A Case of Mistaken Intentions at the Cafe
The Market Thief
Mma Ramotswe raised her teacup to her lips and looked over the brim. At the edge of the car park, a small market bustled with vendors’ stalls and trays of colorful goods. She watched a man attempt to persuade a customer to buy sunglasses. The woman tried on several pairs but, unsatisfied, moved to the next stall. There, she pointed to a silver bangle. The vendor, a short man in a wide-brimmed felt hat, offered it to her. Mma Ramotswe observed as the woman held out her wrist for the trader’s admiring nod. Seemingly disagreeing, the woman returned the bangle and pointed to another item. As the trader turned to retrieve it, the woman swiftly slipped a different bangle into her jacket pocket.
A Misunderstanding
Mma Ramotswe gasped. She couldn’t ignore a crime unfolding before her eyes. She stood and walked firmly towards the stall where the woman now engaged the trader in earnest discussion. “Excuse me, Mma,” a voice called from behind. Mma Ramotswe turned to see a young waitress she hadn’t seen before. “Yes, Mma, what is it?” the waitress asked, pointing an accusing finger. “You cannot run away like that. I saw you. You’re trying to go away without paying the bill.”
For a moment, Mma Ramotswe was speechless. The accusation was unwarranted. She would never leave without paying; she was merely trying to stop a theft. “I am not trying to go away, Mma,” she explained. “I am trying to stop that person from stealing. Then I would have come back to pay.” The waitress smiled knowingly. “They all find some excuse. Every day people like you eat our food and run away. You people are all the same.”
The Aftermath
Mma Ramotswe looked towards the stall. The woman was walking away, likely with the stolen bangle. It was too late to intervene, all thanks to the misunderstanding. She returned to her table and sat down. “Bring me the bill,” she said. “I will pay it straightaway.” The waitress persisted. “I will bring you the bill, but I shall add something for myself if you do not want me to call the police about how you tried to run away.” As the waitress fetched the bill, Mma Ramotswe glanced around. At a nearby table, a woman sat with her two children, enjoying milkshakes. The woman smiled at Mma Ramotswe, then turned back to her children. She hadn’t seen anything, Mma Ramotswe thought. But then the woman leaned across. “Bad luck, Mma,” she said. “They are too quick in this place. It is easier to run away at the hotels.”