Farming Life Starting in Africa

"Which route did our goods take to enter the United States?"

Guan Yuming stretched his back, feeling a bit better, before saying, "Actually, there are three routes. The first is to ship from China, clear customs at the port of Manzanillo, and then transport them by truck across the US-Mexico border. For this route, we mainly ship clothing and daily necessities. We've always cooperated with the Colombian Group. With their help at the border and port clearance, we can pay significantly less tax."

"The second route is to first send them to the Long Beach bonded warehouse in Los Angeles, then from there to Mexico via bonded transshipment, and then reship them to the United States. This route was arranged with the help of the Chee Kung Tong, and the commission is not too high, making it suitable for electronics and home appliances." Guan Yuming paused for a moment, "These goods will be relabeled in the warehouse here in Mexico, becoming 'Made in Mexico' products, before being shipped to the United States."

He stopped there, his gaze fixed on the road ahead, and didn't continue.

Rosen waited four or five seconds, and seeing that Guan Yuming didn't intend to continue, he spoke up himself: "What's the other one?"

Guan Yuming turned his head and glanced at him. "Knowing these two points is enough. You're not in charge of the business."

Rosen could tell from his expression that this road was even more illegal. "Heh, even if you don't tell me, my uncle will eventually."

Guan Yuming sighed and said, "There are many tunnels in this area, from Juarez to El Paso, from Sonora to Arizona. Some were drainage ditches that were dug before and were later modified. Some were dug by smuggling gangs themselves, and many are wide enough for trucks. Some urgent shipments take this route to bypass all checkpoints and inspection points."

"Previously, this route was a collaboration with the Sonora Group, which managed a large number of tunnels there. Later, our people discovered that using the Columbia Group's route was more stable and safer. Although the freight was more expensive, at least we wouldn't be detained along with our vehicles in the tunnels, so we abandoned that route."

As Guan Yuming spoke, his expression shifted slightly, as if he had recalled something unpleasant. "I didn't expect the people from Sonora to still be thinking about my shipping fees. After I gave up on this route, they contacted me several times."

After saying that, Guan Yuming parked the car on the side of the road. "Let's switch. You drive, and I'll rest for a bit."

Luo Sen noticed that Guan Yuming's eyelids were drooping and thought to himself, "Isn't the old man supposed to sleep little? Could he be fainting from carbon monoxide poisoning?"

In the car, Guan Yuming looked at the road in Juarez, his heart filled with mixed feelings. He thought of his old friend Alejandro Gielic, whom he had lost contact with for a long time.

This kid learned a lot from him back then; I could even call him half a master.

He disappeared after his wife was beheaded and his daughter was thrown into a vat of sulfuric acid and died a horrific death.

His phone number has changed, and the address is no longer valid. Everyone who knows him says he's gone, but nobody knows where he went.

I don't know if he's plotting revenge or if he's already rotting away in some stinking ditch.

The journey back was smooth. Guan Yuming's choice of car was indeed fine. The roads were full of cheap, cheap cars like theirs, so their car was inconspicuous and no one was interested in them.

However, they still got stuck at the checkpoint from Mexico to the United States. This time the congestion was even worse. Rosen launched a drone and saw that the backlog stretched for at least four kilometers, estimating that they would have to wait in line for more than four hours.

That evening, when they got hungry, they ate the self-heating meals that Lawson had brought. Guan Yuming was quite satisfied, saying, "We should send some of these things over. There are too many people here who don't know how to cook. As long as the price isn't too high, many people would choose this."

"This stuff is very cheap; I remember the purchase price was just a few dollars per serving."

"Hehe, with customs duties and shipping costs added in, the final price at the store will be several times higher."

"Then smuggling it..."

Guan Yuming chuckled, "Wouldn't that really make it smuggled food?"

As the two were eating and chatting, Rosen's phone rang in his pocket. Rosen was staring at the road, one hand on the steering wheel, the other hand taking out his phone. Guan Yuming glanced at it; the caller ID on the screen read "African Giant."

He was speechless. Who would save someone else's phone number as "African Giant"?

"Hey Bob, what made you think of calling me?"

A loud, energetic voice came from the other end of the phone, and you could feel the person's happiness even through the receiver. "I just made some money today, that's why I was asking when you're coming to America. You said you were going to come see me, it's been so long, and you haven't even called once. I still owe you a meal."

"Oh, haha..." Rosen chuckled, watching the line about to pass through the checkpoint. "I almost forgot about that. But you can start thinking about what to treat me to; I'll probably be in America in a few minutes."

There was a silence of about two seconds on the other end of the phone, then Bob Lee Swagger exclaimed in surprise, "What? You're not kidding me?"

Rosen rolled his eyes. Why was he always doubted when he told the truth? "Why would I lie to you? You're so poor, why would I bother teasing you about something like this? I'm in line at the Mexico to U.S. border crossing right now, only three or four cars ahead of me, I'll be through soon."

There was another brief silence, followed by a series of clanging and banging sounds from the microphone, as if someone was moving something, interspersed with a few barks from dogs.

"Oh, my good brother!" Bob's voice came closer to the microphone. "Where are you staying? I'm on my way to find you. I know this area better than you do. Which city are you in?"

Rosen swallowed the food in his mouth. "I'm in Hidalgo County, south of McAllen. Just use GPS to navigate to 'Sunshine Farm,' you should be able to find it."

Bob was immediately taken aback. "My God, you really came here to be a farmer? I thought you were just saying that casually."

Rosen laughed and said, "Haha, we agreed on this before. You were going to introduce me to some black guys to help me grow cotton. You're not going to renege on your promise, are you?"

Bob's voice became a little serious. "I was just kidding! Don't you dare do that, you'll be sued for racial discrimination. The lawyer fees will be more expensive than your cotton, and you can forget about running this farm."

Rosen chuckled and said, "Alright, let's talk about it when you get here. I'll take you to see my territory then."

In the United States, cotton farmers can only survive on subsidies; without them, they'll lose a fortune.