It was easy from there. Mr Polopetsi followed the tracks across the virgin ground for about half a mile before he saw the small cluster of single-room traditional houses and the stock pen made from brushwood. He paused. He was sure that the tiny white van would be there, concealed, perhaps, under a covering of sticks and leaves, but there nonetheless. What should he do? One possibility would be to run back to the track and make his way up the main road. He could be back in Gaborone within a couple of hours and he could tell the police about it, but by that time the van might well have vanished altogether. He stood and thought, and as he stood there he noticed a boy looking at him from the doorway of one of the houses. That decided it for him. He could not leave now as his presence would be reported and action would be taken to get rid of the van.

Mr Polopetsi walked towards the nearest of the four buildings and, as he did so, he saw the tiny white van. It was parked behind the house he was approaching, half covered with an old tarpaulin. The sight filled him with indignation. He had never been able to understand dishonesty, and here was a blatant example of the most bare-faced thievery. Did these people—these useless people—know what sort of person’s van they had stolen? The worst in Botswana had stolen from the finest in Botswana; it was as straightforward as that.

As he came closer to the house, a man came out. This man, clad in khaki shirt and trousers, now walked towards Mr Polopetsi and greeted him.

“Are you lost, Rra?” the man asked. His tone was neutral.

Mr Polopetsi felt his heart thumping within him. “I am not lost,” he said. “I have come to fetch my employer’s van.” He gestured towards the half-concealed van, and the man’s eye followed him.

“You are the owner of that van?” asked the man.

“No,” said Mr Polopetsi. “As I told you, it is owned by my boss. I have come to get it back.”

The man looked away. Mr Polopetsi watched him, and realised that the man was thinking. It would be difficult for him to explain its presence, half hidden, behind his house.

Mr Polopetsi decided to be direct. “You have stolen that van,” he challenged. “You had no right to take it.”

The man looked at him, his eyes narrowed. “I did not steal it, Rra. Watch what you say. I merely brought it here for safe-keeping. You cannot leave vans out in the bush, you know.”

Mr Polopetsi drew in his breath. The sheer effrontery of this man’s explanation astonished him. Did this man think that he was quite that gullible?