Painkillers have been administered to those who wanted them. “I feel like a relief worker in a documentary, saving all the starving natives in Somalia or something,” says Lebz with a gleeful grin. I’m too grateful for her presence to point out how politically incorrect that statement is. The ungifted who live in and around Gaborone are taken home by Ntatemogolo and a reluctant Rakwena. Some insist on finding their own way, and those who live out of town head to the station, where they’ll take the early buses. Mandla kindly offers to help with transport and some money. The rest of the drifters don’t even bother to come outside. We give the soldiers all the money we have on us – which isn’t much. In the end Kelly goes to the ATM to withdraw some of her pocket money. By the time the sun comes up the yard is empty, except for the pile of harmless copper rings near the veranda. Ntatemogolo has worked his magic on them – they won’t be enslaving anyone else. Maybe I’ll pawn them to pay back the money Mandla and Kelly contributed.
