“Happy birthday!” his father said in Swahili.

Simon turned to see his father standing in the dark doorway behind him, holding a brand-new pair of tan leather boots. Though Simon’s feet were covered in calluses and dust from wearing the only rubber sandals he owned, he was uneasy knowing that the boots represented nearly a week’s wages for his father at the petrol station. The father sensed his son’s reluctance to accept them and didn’t allow him an opportunity to protest.

“You deserve them. Besides, you’ll need them at your new construction job.”

Although Simon’s family was poor, he was at least lucky enough to still have a father. His town, like many along the border, was full of widows whose husbands had tried their hand at poaching in the Big Smoke. It wasn’t easy turning down the cash advances offered by the syndicate leaders, but Simon’s father had a great deal to live for, namely his wife and his teenage son.

A horn honked, and an old Toyota pickup wobbled toward them on the lumpy road, carrying two gaunt African men in the back.

“I have to go, Papa.”

Simon’s father patted his son on the back of the neck. The boy proudly kicked off his sandals and hopped in the bed of the truck holding his boots.

He looked back at his father, who waved as he receded into a cloud of dust behind him. Simon felt a brief tinge of guilt that he had lied to his father about his job. But it passed. His family badly needed the money he hoped to bring home.

Twenty-five kilometers away, Thomas Mabunda pulled to a stop in a remote section of Kruger Park. In the back of his open-air truck, white tourists scrambled for their telephoto cameras and swapped out the lenses. It had a been a successful safari in the park today, and ever since they had to stop for a pride of lions sleeping in the road, Thomas suspected it would be a rich day for tipping.

His guests were drenched in sweat from the roasting midday sun, and Thomas had heard murmurings about their increasing thirst for ice-cold Castle lagers back at the lodge. He was about to take them back to their air-conditioned resorts for beers when he caught the flash of gray. To the untrained eye, it looked like any other boulder strewn about the grasslands, but Thomas recognized it instantly as Kruger’s crown jewel.

As the young rhino named Oupa grazed with his mother, he looked up to see a half-dozen disembodied glass eyes staring at him. He moved closer to his mother, and Thomas fished out his cell phone and snapped a photo over the steering wheel. A white rhino and her calf! Yes, it would be a rich day indeed, he thought to himself as he sent a text with the image.