Mzi hated having his birthday in August. It meant that every year he had the immense pleasure of celebrating his birthday – not with his mates, but with his parents. As the only child of parents who were preoccupied with their own lives and who, to be quite honest, clearly didn’t like each other, he found the prospect of his birthday a real drag. The only thing that made this birthday seem a little more bearable was the prospect of a driver’s licence. Turning eighteen meant he could now go for his drivers, and he’d been practising the whole holiday so he’d be ready for his appointment, booked a few days after his eighteenth.

As he dressed in his best trousers and shirt for their dinner, he allowed himself to think of Isla. He loved the way her eyes lit up when she looked at him, only at him. He watched her around other boys, and she didn’t look at them the way she looked at him. It was how he had known she liked him. At first, he had found it amusing to have an admirer. But as he had got to know her, and find out more about her, he had started to realise he actually liked her too.

She was quick-witted, athletic and gorgeous. In fact, there wasn’t anything not to like. It was as though she had opened up his eyes to more than rugby and academics. He really liked her and was starting to get excited about the matric dance. His parents had bought him a suit and were vaguely interested, but in general considered the whole thing a silly school event, and hadn’t bothered to find out too much more about who he was going with.

‘Mzi, my boy. Let’s go, we are booked for seven-thirty,’ boomed his father from downstairs. Mzi took a final look in the mirror, smiled approvingly at himself and joined his parents downstairs.

Once their French-inspired dinner was complete, Mzi realised he felt slightly tipsy from the rich food and wine his father had insisted they all have.

‘You’re eighteen my boy. Need to know what the good stuff tastes like,’ his father had announced proudly during dinner, liberally splashing wine into everyone’s glasses. His mother’s cool distant eyes had widened, and her mouth had pursed more tightly than usual. Cedric sat up straight, stretching his chest, rubbing his hands over his stomach.

‘Mzi, I have a very special present for you,’ Cedric had announced. ‘Something that has been handed down to me from my father, and his father, and all their fathers before us. It’s a family heirloom, a part of our history,’ stated Cedric, before turning and scratching in his suit pocket. He pulled out a jewellery box and slid it across the table to Mzi. His mother’s face was stony, but her cold eyes watched the box like a magpie.

‘How cool Dad! An heirloom? Like…from the Matabele?’ asked Mzi, curious. He took the box and opened it. Inside lay a small golden elephant attached to a chain. Mzi picked it up and placed it in his palm, closing his hand around it. It felt strangely warm

– but he wasn’t sure if that was the wine. He opened his palm again, not certain what to say.

‘It’s solid gold. Gold that our ancestors mined from our lands, for our people. I know it may not look like much, but it’s very special to our people, yes, to the Matabele. And it meant a lot to our forefathers. You must keep it until you have your own son, and pass it onto him, when he turns eighteen – when he is a man. It is our heritage,’ explained Cedric, his voice serious. He furrowed his brow and looked intently at Mzi.

Mzi looked from the small golden elephant, delicate and shining in his palm, to his father. ‘Thank you, Dad I will look after it. Thanks for trusting me with it,’ said Mzi, trying hard to hide his confusion over why such a small, useless piece of jewellery meant so much to his forefathers.

Cedric leaned over and patted Mzi on the back, ‘Good boy,’ he announced. Mzi smiled at Cedric before glancing at his mother whose eyes were still fixed on the elephant.