allAfrica.com: Botswana: Mma-Ramotswe in NZ (Page 1 of 2)

Mma-ramotswe in NZ Alexander McCall Smith's novels about The No 1 Ladies' Detective Agency have captured imaginations around the world and prompted a BBC TV series. BOB MADDAMS follows in Precious Ramotswe's footsteps around Gaborone before investigating the real Botswana.

It wasn't your typical stake-out. We had parked right outside the suspect's house, which stood in a wide tree-lined street in a quiet residential part of Gaborone, Botswana's capital. "OK," whispered Tim, "this is the place."

But Tim Race is no private eye. He's the boss of Africa Insight, which runs the official No 1 Ladies' Detective Agency Tour. "You don't need to be an expert on the whole series of books," he reassured me. "So long as you've at least read the first one you'll get a lot out of it."

However, those who sign up for the tour often have more than a passing acquaintance with the adventures of Precious Ramotswe, JLB Matekoni, Mma Makutsi and the rest. "If you don't get the details absolutely right, they're very quick to correct you.

"The Americans are the worst," he added as an afterthought. It's hard to think of another writer who has so completely fashioned our view of a country as Alexander McCall Smith has with his No 1 Ladies' Detective Agency books. According to the people I spoke to, it's a responsibility the author takes very seriously indeed.

This sense of responsibility is shared by Tim, who designed the tour. "It's not just about showing people the places mentioned in the books; I also want the tour to introduce visitors to the land, culture, history and people of Botswana."

That said, every tour begins outside the house of Mma Ramotswe. A distinctive hallmark of the books is that McCall Smith tends to blend real people and places in Botswana with fictional ones, and the house he chose for Mma Ramotswe is the real house of friends of his, although the address is actually Zebra Way and not Zebra Drive. It's a private house, so there was no admittance, but as we stood outside on the quiet street corner peering through the gate it was easy to imagine Mma Ramotswe sitting on her veranda after a hard day's crime-solving waiting for JLB Matekoni to call.

Next stop was Mochudi, the village about 45 minutes' drive from Gaborone, where Precious grew up in the house of her beloved father, Obed Ramotswe. On the way, we crossed over the railway tracks at Pilane where Mma Ramotswe's mother died when she was hit by a train, the event "that had been the shadow across her life".

At Mochudi, Tim parked the four-wheel-drive by the kgolta, a thatched

building open to the air on all four sides. Here the village chief and elders hold court on local matters as they have always done.

Across the dusty square stands the kraal where cattle are penned and which is the burial place of two local Bakgatla chiefs. Behind it is the austere-looking Dutch Reformed Church, where a young Precious Ramotswe stood on the steps on the arm of the dashing, but ultimately unreliable, Note Motoki, long before JLB Matekoni appeared on the scene. And, in the village back streets, Tim showed me a typical house of the type Obed Ramotswe would have lived in after his years toiling in South African mines.

On the hill overlooking Mochudi stands the school the young Mma Ramotswe would have attended. Today it's a museum, which is happy to piggy-back off the success of the books to celebrate the local Bakgatla culture and tell the dramatic story of how they came to settle in the region.

Local artworks are produced on site and I bought a wall hanging of two women dancers "of traditional build", which was a snip at 120 pula (about $25).

Later, back in Gaborone, Tim took me to Mma Ramotswe's favourite shop, the Botswana Book Centre, where, ironically, I couldn't find a single one of the No 1 books. Perhaps they were sold out. And afterwards we drank redbush tea on the terrace of the President Hotel overlooking the market square, one of Mma Ramotswe's favourite haunts.

On day two, Tim handed me over to his assistant Bianca, whose knowledge of the McCall Smith books was no less extensive. She drove me along the Tlokweng Rd, but sadly there was no Speedy Motors to be found or tiny white van for that matter. However, there were a couple of garages thatcould have passed easily for JLB Matekoni's thriving business.

Mechanics in greasy overalls laboured under the bonnets of assorted cars and trucks, the ting, ting, ting of their hammers echoing the sound of

the cow bells I had heard the day before standing outside the school in

Mochudi. Every morning, everyone in the country awakens to the sound of cow bells on Radio Botswana.

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