“Oh, there are many,” said Mma Sepoi. She pointed out of the door behind her. “Keep this door closed at night, Mma.”

Mma Makutsi redoubled her polishing efforts. “I always keep my door closed at night,” she said nervously. “It is safer that way.”

“Especially here,” said Mma Sepoi. “I got up the other night because I heard something sniffing at my door. I have a saucepan by my bed and I bang it against the wall to make a noise. Lions don’t like saucepans, Mma.”

Mma Makutsi swallowed. “I have heard that.”

“I’ll leave one by your bed, Mma. So if you need it, you can make a noise.” Mma Sepoi paused. “Of course it may not have been a lion,” she said.

Mma Makutsi looked relieved. A warthog would not frighten anybody; nor an anteater. “Of course. It may have been something else.”

“A leopard, perhaps,” said Mma Sepoi. “They are very dangerous too, you know.”

Later, on their way over to the office in the main camp, Mma Ramotswe noticed that her assistant was walking very close to her, almost bumping into her as they made their way along the narrow path. She tried not to smile; it had never occurred to her that Mma Makutsi would be nervous about being in the Delta. Had Mma Makutsi had a bad experience up in Bobonong, when she was a girl? Sometimes people could be afraid of snakes, for instance, if they had encountered a snake as a child. She had known somebody who had a tendency to faint at the very mention of snakes; and another, she now remembered, who panicked at the sight of a spider. Mma Ramotswe, of course, had a healthy respect for wild animals, but understood that they were generally quite harmless unless one intruded upon their territory, which she had no intention of doing. Mind you, she told herself, the river, on which she and Mma Makutsi had travelled earlier that day, was the territory of the hippopotamus, and the crocodile, and …

They arrived at the camp office. The manager appeared—a tall man, a South African, who stooped to shake hands with them. “I have heard why you have come here, Mma Ramotswe,” he said. “Our chief guide is here. He is called Mighty, and he keeps the roster of who looks after each guest. He will tell you who this fortunate man is.”

They went from the office to the area beside the water where, under the spreading boughs of a tree, chairs had been arranged around an open fireplace. The water was clogged with reeds, over which a brightly coloured bird hovered in flight. A guide, wearing the ubiquitous khaki uniform of the Delta, was standing beside one of the chairs, staring at the place where the fire had been laid, poking at the cold ashes with a stick. He looked up when they approached.

“This is Mighty,” said the manager.