She alighted from the bus at the top of the mall. There were no lights on in the Government buildings behind her, as it was Friday evening and no civil servant would ever work late on a Friday evening, but the mall itself was lit and there were people strolling about, enjoying the cool night air and chatting with friends. There was always so much to talk about, even if nothing much had happened, and now people were going over the events, or non-events perhaps, of the day, catching up on gossip, hearing about things that were happening, or might just happen if one waited long enough.

Outside the President Hotel there was a small knot of young people, mostly in their teens. They were standing about the open staircase that went up to the verandah where Mma Ramotswe liked to have lunch on special occasions. They fell silent as Mma Makutsi approached the stairs.

“Going to learn to dance, Mma?” muttered one of the young men. “I’ll teach you how to dance!”

There were titters of laughter.

“I don’t dance with little boys,” said Mma Makutsi as she went past.

There was silence for a moment, and she added, “When you’re big, come and ask me then.”

This brought laughter from the rest of the young people, and she turned and smiled at them as she went up the stairs. Her success in this good-natured repartee gave her confidence as she entered the hotel and asked for directions to the room in which the class was to be held. She had felt some trepidation about the outing—what if she failed to remember the steps of the tango, or whatever it was they were going to learn? Would she look stupid? Would she possibly even trip and fall over? And who would be there? Would the people who went to classes like this be much more sophisticated than she was, much richer? It was all very well being the most distinguished graduate of her year from the Botswana Secretarial College, but would that count for much here, in the world of music and elegant dancing and mirrors?

The dancing class was to be held in a room at the back of the hotel, a room which was used for business lunches and cheaper private parties. As Mma Makutsi made her way along the corridor, she heard the sound of an amplified guitar and drums. This was the band which had been promised in the advertisement, and it was a sound which filled her with a feeling of anticipation. And there were voices too, the sound of people talking amongst themselves; there were going to be a lot of people there, it seemed.