This is the right thing for a person of stature, but which she had never used of herself. And beyond the acacia, over the dusty road, the roofs of the town under a cover of trees and scrub bush on the horizon, in a blue shimmer of heat, the hills, like improbable, overgrown termite mounds.Įverybody called her Mma Ramotswe, although if people had wanted to be formal, they would have addressed her as Mme Mma Ramotswe. In its branches, in the late afternoon, or in the cool of the early morning, one might see a Go-Away Bird, or hear it, rather. How could any such list describe what one saw when one looked out from Mma Ramotswe’s door? To the front, an acacia tree, the thorn tree which dots the wide edges of the Kalahari the great white thorns, a warning the olive-grey leaves, by contrast, so delicate. No inventory would ever include those, of course.īut there was also the view, which again could appear on no inventory. What else does a detective agency really need? Detective agencies rely on human intuition and intelligence, both of which Mma Ramotswe had in abundance. And three mugs - one for herself, one for her secretary, and one for the client.
Then there was a teapot, in which Mma Ramotswe - the only lady private detective in Botswana - brewed redbush tea. These were its assets: a tiny white van, two desks, two chairs, a telephone, and an old typewriter. Mma Ramotswe had a detective agency in Africa, at the foot of Kgale Hill.
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