“Everybody needs a hobby,” said Mma Ramotswe. “Particularly men. They need hobbies because they do not have enough to do. We women always have too much to do and do not have to spend our time watching football or playing with … collecting model aeroplanes.”

“You are right, Mma,” said Mma Makutsi. “The whole world is on the shoulders of women. How does that song go? Do you remember that song?”

Mma Ramotswe did, and she sang a snatch of it then and there, improvising the words, which were all about how one is on the shoulders of the other but that there is no pain in this, and nobody would have it otherwise.

THE KALAHARI SWOOPERS?” asked Puso. “Are you sure, Mma?”

The small boy's reaction—something between incredulity and sheer delight—had not surprised Mma Ramotswe when she told him that they were to be the guests of no less a person than the owner of the team.

“His driver will pick us up,” she said. “So I want you to have a bath beforehand and put on your best shirt—the red one, I think—so that you will be smart when you meet the captain.”

This news was almost too much for Puso to absorb. The captain of the Kalahari Swoopers, Rops Thobega, was something of a hero. Even Mma Ramotswe, who knew nothing about football, had heard all about Rops Thobega and his doings. He was one of the more senior players in Botswana football, having been a professional player since his late teens. Now, at the age of thirty, he was getting to the point where younger men were breathing down his neck, but he was still one of the most popular and appreciated of players, and recently had even been praised in Parliament for his initiatives with delinquent youths. “No boy behaves badly if he spends enough time on the football pitch,” he was quoted as saying. “Give me a young man who is coming up before the courts and I will change him.”

A vain promise, some said, but it had been one that he had delivered upon. In particular, he had turned round three young men who had been facing jail and who had become strong football players. Now all three of them were in a team—admittedly a weak team, but they had given up on their bad behaviour.

“Rops Thobega?” asked Puso breathlessly. “Will I meet him, Mma?”

“I think there is a good chance,” said Mma Ramotswe. “We are the guests of Mr. Leungo Molofololo, and he said something about introducing us to the players.”

“That is very exciting, Mma,” said Puso. “I will take my football and ask him to sign it.”

Such was his excitement that Puso was ready a full two hours before Mr. Molofololo's driver was due to collect them. Then, in the comfort of the large Mercedes-Benz that had been sent by Mr. Molofololo, they drove the short distance to the Stadium. It was a hot afternoon, and it would have been preferable to have the windows of the car closed in order to allow the cooling system to operate, but Puso insisted on opening his so that passers-by could see him sitting in the car. Mma Ramotswe smiled. She was pleased to see the boy get such a thrill from the outing.