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I am 16 years old and my first car, my mother tells me excitedly, is in the driveway. She points at our battered, off-white Ford Escort, aka The Fair Lady. Although lacking in power and looks, the Escort purrs dutifully whenever she starts. She's a sturdy vehicle made for family outings to the beach where we live in Port Elizabeth (now Gqeberha); a car for sandy feet and muddy boots and taking dogs to the vet.
I look at my mom in disbelief. I doubt my father has sanctioned this decision. I can't drive yet, nor have I ever expressed a keen interest to do so. But I go along with it and smile and act as if it's all hunky-dory. She puts the keys in my hand
