“They are a special case,” said Mma Ramotswe. “They have passed their Cambridge Certificate, but they are not a very good advertisement for education. Their heads are quite empty. They have nothing in them except thoughts of girls.”

Mma Holonga glanced through the doorway to where one of the apprentices could be seen sitting on an upturned oil-drum. She appeared to study him for a moment before she turned back to Mma Ramotswe. Mma Ramotswe noticed; it was only a momentary stare, she thought, but it told her something: Mma Holonga was interested in men. And why should she not be? The days when women had to pretend not to be interested in men were surely over, and now they could talk about it. Mma Ramotswe was not sure whether it was a good idea to talk too openly about men-she had heard some quite shocking things being said by some women, and she would never condone such shamelessness-but it was, on the whole, better for women to be able to express themselves.

“I have come to see you about men,” said Mma Holonga suddenly. “That is why I am here.”

Mma Ramotswe was taken aback. She had wondered why Mma Holonga had come and had assumed that it was something to do with one of her businesses. But now it seemed it was going to be something rather more personal than that.

“There are many women who come to see me about men,” she said quietly. “Men are a major problem for many women.”

Mma Holonga smiled at this. “That is no exaggeration, Mma. But many women have problems just with one man. I have problems with four men.”

Mma Ramotswe gave a start. This was unexpected: four men! It was conceivable that somebody might have two boyfriends, and hope that neither found out about the other, but to have four! That was an invitation for trouble.

“It’s not what you may think,” said Mma Holonga hurriedly. “I do not have four boyfriends. At the moment I have no boyfriend, except for these four…”

Mma Ramotswe raised her hand. “You should start at the beginning,” she said. “I am getting confused already.” She paused. “And to help you talk, I shall make some bush tea. Would you like that?”

Mma Holonga nodded. “I will talk while you are making the tea. Then you will hear all my troubles while the water is boiling.”

“I AM a very ordinary lady,” Mma Holonga began. “I did not do very well at school, as I have told you. When other girls were looking at their books, I was always looking at magazines. I liked the fashion magazines with all their pictures of bright clothes and smart models. And I specially liked looking at pictures of people’s hair and of how hair could be braided and made beautiful with all those beads and henna and things like that.

“I thought it very unfair that God had given African ladies short hair and all the long hair had been taken by everybody else. But then I realised that there was no reason why African hair should not be very beautiful too, although it is not easy to do things with it. I used to braid my friends’ hair, and soon I had quite a reputation amongst the other girls at school. They came to see me on Friday afternoons to have their hair braided for the week-end, and I would do it outside our kitchen. The friends would sit on a chair and I would stand behind them, talking and braiding hair in the afternoon sun. I was very happy doing that.

“You’ll know all about hair braiding, Mma. You’ll know that it can sometimes take a long time. Most of the time I would only spend an hour or two on somebody’s hair, but there were times when I spent over two days on a design. I was very proud of all the circles and lines, Mma. I was very proud.

“By the time I was ready to leave school, there was no doubt in my mind what I wanted to do for a living. I had been promised a job in a hair salon that a lady had opened in the African Mall. She had seen my work and knew that I would bring a lot of business because I was so well-known as a hair braider. She was right. All my friends came to this salon although now they had to pay for me to do their hair.

“After a while I started my own business. I found a small tuck shop that was closing down and I started off in there. It was very cramped, and I had to bring the water I needed in a bucket, but all my customers moved with me and said that they did not mind if the new place was very small. They said that the important thing was to have somebody who really knew about hair, and they said I was such a person. One of them said that a person who knew as much about hair only comes along once or twice in a century. I was very pleased to hear this and asked that person to write out what they had said. I then had a sign-writer paint it on a board and passers-by would stop and read that remark and look at me with respect as I stood there with my scissors ready to cut their hair. I was very happy, Mma. I was very happy.

“I built up my business and eventually I bought a proper salon. Then I bought another one and another after that up in Francistown. Everything went very well and all this time the money was piling up in the bank. I had so much money that I could not really spend it all myself, and so I gave some to my brother and asked him to use it to buy some other businesses for me. He bought me a shop and a place where they make dresses. So I had a factory now, and this made me even richer. I was very happy with all that money, and I went into the bank every Thursday to check how much I had. They were very polite to me now, as I had all that money and banks like people with lots of money.

“But you know what I didn’t have, Mma? I didn’t have a husband. I had been so busy cutting hair and making money that I had forgotten to get married. Three months ago, when I had my fortieth birthday, I suddenly thought: where is your husband? Where are all your children? And the answer was that there were none of these. So I decided that I would find a husband. It may be too late to have children now, but at least I would find a husband.

“And do you think that was easy, Mma? What do you think?”

Mma Ramotswe had by now made the bush tea and was pouring it into her client’s cup. “I think it would be easy for a lady like you,” she said. “I would not think you would find it hard.”

“Oh?” said Mma Holonga. “And why would I not find it hard?”

Mma Ramotswe hesitated. She had answered without thinking very much about it, and now she wondered how she would explain herself. She had probably thought that it would be easy for Mma Holonga to find a husband because she was rich. It was easy for rich people to do anything, even to find a husband. But could she say that? Would it not seem insulting to Mma Holonga that the only reason why Mma Ramotswe should think she could find a husband was because she was rich, and not because she was beautiful or desirable.

“There are many men…” began Mma Ramotswe, and then stopped. “There are many men looking for wives.”

“But many women say that it is not all that easy,” said Mma Holonga. “Why should they find it hard while I should find it easy? Can you explain that?”

Mma Ramotswe sighed. It was best to be honest, she thought, and so she said, quite simply, “Money, Mma. That is the reason. You are a lady with a large chain of hair salons. You are a rich lady. There are many men who like rich ladies.”

Mma Holonga sat back in her chair and smiled. “Exactly, Mma. I was waiting to see if you would say that. Now I know that you really do understand things.”

“But they would also like you because you are an attractive lady,” added Mma Ramotswe hurriedly. “Traditional Botswana men like ladies who are more traditionally shaped. You and I, Mma. We remind men of how things used to be in Botswana before these modern-shaped ladies started to get men all confused.”

Mma Holonga nodded, but in a rather distracted fashion. “Yes, Mma. That may be quite true, but I think that my problem remains. I must tell you what happened when I let it be known that I was looking for a suitable husband. A very interesting thing happened.” She paused. “But would you pour me more of that tea, Mma? It is very fine tea and I am thirsty again.”