“Nothing to do, Mma Ramotswe?” Mma Potokwane called out. “Time for a cup of tea?”

“You do not look very busy yourself,” replied Mma Ramotswe, as she walked up to greet her.

“I am standing here planning,” said Mma Potokwane. “I do my best thinking when I am on my feet watching the children playing.”

Mma Ramotswe looked round. A group of very small children were playing under a tree—some strange game of childhood that involved tagging and running. There had been so many of those games, thought Mma Ramotswe—all with complicated rules and a history behind them; just like the affairs of the adult world— complicated rules and a history.

“They look happy,” Mma Ramotswe said.

Mma Potokwane smiled. “They are very happy. No matter what they have had in their lives before, they are very happy.” She gestured for Mma Ramotswe to follow her into the office.

“I see you are driving a new van,” she said, as they sat down. “It is very smart.”

Mma Ramotswe said nothing.

“And your old van? The white one?” asked Mma Potokwane.

“My old van has been retired. Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni decided that he could not fix it any more.”

“He did that with our water pump,” said Mma Potokwane. “I thought that it could go on a bit longer, but he said that it could not. They are like that sometimes—mechanics. They decide that the end has come and then nothing you say can make them think otherwise.” She paused. “Are you sad, Mma? Sad about your van?”

Mma Ramotswe sighed. “I am. But I think that I am going to get it back. I know where it has gone and I am going to go up there one day soon and find it. There is a man who has bought it to fix it up. I shall go up there—it's in Machaneng—and buy it back.”

She had not told anybody of this plan, had hardly determined it in her own mind, but now, rehearsed in this way before Mma Potokwane, it was the obvious thing to do. Yes, that was what would happen. She would go and find the tiny white van and bring it back. Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni could hardly complain if she brought it back restored—it was not as if she would have to ask him to fix it.

“That sounds like a good idea,” said Mma Potokwane. “Well done, Mma. It is a good thing to fight for the things you love.” She looked at her guest. “And that blue van out there,” she ventured. “If you get your tiny white van back, then will you need that blue van? Because we're always looking for transport for the children, you see …”

Mma Ramotswe smiled ruefully. Mma Potokwane was incorrigible. But that would be too much. She could hardly give away a valuable van just because Mma Potokwane wanted it for the children.

“I'm sorry, Mma,” she said. “I would love to give you that van, but it is worth quite a lot of money and Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni …”