THE DOUGHNUTS, of course, were a sign: doughnuts on Friday were normal, but doughnuts purchased on any other day meant that Mma Makutsi felt that she needed cheering up. And that particular morning, cheering up was exactly what was required.

It was not that the day had started badly; it had not. Mma Makutsi had awoken in a state of excitement, as one does when one has been vouchsafed a satisfying dream or when the day ahead brings the prospect of some numinous event. As she stretched out in her rather small and uncomfortable bed—the lumps in her mattress had always been in the wrong place—she reflected on how that coming night she would be sleeping in the unimaginable luxury of the new bed. She looked at her watch and saw that it was time to get up, which was not a chore, not that morning. She would have a lukewarm shower—the heating system never managed more than a few degrees of boost above the prevailing temperature—and then she would prepare her breakfast. They had promised to deliver the new bed early, and she wanted to be ready for them when they came. Delivery men could be awkward about moving existing furniture, and they would need at least a cup of strong tea and a sandwich before agreeing to stack her old bed and mattress against the back wall. The food would be ready when they arrived, and then…she closed her eyes in bliss.

The men came at the appointed time; one man driving a top-heavy blue van, the other in the passenger seat counting out the plot numbers as they made their way down Mma Makutsi’s dusty road. When she saw them, she went out to the gate and waved them down.

“I am the person,” she called out. “It is my bed.”

The van came to a halt and the men got out. Civilities were exchanged. Had she slept well? She had. Had they? They too had slept well. Then the opening of the back door of the van and the manoeuvring out of a great plastic-wrapped object. There was a wind, a small wind blowing tiny eddies of dust, and it caught the edge of the transparent plastic wrapping and made it flap. I am filled with pride, Mma Makutsi thought. I am filled with pride.

The men carried the bed through the gate and into Mma Makutsi’s yard, where they propped it up against the front wall. The large object seemed to dwarf the house; a big bed for a small house, thought Mma Makutsi.

“Very beautiful,” said the driver as he began to cut at the plastic wrapping. “One of the most beautiful beds in Botswana.”

“Yes,” said Mma Makutsi. “That’s why we chose it, Rra.”