Farming Life Starting in Africa

There was the sound of a horn on the other end of the phone, and someone was honking and cursing; it sounded like they were on the street.

Rosen threw his cigarette butt on the ground, glanced at the group of black men beside him, and said, "Oh, a group of men just came by with cables to make a deal. They said the stuff came from Djerba. They said the signal tower was blown up."

"Holy shit!" Miao Feng cursed, then paused for two seconds. "The cable was dug up again? Did they blow it up themselves? Just to trade for food with you?"

"Who knows?" Rosen dangled a cigarette from his lips, squinting one eye. "But if the tower in Djerba was blown up, then it wasn't them. The most valuable things those guys have are their wheelbarrows and shovels. You think they'd use explosives? You're giving them too much credit." He paused. "By the way, how much longer until you get to Djerba?"

"About ten minutes. The road is rough, full of potholes."

"Okay. Let me know when you arrive, and help me find out where those cables came from."

"Hey," Miao Feng suddenly lowered his voice and changed his tone, "Can't you just stop taking those cables? It's because of people like you who sell stolen goods that they're always eyeing those valuable things."

Rosen chuckled. "If I don't buy it, someone else will. Brother Miao, you know this place. If all else fails, your company can buy it back from me. I guarantee it'll be cheaper than your wholesale price."

"Get out! Get out! Get out!"

"Haha, I'm just trying to poach some of your employees. Your bosses are probably hoping to get more of them—that way they can keep ordering. Without losses, how do they make money? Don't you think that makes sense?"

The phone went dead. Miao Feng hung up.

Rosen put away his phone and glanced at Ah Kun, who was still standing next to the car. The burly man had his arms crossed, head held high, chin raised high, and nostrils pointing to the sky, looking like a bull ready to butt someone.

"Alright," Rosen said. "My men will be in Djerba in ten minutes. We'll know soon enough. You just wait."

Ah Kun snorted, the sound coming from his nose, "I, Ah Kun, never lie! You'll have to apologize to me later!"

Rosen narrowed his eyes. His gaze was dangerous, like a feline eyeing its prey. "Apologize? Fine. I'll apologize—but I'll deduct five hundred catties of your grain. After all, China is a land of etiquette."

Ah Kun's expression changed instantly. His confidence shifted to pity; his lips moved, but he finally managed to squeeze out, "Then...never mind. You don't need to apologize."

Rosen didn't stand on ceremony with him. "Then move aside. You're blocking my way."

He had just parked the truck and unloaded the cargo bed when his phone rang. It was Miao Feng calling.

"Hey, there's definitely a problem here." Miao Feng's voice was a little deep. "The tower has collapsed. There are signs of an explosion, the ground is a mess, a lot of cables have been taken, and many villagers are cutting up the signal tower. They say it was done by the Iron Army."

Rosen nodded. "Okay. Don't wander off, get back to the city quickly. It's not safe over there."

"I know." Miao Feng sighed. "Ugh, I'm about to go back to China, and this mess has come up again. There's never a moment of peace."

After hanging up the phone, Rosen called out into the house, "Patrick!"

The young Black man ran out of the house, his hands still wet, and wiped them on his pants. "Boss?"

"Take them to the 69 Supermarket to pick up the food. Three thousand catties of rice."

"Okay, boss." Patrick turned around, waved to the group of black people, and shouted, "Let's go! I'll take you to get the food!"

The crowd erupted in cheers, whistles, and clapping. Ah Kun finally broke into a smile, his white teeth gleaming in the sunlight.

After they had gone some distance, Rosen made another phone call, this time to Qian Bida.

"Uncle, send Qu Ke to your place to collect three thousand catties of grain later."

Qian Bida's voice on the other end of the phone suddenly rose eight octaves, "What? Three thousand catties of grain? What kind of business have you been in?"

"I collected some junk," Rosen said with a grin as he walked into the house. "I'll transfer you ten thousand dollars in a bit."

"Ten thousand isn't enough! You brat, you're always taking advantage of me!" Qian Bida cursed, but you could tell he wasn't really angry. "This rice was brought all this way, didn't you know it cost nothing? You're paying for the shipping!"

"Heh, you're only buying old grain. How much could it cost after deducting shipping costs? Don't think I don't know, your last batch of rice was infested with bugs, wasn't it?" Rosen bluntly exposed his weakness. "Alright, I'm hanging up now."

"Hey, don't hang up!" Qian Bida quickly called out to him, "I'll be getting a shipment next week, can you keep an eye on it for me?"

"Why are there more shipments?" Rosen frowned.

"Hey, the situation's been so unstable lately, I'm taking this opportunity to stock up. I'll hoard it and sell it when prices go up in a couple of months." Qian Bida lowered his voice. "Most of this shipment is food, so it's quite heavy. There are three containers. Can you find me a few guys who can haul it?"

"No need for that." Rosen pushed open the door and entered the house. A blast of cool air hit him, much more comfortable than outside. "I'll modify a big truck and haul them all away for you at once."

Qian Bida hurriedly said, "Don't do anything reckless! This road is terrible. If you bring out a fully loaded 100-ton truck, it will get stuck and you won't be able to get out. You'll still have to find another vehicle then. Listen to me, find a few more drivers. It'll be safer and won't cost much."

Rosen said nonchalantly, "Okay."

He hung up the phone and glanced around the living room. Swagger wasn't there; the gun bag was tossed aside in the corner next to the refrigerator, leaning against the wall, zipped up. This guy's got a big heart, just casually tossing around something worth tens of thousands of dollars.

Rosen opened the refrigerator, grabbed a bottle of Coca-Cola, unscrewed the cap, and took a big gulp. The icy carbonated drink went down his throat, the bubbles bursting in his stomach, finally relieving the heat in his body.

He'd been out in the sun for most of the day, and his face was burning. If it weren't for that tree's enhanced constitution, he would have peeled from the sunburn long ago. An ordinary person exposed to that much sun would definitely get heatstroke.

He went to the living room and turned on the TV with the remote. He randomly changed to a local channel, and a government general was speaking on the screen.

The man was wearing camouflage, his belly protruding high, the buttons of his uniform almost popping open—clearly someone who enjoyed good benefits and was well-fed and bloated. He was cursing and swearing at the rebels in the local slang. His mouth was like a tumble, never stopping for a single sentence.

After finishing his rant, the general began to speak seriously. He said that in the morning, a squad of elite soldiers was ambushed by rebels and suffered a terrible defeat. If it weren't for the rescue by US armed helicopters, the entire squad would have been wiped out.