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Authors: Alexander McCall Smith
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‘What is the reason?’ he asked.
‘It may be uncomfortable for the mother,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘That is a good reason. But I believe that there are some places where the mother just doesn’t have time to feed the baby. Maybe she is too important.’
‘But feeding a baby is very important,’ said Phuti.
Mma Ramotswe was inclined to agree. You passed on more than mere sustenance in feeding a baby – you passed on love, and tenderness, and a bit of Botswana too, she thought. A bit of what it was to come from this place and be born into this nation.
‘So the young woman in the kitchen —’
He interrupted her. ‘No, she will not be doing that – certainly not. She will make the baby’s food and give it to him if Grace is busy at the office.’ He paused. ‘Grace also thought that it would be all right to bring the baby to the office. Not every day, of course, but from time to time.’
Mma Ramotswe was on the point of saying that she would be delighted to have the baby in the office, but then she thought, Will I? She was very fond of babies, and sometimes when she went to see Mma Potokwani at the orphan farm she would spend hours playing with the babies they had there. But offices were different. One had to work in an office, and babies sometimes did not realise that – indeed, they
never
realised it. And what would happen if an important client were to arrive at the office for a meeting and the baby should choose that moment to protest about any one of the numerous things that babies tended to protest about? What then? Or if the baby needed changing and, in the middle of a meeting at which a prospective client needed to be impressed, Mma Makutsi started to change him in full sight of the client? Of course, she could take him through to the garage, but somehow Mma Ramotswe hardly dared to imagine a baby being changed in a garage alongside a lot of cars that were having their oil changed.
Her answer was cautious. ‘Well, I’m sure that it will be nice to see him – from time to time. But I don’t think we really have suitable facilities for him to come too often. Poor baby! What baby wants to sit about in an office? No babies I know would like that.’
Phuti appeared to weigh her response. ‘Our baby will probably sleep a lot of the time. I don’t think he will make a noise.’
Mma Ramotswe looked at Phuti incredulously. ‘I’m sorry, Rra, but I’m not sure I’d agree with you there. Babies are very noisy things. That is well known.’ She paused, before adding, ‘At least to some.’
‘Oh, I know a lot about babies,’ said Phuti.
‘That is very good, Rra. That is definitely a good thing.’
Phuti smiled. ‘I asked them at the hospital if babies came with instruction books – you know, like fridges do, or cookers, or any electrical appliance. You get those instruction books, sometimes with pictures, telling you what to do.’
‘That would be very funny,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘But on a serious note, Rra, you can get books. There are many books on babies.’
He seemed surprised. ‘Whole books, Mma?’
She nodded. She had recently read about a new one in one of the magazines. It was a book that told you how to raise very intelligent babies. You had to read to the baby all the time and show it how to add and so on. It would not be very much fun being one of those babies, thought Mma Ramotswe. Babies – ordinary babies – liked to look at the sky, or watch chickens, or suck on blankets. They did not want to add.
‘I think it is mostly common sense,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘Give babies lots of love and keep them warm and don’t let flies settle on their noses. Those are all matters of common sense, and if you do things like that, the baby will be happy.’
Phuti nodded. ‘I agree with you, Mma. Everybody can raise a baby.’ He hesitated. ‘Of course, it is best to learn a few special things, and I have been told all those by Grace. She has given me lists of
‘What is the reason?’ he asked.
‘It may be uncomfortable for the mother,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘That is a good reason. But I believe that there are some places where the mother just doesn’t have time to feed the baby. Maybe she is too important.’
‘But feeding a baby is very important,’ said Phuti.
Mma Ramotswe was inclined to agree. You passed on more than mere sustenance in feeding a baby – you passed on love, and tenderness, and a bit of Botswana too, she thought. A bit of what it was to come from this place and be born into this nation.
‘So the young woman in the kitchen —’
He interrupted her. ‘No, she will not be doing that – certainly not. She will make the baby’s food and give it to him if Grace is busy at the office.’ He paused. ‘Grace also thought that it would be all right to bring the baby to the office. Not every day, of course, but from time to time.’
Mma Ramotswe was on the point of saying that she would be delighted to have the baby in the office, but then she thought, Will I? She was very fond of babies, and sometimes when she went to see Mma Potokwani at the orphan farm she would spend hours playing with the babies they had there. But offices were different. One had to work in an office, and babies sometimes did not realise that – indeed, they
never
realised it. And what would happen if an important client were to arrive at the office for a meeting and the baby should choose that moment to protest about any one of the numerous things that babies tended to protest about? What then? Or if the baby needed changing and, in the middle of a meeting at which a prospective client needed to be impressed, Mma Makutsi started to change him in full sight of the client? Of course, she could take him through to the garage, but somehow Mma Ramotswe hardly dared to imagine a baby being changed in a garage alongside a lot of cars that were having their oil changed.
Her answer was cautious. ‘Well, I’m sure that it will be nice to see him – from time to time. But I don’t think we really have suitable facilities for him to come too often. Poor baby! What baby wants to sit about in an office? No babies I know would like that.’
Phuti appeared to weigh her response. ‘Our baby will probably sleep a lot of the time. I don’t think he will make a noise.’
Mma Ramotswe looked at Phuti incredulously. ‘I’m sorry, Rra, but I’m not sure I’d agree with you there. Babies are very noisy things. That is well known.’ She paused, before adding, ‘At least to some.’
‘Oh, I know a lot about babies,’ said Phuti.
‘That is very good, Rra. That is definitely a good thing.’
Phuti smiled. ‘I asked them at the hospital if babies came with instruction books – you know, like fridges do, or cookers, or any electrical appliance. You get those instruction books, sometimes with pictures, telling you what to do.’
‘That would be very funny,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘But on a serious note, Rra, you can get books. There are many books on babies.’
He seemed surprised. ‘Whole books, Mma?’
She nodded. She had recently read about a new one in one of the magazines. It was a book that told you how to raise very intelligent babies. You had to read to the baby all the time and show it how to add and so on. It would not be very much fun being one of those babies, thought Mma Ramotswe. Babies – ordinary babies – liked to look at the sky, or watch chickens, or suck on blankets. They did not want to add.
‘I think it is mostly common sense,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘Give babies lots of love and keep them warm and don’t let flies settle on their noses. Those are all matters of common sense, and if you do things like that, the baby will be happy.’
Phuti nodded. ‘I agree with you, Mma. Everybody can raise a baby.’ He hesitated. ‘Of course, it is best to learn a few special things, and I have been told all those by Grace. She has given me lists of
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