“Oh, I would not tell her that, Mma,” protested Fanwell. “I wouldn’t go and say that to her face.” He paused. “But if you had to choose, Mma—let’s say that you were an unmarried lady and these two men were standing in front of you, Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni and Phuti Radiphuti—which one would you choose? Which one would you walk up to and say, ‘I would like you to be my husband’?”

She brushed the question aside. “You can’t ask people that, Fanwell. It’s like those questions where you say there are three people in a big balloon and one has to be thrown out in order to stop the balloon from crashing. You can’t answer those questions—not really.”

But Fanwell liked the idea of such a quandary. “Oh, I like the sound of that, Mma! That is very good!” He thought for a moment. “Let’s say that we have a balloon just like that, and it’s flying across the Okavango Delta and there are all these hippos and crocodiles down below. Let’s say that the people in the balloon are…” He scratched his head. “All right, Mma, there’s Mma Potokwane in the basket under the balloon. And then there’s Nelson Mandela—before he died, of course. And then there’s…” He waited for a moment before revealing the identity of the third passenger. “Violet Sephotho. Yes, Violet Sephotho is the third person. And you’re the pilot, Mma, who has to throw one of them out. Which one would it be?”

“Do you think you know the answer I’m likely to give?”

Fanwell looked smug. “I think I know the answer, Mma.”

“Then why ask the question?” said Mma Ramotswe, and laughed. “Anyway, Fanwell, you were telling me the way to the bakery.”

“Well, Mma, once you are in Extension 23 you take a road off to the left. That is called Monganakodu Road and there is a big church on the left up there. They’re always singing. The bakery is behind that place, Mma. That is where you’ll find that bakery. It is called Fresh Time Bakery.”