Mma
Ramotswe
what is this?” she asked. “Olives? Do we eat
olives, Mr J.L.B. Matekoni?”
“We could, Mma,” he said. “They are
very fashionable. I have heard about them.”
Mma Ramotswe raised an eyebrow. Her
exploring hand had now come across something else she did not recognize. She took the
object out. “A power drill?” she asked. “Was
that on the list, Mr J.L.B. Matekoni?”
Mr J.L.B. Matekoni shook his head. “But it will
be very useful, I think, Mma,” he said.
There were many more surprises in the other
boxes—all of them things that a man would
find interesting. A new set of screwdrivers. A battery
charger.
Mma Ramotswe looked at the array of purchases. “Well,” she said, “that was a very big shop,
Mr J.L.B Matekoni.”
“I enjoyed it very much, Mma,” he said. “And I am
happy to do the shopping every time, if you like.”
Mma Ramotswe thought quickly. “Thank you,
Rra, but I am not sure if shopping is the best thing
for a man to do by himself. I think I shall be able
to manage in the future, thank you.”
He looked disappointed. “Are you sure, Mma?”
“Quite sure,” she said. “Now I suggest that you
go and sit down, Mr J.L.B Matekoni. You must be
very tired.”
He left the kitchen and she stood and gazed
at the loaded table. She smiled. Men were imperfect
creatures, she thought, but so were women—
although this was an occasion when one might allow
oneself to think that women were perhaps just a little
bit more perfect than men, just a little bit. C
raisedan
eyebrow.…
Shetook
theobject
RANDOM HOUSE
out.“A
tion of Mma Makutsi. Then he took the list from
Mma Ramotswe, ran an eye over it and tucked it
into his pocket before finishing his tea and leaving
the room.
“There,” said Mma Ramotswe, proudly. “It’s just
a question of training men the right way.”
Mma Makutsi laughed. “We shall see,” she said.
power
drill?”
she asked.
“Wasthat
*
*
on the list,
Mr J.L.B. Matekoni returned to the house on
Zebra Drive at five-thirty that evening. Mma
Ramotswe was sitting on the veranda, drinking a
cup of redbush tea, when his truck drew up at the
side of the house. She heard him unloading from
the back of the truck—it had been a long list and
there would be several boxes of groceries. She felt
proud of him, and relieved, too, that she was married to a man who would do the shopping when
asked. Not every husband could do that.
She went into the kitchen to find him placing
the last of four large cardboard boxes on the table.
“And did you enjoy doing the shopping?”
she asked.
“Very much, Mma Ramotswe,” said Mr J.L.B.
Matekoni. “And now I will help you to unpack all
these things.”
Mma Ramotswe fished into the first of the
cardboard boxes and extracted a large bag of rice.
“Rice,” she said. “Thank you. That is just the size
of bag I wanted. And this … this is the baking
powder. Yes, this is the right one. Well done, Mr
J.L.B. Matekoni.”
Eggs followed, and then a large packet of sausages. All as requested. And one carton of redbush
tea and one carton of ordinary tea for those who
did not like redbush. And two large bags of flour.
All perfect.
Then she found her hand closing round something unfamiliar. She pulled up a large jar. “And
Mr J.L.B.
Matekoni?”
ALEXANDER MCCALL SMITH was born in
Zimbabwe and educated there and in
Scotland. He became a law professor in
Scotland, and it was through his work that
he returned to Africa, where he helped set
up a new law school at the University of
Botswana. He has written more than 60
books and many have been translated into
more than
4…0 languages. He lives in Edinburgh, where he is a Costco member.
CHRIS WATT
APRIL 2008 The Costco Connection 37
