Mma Ramotswe agreed. Singing to children was one of the traditions that she most wanted preserved. It was what the grandmothers had always done, and it lay, she felt, at the heart of what it was to be brought up in Botswana. It was the blanket, in a sense, in which a child was wrapped—that blanket of love that a nation should provide. It might seem to be a small matter, but it was in reality a very big thing indeed.

“So how did you choose?”

Mma Potokwane hesitated before replying. “You are a traditionally built lady, Mma,” she said. “As am I. We are both traditionally built. So…”

Mma Ramotswe leaned forward in anticipation. “So you…”

“So I chose the most traditionally built lady of the five,” said Mma Potokwane.

Mma Ramotswe let out a whoop of delight. “You didn’t, Mma!”

Mma Potokwane nodded. She was smiling now. “I did, Mma. And I did so because I felt that the most traditionally built lady would be the happiest. And the happiest lady would make the children happy, which is what the job of housemother is all about. The children love a traditionally built housemother—such a lady has more acreage, so to speak, Mma, for the children to climb on. Her lap will be big enough for many children to sit on at the same time, and…” She searched for additional reasons.

“And her heart will be traditionally built,” said Mma Ramotswe. “She will have a large heart.”

“There you are,” concluded Mma Potokwane. She looked at Mma Ramotswe enquiringly. “Do you think I did the right thing, Mma?”

“Of course you did,” said Mma Ramotswe, who was sure of her response. It was not just that she was a traditionally built person speaking on behalf of the ranks of traditionally built people; it seemed to her that any reasonable person would agree with Mma Potokwane’s reasoning. So she repeated her reassurance to her friend that she had done the right thing, and they moved on to the next subject, which was a conversation that Mma Potokwane had had with Mr. Polopetsi. This gave rise to a rather different issue altogether.

“I had a visit from Mr. Polopetsi,” said Mma Potokwane. “It was a bit of a surprise, as I don’t really know him all that well.”

Mma Ramotswe raised an eyebrow. “Nothing official, Mma? Nothing to do with his work for the agency?”

Mma Potokwane shook her head. “No, nothing to do with business—or not your agency’s business. It was more personal.”

Mma Ramotswe wondered what personal business Mr. Polopetsi might have with Mma Potokwane. Mma Makutsi had always hinted that there was a side to Mr. Polopetsi that they knew nothing about, and she was right: they knew little about Mr. Polopetsi’s personal life, about his friends, about the place he originally came from.