues and the like, but he felt that the sort of complexities with which Mma Ramotswe had to concern herself in her work were sometimes beyond him. “Who can tell, Mma?” he said at last.