In Botswana, the water goes into the bottle as an ingredient rather than as a technicality. Okavango water is listed among the botanicals, which says plainly what kind of gin this means to be: local first and foremost, and unwilling to pretend that the liquid it is cut with counts for nothing.

Two indigenous botanicals do the rest of the identifying. Mophane seed and wild marula are what put the earthy, woody register into a drink that is otherwise dry and citrus-led, and they are the reason it does not taste like a European recipe wearing African labelling. Marula is a fruit and brings the softer, rounder half of that pair; mophane seed pulls the other way, dry and mineral and closer to bark than to fruit. Between them they occupy the centre of the palate.

The frame around them is deliberately spare. Juniper leads, resinous and clean, doing the job a dry gin asks of it. Orange peel gives sweet, rounded citrus across the top. Lime zest cuts through that with something sharper and greener, and the two together keep the earthy half from settling into heaviness. Six botanicals in all, which leaves nowhere to hide: each of them can be heard. That is rare in a category where long botanical lists are used to blur the edges, and it puts the weight back on the quality of each item.

It drinks dry across the palate, earthy underneath, the citrus staying bright rather than sweet and the last of it leaning woody. A crisp tonic, ice right to the top, and a lime wedge or wide orange peel. Heavily flavoured mixers smother the two botanicals that give it any reason to be opened. Neat, it runs drier than the fruit names promise, and the earthy half arrives at the end rather than at the start.