نامه‌ی معلم

Chapter four

The Teacher’s Letter

Mma Ramotswe was pleased with the success of the No 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency. The first mystery, the mystery of the missing husband, was solved. Mma Makutsi typed a report and also a bill. Then the bill was sent to Mma Malatsi.

It was Mma Makutsi’s job to open the letters. But in the first week of the agency, there were very few letters. Then one day in the second week, a letter arrived in a dirty white envelope. Mma Makutsi read it to Mma Ramotswe.

Dear Mma Ramotswe,

I read about your agency in the newspaper. I am very proud for Botswana that we now have a person like you in this country.

I am the teacher at the small school at Katsana I Wage, fifty kilometres from Gaborone. My wife and I have two daughters and a son of eleven. But two months ago, my son disappeared.

We went to the police. They made a big search and asked questions everywhere. But nobody knew anything about our son. I searched the land around our village but I could not find him. I called and called, but my son never answered me.

He knew many things about the land and he was always very careful.

There are no dangerous wild animals near us. How can a boy disappear like this?

I am not a rich man. I haw no money to pay a private detective. But I ask you, Mma, to help me in one small way. When you are asking people about other things, please ask them about my son. If you hear anything, please send a note to me, the teacher at Katsana Village.

Ernest Molai Pakotati.

Mma Makutsi stopped reading and looked at Mma Ramotswe.

‘Do you know anything about this,’ asked Mma Ramotswe. ‘Have you heard anything about a missing boy?’

‘I think so,’ said Mma Makutsi. ‘There was something in the newspaper about a search for a boy.’

‘I can ask people,’ Mma Ramotswe said. ‘But I don’t think I can do very much for this poor Daddy.’

‘No,’ said Mma Makutsi. ‘We can’t help that poor man.’

They sent a letter to the teacher. But when Mma Ramotswe was cooking supper in her house in Zebra Drive that evening, she thought again about the missing boy.

Where could the boy be? Perhaps he was in danger somewhere. It was terrible for the teacher and his wife. Was the child stolen by a stranger? How could anyone do that to a young child? How could these bad things happen in Botswana?

‘Perhaps I should not be a detective,’ she thought. ‘I want to help people. But sometimes their problems make me too sad.’

The next day, Mma Ramotswe went to see her friend. Mr JLB Matekoni. Mr JLB Matekoni was forty-five, ten years older than Mma Ramotswe, and came from the same village, Mochudi. He was very good at repairing cars. His business, Tlokweng Road Speedy Cars, was very successful.

Mr JLB Matekoni was not handsome, but he had a very kind face. Mma Ramotswe liked to go to his garage to drink tea. They always talked about local news. Today they talked about the problems of owning a business. Mma Ramotswe was worried because the No 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency was not making enough money.

‘Your secretary - the one with the big glasses,’ said Mr JLB Matekoni. ‘She is costing you a lot of money.’

‘I know,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘But you need a secretary if you have an office.’

‘Then you need to get better clients,’ said Mr JLB Matekoni. ‘You need somebody rich to bring you a problem. Rich men have their troubles too.’

‘I had a letter last week,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘It made me very sad because I couldn’t help the man.’ She told Mr JLB Matekoni about the teacher’s letter.

‘I read about that missing boy in the newspaper,’ he said. ‘But it is useless to search for him.’

‘Why,’ asked Mma Ramotswe.

Mr JLB Matekoni was silent. ‘Because that boy is dead,’ he said at last. ‘No animal took him.’

Mma Ramotswe was silent too, thinking of the teacher. She was remembering the time when her own child died. It was like the end of your world. The stars went out and the moon disappeared. The birds became silent.

‘Why do you say that he is dead,’ she asked. ‘Perhaps he is lost.’

‘No,’ said Mr JLB Matekoni. ‘A witchdoctor has taken him.’

Mma Ramotswe put her cup down on the table. ‘How can you be sure?’

‘You know what happens, Mma Ramotswe,’ said Mr JLB Matekoni. ‘We Africans don’t like to talk about it, do we? It is a subject that brings fear to our hearts. We know what happens to missing children. We know.’

Mma Ramotswe looked up at him. Mr JLB Matekoni was probably right. A witchdoctor took the boy and killed him. Then his body was used for medicine - muti - for a rich man. It was terrible that these things still happened in modern Botswana.

‘You may be right,’ she said. ‘That poor boy–’

‘Of course I’m right,’ said Mr JLB Matekoni. ‘And why do you think that poor man had to write that letter to you? The police are doing nothing to find out about the boy. They are afraid. We are all afraid - maybe even you.’