“But it is not my van,” said Mma Ramotswe. “It is because I was remembering some things. That song that the children were singing—the one about the wedding of the baboons—made me cry. I was remembering how I heard it when I was in Mochudi, a long time ago, when my daddy was still alive. And I thought that all that was gone now. That Mochudi. That lady who sang the song.” She paused, and looked up at Mma Potokwane. “Sometimes I feel that our whole country has gone, Mma.”

Mma Potokwane thought about this for a moment. Then she shook her head. “No, it has not gone, Mma. Some of it, maybe. But not the heart that beats right inside the country. Right inside. That is still there.”

“And I feel so sorry for the baboons,” said Mma Ramotswe. “I know that it is silly to say that. But I suddenly felt very sorry for them. They are just baboons, but they are dressing up for the wedding. Why is that so sad, Mma?”

“Because it is always sad when people try to do things that they cannot do,” said Mma Potokwane. “The baboons are very sad for that reason.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Then Mma Potokwane asked, “Are you feeling better now, Mma Ramotswe?”

And Mma Ramotswe replied, “Yes, I am, Mma. That was silly of me.”

Mma Potokwane evidently did not agree. “No, it was not, Mma Ramotswe. Sometimes I sit here and I think about things. I think about the stories of these children and what some of them have seen in their short lives. And then I find myself crying a bit, Mma. Nobody sees me, but I cry too. The children think, and the housemothers too, they all think: Oh, that matron, that Mma Potokwane, she is very strong. But they do not know. They do not know, Mma.”

Mma Ramotswe nodded. Mma Potokwane was right. We all had our moments, and they could descend at any time. It was not just the baboons and their wedding, she thought; it was everything: Motholeli going off to Johannesburg, to face inevitable disappointment; the troubles of Mma Makutsi; Charlie; everything, really. Sometimes everything could just seem too much.

“I have some fruit cake,” said Mma Potokwane suddenly. “I think that fruit cake is often very good on these occasions.”

“Yes, Mma,” said Mma Ramotswe. “Yes, you are right. It is.” Fruit cake and tea; sometimes more powerful, in such circumstances, than any words of comfort could be.