“In that case, Mma Ramotswe,” said Mr. Molofololo, “I hope that you will be able to come with me to a football match tomorrow. We are playing a big, important game at the Stadium, and a great deal is at stake.”

Mma Ramotswe thought quickly. Her Saturdays were something of a ritual. She always went to the President Hotel for tea in the morning, and then, after a quick shopping trip, she would return and make lunch. In the afternoon she would have a nap, as Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni also sometimes did, before getting up to make biscuits for tea. It was a very satisfactory way of spending a Saturday, and the prospect of attending a football match did not strike her as being very attractive. On the other hand, Puso might come too; he was always talking about soccer, although she never paid much attention to what he said about it. Many of the things that boys and men said were like that, she felt; important enough to them, but not all that important to girls and women.

“I will come to the match, Rra,” she said, and then, thinking quickly, she added, “Would you be able to send a car to collect me? My own van is … is temporarily out of order.”

“I shall get my driver to collect you at two o'clock,” said Mr. Molofololo.

“And my foster son?” said Mma Ramotswe. “May he come too?”

“You will both be the guests of Mr. Leungo Molofololo,” said Mr. Molofololo. “Guaranteed.”

Mma Ramotswe thanked him and gave him directions to the house. Then, before they said goodbye, she asked what he thought were the prospects for the match. There was hesitation at the other end of the line; just that silence that, on the telephone, always signals, I am thinking. Eventually he answered. “The game will be stolen from us, Mma,” he said. “Everybody knows that we are the stronger team. But the game will be stolen.”

There was only one word for what Mma Ramotswe heard in his voice, and that was sorrow. And as she rang off, she said to Mma Makutsi, “Mma, have you noticed how things that are really not very important can become very important? A football match? What is it? A game. But to men it is the beginning and end of the world.”

“Not to all men,” said Mma Makutsi primly. “Phuti Radiphuti has no time for football. He says that it is just a waste of time.”

Mma Ramotswe smiled. “But surely Phuti has something that is important to him,” she said, adding quickly, “Apart from you, Mma. You are very important to him.”

Mma Makutsi acknowledged the compliment. “Phuti likes collecting model aeroplanes,” she said. “That is important to him.”

Mma Ramotswe suppressed a smile. “That must be very interesting,” she said. “There are not many men, I think, who do that.”

“Oh there are, Mma,” said Mma Makutsi. “There are four other men in Gaborone who are interested in model aeroplanes; actually, three of them are still boys. They come to Phuti's house and show each other their planes. They enjoy that very much.”