a bubbling stew and a faint trace of wood-smoke. For Mma Ramotswe it was a richly evocative combination, taking her back to the kitchen of her father’s house in Mochudi, all those years ago, where there had been a wood-burning stove of much the same vintage. There, of course, was where the women who looked after her after her mother died, that succession of cousins on her father’s side, would cook stews from which wafted an invitation as delicious and tempting as the one that Mma Tsepole was conjuring up for the children in her charge. Mma Ramotswe sniffed at the air and smiled. The children who lived in this place had no mother of their own, but they had what was undoubtedly the next best thing—somebody who watched over them and would make the stews that a loving hand produces for those who are loved.
There was more tea. This time it was not the red bush tea that she usually drank, but ordinary tea, which Mma Ramotswe would drink out of politeness, but with no great enthusiasm for the caffeine that she found made her feel a bit too enthusiastic, almost impulsive. But no harm would come from sharing one cup with Mma Tsepole, as they chatted about the housemother’s relative in Lobatse—the one who had been ill—and about how she feared that this relative might not see out the year.
“There is nothing wrong with her,” said Mma Tsepole, “other than the fact that she is very old, Mma, and her heart is saying, ‘I am very tired with all this beating.’ That is what happens, you know, Mma Ramotswe: your heart eventually says, ‘Oh, my goodness, do I have to go on and on like this?’ ”
Mma Ramotswe nodded in agreement. “That is what happens, Mma. And I think that when it does, you should just say, ‘It is time to go now,’ and then you should become late without making too much fuss about it.”
“Oh, that is very true, Mma Ramotswe,” said Mma Tsepole. “That is what I always say. And that is what my auntie—the one down in Lobatse—says as well. She is ready to go, but there is a cousin down there who is always taking her to the doctor. And the doctor says, ‘You are very old now, Auntie,’ and my auntie says, ‘Yes, I am very old and I do not want to trouble you.’ And then the cousin says, ‘But what about some more pills, please? Auntie needs pills.’ And so it goes on.”
“That is very sad,” said Mma Ramotswe, taking a sip of the strong brown tea Mma Tsepole had given her.
“I will miss her,” said Mma Tsepole. “She has seen so many things in her life, and all those old things, the things that happened a long time ago, she remembers. Every detail is there, Mma. She remembers Protectorate days, when we were still Bechuanaland. She remembers the old steam trains that came down from Bulawayo, and how the police band used to play at the railway station when the train came in. A band, Mma, playing for a train coming in. Can you imagine that?”
The question was rhetorical, but Mma Ramotswe could remember it. Life had been like that in those days, when there was not very much going on and the arrival of a train was something of an event. We had lost that sense of excitement, she felt, because now there was so much happening all the time and nobody paid attention to anything because they had seen it all before. In the days that Mma Tsepole was talking about, people waved to one another on the road. You did not need to know the other person, you just waved, because that was what people did. Now, of course, people just ignored strangers; they took no interest in the story of the other person because they had no time for such things.
Mma Tsepole enquired about various people known to Mma Ramotswe, and Mma Ramotswe assured her that as far as she knew, they were well. Then there was a lengthy discussion about the merits of macaroni cheese. Was this, in Mma Ramotswe’s opinion, a good food to serve to children twice a week, say, or should it be kept as a special treat? Some people said one thing, Mma Tsepole complained, and others said the opposite. Whom was one to believe, especially nowadays, when everybody considered themselves experts on everything? Mma Ramotswe had no idea, and