Mma Ramotswe reflected; only rich ladies were able to take up with younger men.
The thought of rich ladies reminded her: the woman who was coming to see her that day was undoubtedly a rich lady. Mma Holonga was well-known in Gaborone as the founder of a chain of hairdressing salons. The salons were successful, but what had proved even more profitable was her invention, and marketing, of Special Girl Hair Braiding Preparation. This was one of those mixtures which women put on their hair before they braided it; its efficacy was doubtful, but the hair products market was not one which required a great deal of scientific evidence. What mattered was that there was a sufficient number of people who believed that their favourite preparation worked.
Mma Ramotswe had never met Mma Holonga. She had seen her picture in
And when she arrived for her appointment, at exactly the right time (which was another point in her favour), Mma Holonga confirmed Mma Ramotswe’s advance impressions.
“You are very kind to see me,” she said as she sat down on the chair in front of Mma Ramotswe’s desk. “I can imagine how busy you must be.”
“Sometimes I am busy,” said Mma Ramotswe. “And then sometimes I am not. I am not busy today. I am just sitting here.”
“That is very good,” said Mma Holonga. “It is good just to sit sometimes. I like to do that, if I get the chance. I just sit.”
“There is a lot to be said for that,” agreed Mma Ramotswe. “Although we would not want people to do it all the time, would we?”
“Oh no,” said Mma Holonga hurriedly. “I would never recommend that.”
For a few moments there was silence. Mma Ramotswe looked at the woman in front of her. As the newspaper photographs had suggested, she was traditionally built about the face, but also everywhere else, and her dress was straining at the sides. She should move up a size or two, thought Mma Ramotswe, and then those panels on the side would not look as if they were about to rip. There really was no point in fighting these things: it is far better to admit one’s size and indeed there is even a case for buying a slightly larger size. That gives room for manoeuvre.
Mma Holonga was also taking the opportunity to sum up Mma Ramotswe. Comfortable, she thought; not one of these undernourished modern ladies. That is good. But her dress is a bit tight, and she should think of getting a slightly larger size. But she has a friendly face-a good, old-fashioned Botswana face that one can trust, unlike these modern faces which one saw so much of these days.
“I am glad that I came to see you,” said Mma Holonga. “I had heard that you were a good person for this sort of thing. That’s what people tell me.”
Mma Ramotswe smiled. She was a modest person, but a compliment was never unwelcome. And she knew, of course, how important it was to compliment others; not in any insincere way, but to encourage people in their work or to make them feel that their efforts had been worthwhile. She had even complimented the apprentices on one occasion, when they had gone out of their way to help a customer, and for a short time it seemed as if this had inspired them to take a pride in their work. But after a few days she assumed that her words had been forgotten, as they forgot everything else, since they returned to their usual, sloppy habits.
“Oh yes,” Mma Holonga continued. “You may not know it, Mma, but your reputation in this town is very high. People say that you are one of the cleverest women in Botswana.”
“Oh that cannot be true,” said Mma Ramotswe, laughing. “There are many much cleverer ladies in Botswana, ladies with BAs and BScs. There are even lady doctors at the hospital. They must be much cleverer than I am. I have just got my Cambridge Certificate, that is all.”
“And I haven’t even got that,” said Mma Holonga. “But I don’t think that I am any less intelligent than those apprentices out there in the garage. I assume they have their Cambridge Certificate too.”
“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.
