Farming Life Starting in Africa

General Audu stared at him for several seconds before slowly putting away his pistol. He then waved his hand to both sides, and the militants on both sides slowly lowered their guns.

"Then let's wait until some of the government troops in Uller come out of the camp before we act together." After saying this, Odu turned and left without looking back.

In this sweltering heat, Audu's back was covered in cold sweat, and his camouflage uniform was soaked through.

He wasn't fearless just now. He was just angry, not really stupid. If the gun had gone off accidentally, he and Hassud would have been the first to be riddled with bullets.

The car door slammed shut, the armored vehicle started up, and it rumbled as it turned around. The pickup trucks behind it followed one after another, kicking up clouds of dust.

Hassud stood there, watching the convoy drive away, his expression gradually turning cold.

He was furious inside. Sooner or later, he would capture all these black people and bring them to his own mine, make them work until they died, and give them only one meal a day. Every one of them who died from exhaustion was one less to worry about.

Once the convoy had completely disappeared from sight, his subordinate Sai walked over from the side.

"Boss, everyone who fished on the main road yesterday is dead."

Hassud's face darkened, and he turned around: "Who did this?"

"I walked along the road for dozens of kilometers and asked several shepherds," Sai said. "They all said they only saw one vehicle with particularly large tires pass by during that time, and I guess it was the people in that vehicle who did it."

Hassud narrowed his eyes, thought for a moment, and said, "Then send someone to find the owner of this car and bring him here. I want to see which fool dares to mess with my people."

"Okay." Sai nodded and turned to leave.

"Wait," Hassud called out to him, his voice low. "Go and quietly contact those white men that idiot Odu employs. Give them a large sum of money and tell them to kill Odu when they enter Ullr. Double the reward after they succeed."

Sai nodded, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Understood."

He agreed in his heart that it was best for enemies to die. The hatred between the Ban and To tribes was irreconcilable; only the extermination of one side could end the war.

Sai seemed to remember something, and after a moment's thought, he said, "Chief, Zaka's men are also planning an operation in Ivia soon. I heard it's quite large, involving a considerable number of people."

Hassud waved his hand. "Stay away from that madman. Sharaf dared to cooperate with someone like Zaka. He's a mad dog who bites his master and won't let go. Sharaf will suffer a terrible death sooner or later if he hangs out with him. Don't drag us down with him."

Sai nodded and walked away quickly.

The day had come for us to go to the port to pick up the goods.

Rosen contacted three loader drivers who delivered materials to the western dam in advance and asked them to take on some private work.

These drivers were all regulars, and they gave Rosen a friendly price. After all, his mechanic skills were renowned in the area, and he could save these drivers, who made a living from driving, a lot of money on vehicle maintenance. Who wouldn't want to build a good relationship with someone who could fix cars?

After driving to the port of Santa Matasava, Rosen found the place increasingly chaotic.

In the past few days, there has been a significant increase in the number of ships arriving at the port. Cargo ships of all sizes are crowded on the dock, which is bustling with people.

But most ships only stop here temporarily. They resupply here and then continue their journey; no one wants to stay in this place any longer.

Rosen stood next to the pickup truck, watching Qian Bida chatting animatedly with a Chinese foreman. The foreman had tanned skin, wore a straw hat, and had a cigarette dangling from his lips.

He has about thirty black men under him, who work relatively hard and rarely slack off.

This foreman made a name for himself in the port thanks to his ability to speak multiple languages.

He could extract 30 percent of the fees from each worker, all he had to do was hide in the shadows and talk.

After Qian Bida unloads these two containers of goods, he can earn at least $150, which is considered a very lucrative job in this area.

The Black men weren't stupid either; they knew exactly what was going on. Working for this Chinese foreman meant they could get at least one or two jobs a day, earning at least ten dollars. Working for others often meant not getting paid and having an unstable income.

Rosen watched the workers bustling about, first having them load all the valuables onto his pickup truck. The truck bed was packed full; he covered it with a tarpaulin, tied it tightly with rope, and patted the sides.

Then he found a shady spot, sat down against a tree trunk, pulled his hat brim down, and began to doze off.

He was in a daze, not knowing how much time had passed, when Rosen sensed someone approaching. He opened his eyes warily, squinting through a crack—

There stood a black child in front of me, with a head of curly hair like a steel wool ball, stiff and fluffy, looking like a bird's nest.

The child was wearing a Kobe Bryant Lakers jersey and was carrying a wooden box covered with small commodities: floral water, small flashlights, compasses, Swiss Army knives, all brightly colored and clearly from the Yiwu Small Commodities Market.

When the boy saw Rosen open his eyes, he immediately grinned, revealing a set of white teeth, and said in heavily accented English, "Hey sir! What do you need? I'm the most well-stocked merchant in Santa Matasava! Toilet water, digital watches, lighters, condoms—I have everything, I can satisfy all your needs!"

Rosen looked at him, finding it somewhat amusing, and waved his hand, saying, "I don't need anything."

Seeing that Rosen wasn't angry but had refused his deal, the young black man didn't give up; instead, he became even more enthusiastic. He opened his wooden crate and brought it close to Rosen: "Take a look, sir, everything you can think of, I have here. Really, I'm not lying to you."

Rosen looked at the boastful child with amusement, his eyes involuntarily glancing into the box.

The selection was indeed comprehensive—from nail clippers to binoculars, from batteries to belts, all neatly arranged. But they were all genuine Yiwu goods, with Chinese and English printed on the packaging. Lawson must be the person on this continent who needs his goods the least; his all-powerful platform has everything he could possibly want, why would he need to buy from street vendors?

As he was thinking, his gaze was suddenly drawn to a CD in the corner of the box.

The little black man, with his sharp eyes, immediately caught Rosen's gaze. Without a word, he pulled the disc from the box, held it up to Rosen's eyes, and said with a grin, "This is good stuff! It'll keep you from being lonely! Thirty dollars! Thirty dollars won't break the bank!"

Rosen looked at him speechlessly.

The little black man's smile remained unchanged. He pulled two more discs from the box, fanned them out like playing cards, and added with a smile, "Buy one, get two free! Choose whatever you like, bulk discounts available! Three discs for only thirty! Absolutely a steal!"