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anyway, his work was to do with tuberculosis, and they had made such good progress with treating TB that they probably wanted to spend their funds on something else. So it was time for us to go back to Canada—except in my case I hardly knew Canada. I had been there twice, I think—just for holidays on my grandmother’s farm in Ontario. I didn’t know the place otherwise. It was meant to be home, but it wasn’t really.
    “So leaving Botswana was like leaving my real home—the place I’d grown up in, the first place I knew, the place that was so familiar to me.” She paused. “I remember it very well—the day we left. We had to drive over the border to get the plane from Johannesburg. I remember being in floods of tears because I was leaving my friends. It’s like that for children, isn’t it? Leaving friends is a very big wrench for them. It seems that you’re losing everything. You don’t believe your parents when they say you’ll make new friends—you will never make any more friends, you think. It’s like saying goodbye to the whole world.”
    Mma Makutsi made a sympathetic noise. “Oh, I know what that’s like, Mma. I know that very well.”
    “I’m sure you do,” said Susan.
    “I remember when I left Bobonong,” Mma Makutsi went on. “I came down here to go to the Botswana Secretarial College, you know, Mma—I graduated from that place, you see.”
    Mma Makutsi’s eyes went to the wall where her framed certificate from the Botswana Secretarial College hung in pride of place.
    Susan followed her gaze. “That’s your certificate up there, Mma?” she asked politely.
    “As a matter of fact, it is,” said Mma Makutsi, her voice dropping in modesty.
    “Ninety-seven per cent,” said Mma Ramotswe. “Mma Makutsi was their most distinguished graduate, you see. Ninety-seven per cent. That grade has never been…” She stopped. There had been that talk of somebody since then getting ninety-eight per cent, but now was not the time to mention that.
    Mma Ramotswe decided to steer the conversation back to the client. Mma Makutsi, she had noticed, had a tendency to introduce her own agenda into a discussion, and although this was sometimes interesting, it could make it difficult for the business in hand to be transacted.
    “So, Mma,” she said. “You went off to live in Canada?”
    Susan nodded. “Yes, we went to a place called Saskatoon. My father had trained with a person who ran a hospital there, and she offered him a job. My mother was not too keen, as she did not know that part of Canada and thought that it was too far away from anywhere else. It’s a very big country, Canada, and the distances can be—”
    “Very big,” interjected Mma Makutsi. “Canada is a very big place.”
    “That’s what the lady has just said,” observed Mma Ramotswe.
    Mma Makutsi seemed indifferent to the censure. “I’ve looked at maps,” she went on, “and, oh my, there is so much space there. It goes on and on, just like the Kalahari, but even bigger. No lions, of course.”
    Susan laughed. “No lions. At least not the sort of lions you have here.”
    Mma Makutsi looked interested. “You have other lions in Canada, Mma?”
    “There are mountain lions in the Rockies,” said Susan. “They’re big cats, all right. They’re called cougars.”
    “That is very interesting, Mma,” said Mma Makutsi. “Are they smaller than the lions we get here? More like leopards?”
    “They’re certainly smaller,” said Susan. “I’ve never actually seen one, as it happens. I believe they’re rather secretive creatures.”
    “And would they attack a person?” asked Mma Makutsi.
    “They might. There certainly have been cases of people being killed by mountain lions. Mauled, I suppose.”
    “That is very bad,” said Mma Makutsi.
    “Yes,” said Susan. “It’s very sad.”
    Mma Ramotswe cleared her throat. “I think perhaps we should—”
    “Of course there are many bears in Canada, aren’t there?”