Read this extract, and then answer the question that follows it: 'I wish to be relieved of the administration of Golema Mmidi, said Matenge. Chief Sekoto furrowed his brow. This was most unexpected. He dreaded what was coming next. 'Have you had another clash with the young man, Gilbert?' he asked lightly. Matenge turned his deep doom-ridden eyes on his brother. 'He is now harbouring refugees at the farm.' 'Oh, is that all, brother?' Chief Sekoto asked, relieved. 'I see no harm in that. The world is always full of refugees. How many has Gilbert taken in?' For answer, Matenge held out the paper with Makhaya's picture on the front page. Chief Sekoto studied the face carefully and felt a sharp stab of jealousy. The man was too attractive, he could steal all the women in the country. Chief Sekoto did not enjoy the thought of a competitor so near his own hunting grounds. 'You mean there is only one refugee, brother?' he asked, anxiously. Matenge nodded. 'Well, what's the trouble then? Why do you want to resign?' 'I see,' Matenge said with heavy sarcasm. 'You haven't read the story.' 'But I haven't the time, brother. I'm already late for the important appointment.' Matenge swung around furiously on his brother. ‘Either I go or the refugee goes,' he said. ‘How can people feel safe with a criminal and murderer in their midst? That is what the story says; he is a criminal and murderer who walks around with bombs in his pocket. Why should Gilbert take in such a man unless it is his intention to murder me? There is no other reason why Gilbert should associate with a murderer. He is doing nothing at the farm.' Chief Sekoto edged towards the door. ‘Brother,' he said. ‘Such criminology is outside my jurisdiction. You must report this matter to the police. You must report this to George Appleby-Smith as he patrols your area. In the meantime, please avail yourself of my hospitality and have lunch at the house. Tell the wife I am called away by an important appointment.' Chief Sekoto swung his short dumpy legs out of the car, closed the door and, without looking back, waddled over briskly to a small white sports car. He was literally suffocating. Inside the fat, overstuffed body was a spirit that fiercely resented intense, demanding, vicious people. It was as though they had the power to trap him inside a dark airless tunnel when all he wanted was the casualness of the free air and the silly chatter of a pretty, painted-up woman. The small white car roared into life. Chief Sekoto pressed the accelerator down to the floor and then, at a speed of over a hundred miles an hour, streaked out of the village like a continuous blur of white light. Within barely fifteen minutes he had covered twenty-eight miles and approached the railroad crossing where Makhaya had been dropped off by the truck driver on his first day in Botswana. The chief slowed down, drove past the railway station and into a yard which contained a small white-washed house. It was the home of his friend, Inspector George Appleby-Smith, the green-eyed police officer who had interviewed Makhaya and granted him political asylum. How does Head convey the different characters of Matenge and Sekoto so strikingly at this moment in the novel?