The Mayor went up on stage to prolonged applause. His speech, which lasted twenty-five minutes, was all about what he had done to further the cause of women. “That task is never over,” he said. “There are always more women.”

Following the Mayor’s speech there was an address by the Minister for Women’s Affairs. This lasted slightly over forty minutes, and was accompanied by a great number of illustrative figures.

“This is a very instructive evening,” said Mma Ramotswe. “We are having to learn a lot for our dinner.”

They had seen—and smelled—the dinner that had been laid out on long tables at the side of the room. It was worth waiting for, they felt, even if hunger pains made it difficult to concentrate on all the statistics that the minister seemed determined to produce.

At last the minister concluded her speech. “There is only one way for women to stand,” she said. “And that is on their own two feet.”

Mma Ramotswe glanced at Mma Makutsi, and smiled. “I would have thought that rather obvious, Mma,” she whispered.

“As long as they have two feet,” responded Mma Makutsi, also in a whisper. “There are some women who may not be so lucky. There was a lady in Bobonong who had only one leg.”

Mma Ramotswe hushed her. The president of the Chamber of Commerce was ascending to the podium, ready to make the announcement.

His words, when they came, were simple and direct. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “I very much regret that the discovery of certain voting irregularities has obliged the Chamber to change its decision.”

“She cheated!” whispered Mma Makutsi. “Violet Sephotho cheated—and they’ve discovered it. She will no longer be runner-up! Oh, Mma, this is so good…I’m so glad we came.”

The president consulted a piece of paper. “As a result of this, we have only one name to announce this evening, and that is the name of this year’s Woman of the Year—Violet Sephotho.”

To ringing applause, Violet walked onto the stage. The president stepped away from the podium and handed her a scroll and an envelope. There were cheers from the back of the hall and applause from all quarters. Lights flashed across the ceiling, glittering lights sending a message of triumph and glory. Mma Makutsi said nothing. She was frozen; turned, perhaps, into a pillar of salt—like Lot’s wife.

The presentation over, the crowd made its way to the buffet. In the hubbub of chat that filled the ballroom, Mma Makutsi and Mma Ramotswe were silent, at least for several minutes.

“I have no appetite,” said Mma Makutsi at last. “I could not touch food. Not tonight. Not for some days, I fear.”

“Come on, now, Mma Makutsi,” said Mma Ramotswe. “Worse things have happened.”

“I cannot think of anything worse than this, Mma,” said Mma Makutsi. “My heart is broken, broken, broken.”