Mma Ramotswe felt a momentary irritation with Mma Seeonyana. It was discourteous, in her view, to make vague allusions in one’s conversation with another—allusions which the other could not understand. There was nothing more frustrating than trying to work out what another person was saying in the face of coyness or even deliberate obfuscation. If there was something which Mma Seeonyana wanted to say about Mr Bobologo, then she should say it directly rather than hinting at some private knowledge.

“Well, Mma,” said Mma Ramotswe in a firm tone. “Is Mr Bobologo a ladies’ man, or is he not?”

Mma Seeonyana stared at her. She was still smiling, but she had picked up the note of irritation in her visitor’s voice and the smile was fading. “I’m sorry, Mma,” she said. “I didn’t mean to laugh like that. It’s just that … well, it’s just that you touched upon a very funny thing with that man. He is a ladies’ man, but only in a very special sense. That was what was so funny.”

Mma Ramotswe nodded encouragingly. “In what sense is he a ladies’ man then?”

Mma Seeonyana chuckled. “He is one of those men who is worried about street ladies. These bad girls who hang about in bars. That sort of woman. He disapproves of them very strongly and he and some friends of his have been trying for years to save these girls from their bad ways. It is his hobby. He goes to the bus station and hands leaflets to young girls coming in from the villages. He warns them about what can happen in Gaborone.”

Mma Ramotswe narrowed her eyes. This was very interesting information, but it was difficult to see what exactly it told her. Everybody was aware of the problem of bar girls, who were the scourge of Africa. It was sad to see them, dressed in their shoddy finery, flirting with older men who should know better, but who almost inevitably did not. Nobody liked this, but most people did nothing about it. At least Mr Bobologo and his friends were trying.

“It’s a hopeless task,” Mma Seeonyana continued. “They have set up some sort of place where these girls can go and live while they try to get honest jobs. It is over there by the African Mall.” She stopped and looked at Mma Ramotswe. “But I’m sure that you didn’t come here to talk about Mr Bobologo, Mma. There are better things to talk about.”

Mma Ramotswe smiled. “I have been very happy to talk about him,” she replied. “But if there are other things you would like to talk about, I am happy with that.”

Mma Seeonyana sighed. “There are so many things to talk about, Mma. I don’t really know where to start.”