Mma Ramotswe was always pleased to see her cousin, as these visits gave her the opportunity to catch up on village news. This was information one would never see in any newspaper, yet it was every bit as interesting-more so, in many respects-than the great events of the world which the newspapers reported. So she sat on a traditional stool, the seat of which was woven from thin strips of rough-cured leather, and listened to her cousin tell her what had taken place. Much had happened since Mma Ramotswe’s last visit. A minor headman, known for his tendency to drink too much beer, had fallen into a well, but had been saved because a young boy passing by had happened to mention that he had seen somebody jump into the well.

“They almost didn’t believe that boy,” said the cousin. “He was a boy who was always telling lies. But happily somebody decided to check.”

“That boy will grow up to be a politician,” said Mma Ramotswe. “That will be the best job for him.”

The cousin had shrieked with laughter. “Yes, they are very good at lying. They are always promising us water for every house, but they never bring it. They say that there are not enough pipes. Maybe next year.”

Mma Ramotswe shook her head. Water was the source of many problems in a dry country and the politicians did not make it any easier by promising water when they had none to deliver.

“If the opposition would only stop arguing amongst themselves,” the cousin went on, “they would win the election and get rid of the government. That would be a good thing, do you not think?”

“No,” said Mma Ramotswe.

The cousin stared at her. “But it would be very different if we had a new government,” she said.