She looked at the other two women: Had they heard too? Mma Ramotswe had a slightly puzzled expression on her face—it was possible that she might have heard—but Mma Potokwane seemed unaffected. Of course she would not have heard, Mma Makutsi reminded herself: there was nothing to hear. These apparent interventions by her shoes were nothing but her own imagination: a sort of conversation with herself—that was all.

So you think, Boss!

Mma Ramotswe now continued. “But even if not all men are like that, at least some are. They insist on getting their way on everything, even on the question of whether children should eat at home or in big rooms …”

“Horrible big rooms,” said Mma Potokwane.

“Yes, horrible big rooms,” agreed Mma Ramotswe. “And how will they get to know each other and their house-mother if they do not eat together, in a kitchen? How will they do that?”

Mma Potokwane became animated. “That’s just what I said! And it’s just what the house-mothers themselves said. All of them. They said: we want to feed the children in the houses. We want to do the cooking ourselves, in our own kitchen, with our own pots.”

“Of course they said that, Mma. And they said that because they knew what they were talking about. And then some man comes along—a man who probably has never cooked so much as a potato in his life—this man comes along and says, I know best.”

“Not one potato,” fumed Mma Potokwane.

Mma Ramotswe glanced at Mma Makutsi, who was smiling. “Of course, if people—if women—let men like that get away with it, then they’ll do it again, and again, and again. Soon they’ll have all of us eating in big halls from big kitchens—just to save money.”

“That will not be possible,” said Mma Makutsi. “People would never agree …”

“I do not mean that exactly,” said Mma Ramotswe patiently. “I am just pointing out how things could get worse.” She turned to Mma Potokwane. “So it’s quite important, Mma, that we don’t give up too early. Not while there’s still a chance.”

Mma Potokwane gave Mma Ramotswe a searching look. “Do you think there’s still a chance, Mma? Do you really think so?”

Mma Ramotswe had not been able to come up with anything about Mr. Ditso Ditso that could be used to get him off the board, and she was not sure that she would. But of course there was a chance, and there was something that told her that she had already found what it was but just did not realise it. It was a curious feeling, but it was there, and it was enough to make her want to persist.

“I think so,” she said.

Mma Potokwane sighed. “So you want me to go back?”

Mma Ramotswe nodded. “Yes, that’s what we want, Mma.”