And that was what she was thinking—of Obed Ramotswe and of her father’s cousin, who had, all those years ago, given her a root to chew for a sore stomach—when Mr. Sekape stopped, and touched her lightly on the arm, and asked, “What is it, Mma? What have you come to tell me?”

And now that the moment had come, she replied, without thinking of how she might put it, “I have come to tell you that you have a sister, Rra. I do not think that you know about her, but you have a sister.”

She heard him catch his breath. She saw his hand go to his face, to somewhere near his mouth, and then drop again.

“Yes, Rra. This lady, your sister, has come to me and asked me to find her family. And I have found you.”

At first he said nothing. He turned his face away, to look in the direction of the government buildings at the other end of the square, and she thought, this is not welcome news for him, but then, when he turned back to face her, there was no mistaking the emotion within him. His voice cracked as he spoke; he stopped to compose himself. “You have found me a sister, Mma? You have found her?”

“I have, Rra. I can take you to her. I can take you to her…” She shrugged. “Tomorrow, maybe. Or the day after. I can do that.”

He was looking down at the ground. Behind him, two women were walking slowly across the square, carrying bags stuffed with purchases. One of the women looked up, and Mma Ramotswe recognised her; a friend of Sister Banjule at the Anglican hospice, who had nursed Mma Makutsi’s brother in his final days; by these bonds of friendship are we linked, one to another.

“Dumela, Mma Ramotswe.”

“Dumela, Mma.” Mma Ramotswe did not know the other woman’s name, but it did not matter; the two passed on and she was left with Mr. Sekape, who looked up.

“No, Mma,” he said. “Please take me today. Please take me now. I cannot wait.” He looked about him. “I must buy her a present. I must…”

He seemed flustered, and Mma Ramotswe took his hand. “There will be plenty of time for that, Rra. A whole lifetime, don’t you think?”