زن دکتر جادوگر

Chapter ten

The Witchdoctor’s Wife

Mma Ramotswe had to find out about the schoolteacher’s missing son, so she drove out to the witchdoctor’s place in her tiny white van. It was in a very empty part of the country with no animals and only a few small trees.

Suddenly she saw the house by the side of a hill. She parked the van and got out. She felt afraid. She knew many different kinds of people, but this man was a murderer.

The sun was high in the sky as she walked towards the house. She felt that someone was watching her. There was a low wall around the house. At the wall, she stopped and called out.

‘I am very hot,’ she said loudly. ‘I need water.’

There was no reply from inside the house. Mma Ramotswe heard a noise behind her, and turned round.

‘Mma?’

She turned round again quickly. A woman was standing in the doorway.

‘I am Mma Ramotswe,’ she said. ‘I have come to see your husband. I want to ask him for something. I have heard he is a very good doctor. I have trouble with another woman. She is taking my husband from me and I want something to stop her.’

The woman smiled. ‘He can help you. But he is away. He is in Lobatse until Saturday. You will have to come back.’

‘This has been a long trip,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘I am thirsty. Do you have water, sister?’

‘Yes, I have water. You can sit in the house while you drink it.’

Mma Ramotswe went into the house. The room inside was small, with a table and two chairs. She sat on a chair and drank the water gratefully. Then she put down the cup and looked at the woman.

‘I am here because you are in danger,’ she said. ‘I am a typist. I work for the police. And I have typed out something about your husband. He killed that boy, the one from Katsana. He used the boy for muti. The police know this. They are going to catch your husband and then they will kill him. They are going to kill you too. But I don’t think they should kill women. Come to the police with me now. Tell them what happened. Or you will die very soon. Next month, I think. Do you understand?’ She stopped.

The woman looked at her with eyes wide with fear. ‘I did not kill that boy,’ she said.

‘I know,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘But that doesn’t make any difference to the police. The Government wants to kill you too. Your husband first, you later. They do not like witchdoctors.’

‘But the boy is not dead,’ said the woman quickly. ‘My husband took him to the cattle farm. He is working there. He is still alive.’

Mma Ramotswe opened the door of the tiny white van and told the woman to get inside. It was one o’clock and the seats inside the van were very hot. Then they drove to the cattle farm. It was a difficult journey of about four hours across empty country. At last they saw some trees around two small buildings.

‘That is the cattle farm,’ said the woman. ‘There are two Basarwa there - a man and a woman. The boy works for them.’

‘How do you stop him running away?’

‘Look around you,’ said the woman. ‘You can see how lonely this place is. If he runs away, the Basarwa will catch him easily.’

‘There is a man in Gaborone who bought a bone from your husband,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘Where did you get that?’

‘You can buy bones in Johannesburg,’ said the woman. ‘Did you not know that? They are not expensive.’

The Basarwa were eating a meal. They were tiny people with skin dry from the sun and wide eyes. They looked at the visitors in surprise. Then the man stood up.

‘Are the cattle all right,’ asked the witchdoctor’s wife.

‘All right,’ said the man. ‘They are not dead.’

‘Where is the boy?’

‘Over there,’ replied the man. ‘Look.’

They saw a boy standing under a tree. He was a dusty little boy, with a stick in his hand.

‘Come here,’ called the witchdoctor’s wife. ‘Come here.’

The boy walked over to them, looking at the ground. He had a deep cut on his arm.

Mma Ramotswe put a hand on his shoulder.

‘What is your name,’ she asked very quietly. ‘Are you the teacher’s son from Katsana Village?’

The boy shook with fear, but he answered. ‘I am that boy. I work here now. I have to look after the cattle.’

‘Did this man hit you,’ asked Mma Ramotswe quietly.

‘All the time,’ said the boy.

‘You are safe now,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘You are coming with me. Right now. Walk in front of me. I will look after you.’

The boy looked at the Basarwa and then moved towards the van.

‘That’s right,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘I am coming too.’

She put him in the passenger seat and closed the door. Then she got into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

‘Wait for me,’ shouted the witchdoctor’s wife, but the van drove away.

Mma Ramotswe turned towards the frightened little boy.

‘I am taking you home now,’ she said. ‘It will be a long journey.’

At Katsana Village the next day, the schoolteacher looked out of the window of his house and saw a tiny white van. He saw a woman get out of the van and look at his door. There was a child in the van. Was the woman a parent who was bringing a child to him? He went outside.

‘You are the teacher, Rra?’

‘I am the teacher, Mma. Can I do anything for you?’

She turned to the van and waved to the child inside. The door opened and the boy came out. The teacher cried out and ran forward. He shouted wildly for the world to hear his happiness.

Mma Ramotswe walked back towards her van. She was crying, remembering her own dead child. There was so much suffering in Africa. Sometimes you just wanted to walk away.

‘But you can’t do that,’ she thought. ‘You just can’t.’

There was something wrong with the tiny white van.

‘It’s the dust from the journey to the cattle farm,’ thought Mma Ramotswe. She telephoned Tlokweng Road Speedy Cars.

‘I will come to Zebra Drive and look at the van on Saturday,’ said Mr JLB Matekoni.

‘It is an old van,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘I will have to sell it.’

‘No,’ said Mr JLB Matekoni. ‘Everything can be repaired.’ He suddenly felt sad. ‘Even a broken heart,’ he thought. ‘Who can repair that?’

He arrived shortly after four o’clock on Saturday.

‘I’ll make you a cup of tea,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘You can drink it while you look at the van.’

From the window she watched him work. She took out two cups of tea and then a third, as it was a hot afternoon. Then she went into her kitchen and put vegetables into a pot and watered the plants. It was her favourite time of day, when the afternoon was changing into evening.

She went out to see Mr JLB Matekoni. He was standing next to the little white van.

‘It will be fine now,’ he said. ‘The engine runs well.’

Mma Ramotswe was very pleased. She went into her kitchen and poured Mr JLB Matekoni a glass of beer. They sat outside the house together. Not far away, they could hear music from another house. The sun went down, and it was dark.

He looked at her - this woman who was everything to him.

‘I am very happy that I repaired your van,’ he said. ‘I am very happy sitting here with you.’

She turned to him. ‘What did you say?’

‘I said, please marry me, Mma Ramotswe. I am just Mr JLB Matekoni, that’s all, but please marry me and make me happy.’

‘Of course I will,’ said Mma Ramotswe.