Farming Life Starting in Africa

"Okay, boss!" Patrick took the gun bag with both hands. The weight was nothing to this nearly two-meter-tall man.

"Can we have tomato, potato, and beef brisket tomorrow? I think this dish is just my cup of tea. I could eat three bowls of rice with the soup." He grinned, revealing a set of white teeth, and carried his gun bag toward the innermost gun room.

Lawson took a bottle of Rebi from the refrigerator, unscrewed the cap, leaned against the refrigerator door, and took a sip. It was ice-cold and tasted sickeningly sweet, but it was definitely a good thing on a hot day.

"Hey!" Rosen shouted down the hallway, "Your salary this month will be reduced by ten dollars."

A scream came from the other end of the corridor, as if someone had stepped on his genitals.

"Oh no—dear boss!" Patrick came back clutching his gun case, his face more contorted than if his mother had died. "I'm not eating the tomato and beef brisket anymore! I'm not eating it! Please don't dock my pay!"

He placed the gun case on the ground, clasped his hands together, and repeatedly bowed to Rosen. "I've agreed with Fatima that next month's salary will all go to her family. Her sister is going to study in Ivia, and she can't do without money!"

Rosen leaned against the refrigerator door, tilting his head to look at him with a half-smile on his face.

"Then why don't you marry her sister too? That way you won't have to spend so much money on her schooling, right?"

Patrick's face fell instantly, even more so than when he heard about the pay cut. "Boss, old Khalid's dowry will kill me! I still owe you four hundred dollars to marry Fatima!" He gestured with his hand, "Four hundred dollars! My monthly salary is only eighty—no, one hundred and twenty."

Rosen looked at him with a half-smile. "I don't mind if you continue to run up your accounts."

After hearing this, Patrick's lips twitched twice, as if he wanted to laugh but dared not.

Rosen paid him $120 a month, including room and board. But in reality, he only received $80 a month; the remaining $30 went to pay off debts, and $10 went to interest.

He borrowed $1,000 from Rosen when he got married, paying back $30 a month with $10 in interest.

If this were on a domestic online lending platform, a principal of $1,000 would only yield $10 in monthly interest, an annualized return of 12%. Those online lending platforms would be devastated; they'd practically squeeze every last drop of profit from you.

Moreover, Lawson didn't engage in any predatory lending practices like "nine out of 13" or "thirteen out of 1000"; if you borrowed 1,000, you got 1,000, without deducting 180 before disbursing the loan. In this place, a boss like that is practically a saint.

You could say Rosen is kind and honest, and he is, but you can't say he's heartless. Here, you can hire a black guy for thirty or forty dollars a month, and he'll be the kind of person who works wholeheartedly and obeys whatever you say.

Rosen was willing to spend $120 to hire Patrick because the goods were worth that price.

Patrick speaks five local languages, and although his English has a heavy accent, it's still usable. He has good relations with several nearby tribes, and there are few locals in Ullr that he doesn't know. Moreover, he is well-informed.

More importantly, he can operate forklifts, loader trucks, and cranes, which helps Rosen sort and organize the waste, saving Rosen a lot of time.

In this place, people with a special skill shine like fireflies in the night.

Since joining Rosen, Patrick has become the most dashing guy in his tribe. Before, he was just a poor orphan who couldn't even find a wife.

And now? He married Fatima, the most beautiful girl in the village. On the wedding day, they set up fifty tables, slaughtered three sheep, and the whole clan came. It was more lively than a festival.

"Never mind, never mind." Patrick finally couldn't help but grin, revealing a set of neat white teeth. "Fatima's family also needs a highly educated child. If her sister is lucky, she can get into the best school in Ivia, and then she can find a job in Ivia after graduation, instead of ending up like us in Uller."

Rosen shrugged indifferently and took another swig of Levitra. He wanted to say something, but swallowed the words back.

In this godforsaken place, going to school won't change anything. At most, it might earn you a tiny bit more money in the labor market than others, but it won't change your fate at all.

Patrick, carrying his gun case, walked into the room at the end of the corridor. It was a room with a specially welded iron door, the door panel as thick as a safe, with three locks on it.

Rosen watched him go in, and heard the iron gate slam shut with a "bang," before taking Lei Bi and stepping upstairs.

The stairs are made of cement and are not very wide, just right for one person to walk on. Much of the whitewash on the walls has peeled off, revealing the gray cement underneath, along with a few fine cracks.

There was a small window at the corner of the stairs, with a welded iron frame and several steel bars supporting it. Even the glass was bulletproof glass he made himself. This place was like a bunker.

As he went upstairs, his phone rang in his pocket. He took it out and saw it was Lao Zhou calling. Rosen casually pressed the answer button. The voice on the other end spoke with a strong Cantonese accent.

"Honey Badger, can we deliver the goods tonight?"

The second floor is much cooler than the first floor, mainly because of the height; the hot air rises and then dissipates through the vents in the roof.

Rosen's bedroom was at the end of the second-floor corridor. It wasn't big, but it was clean and tidy.

A large bed, several books piled on the headboard, a charger next to the pillow with its data cable dangling to the floor. In the corner sits a brand-new computer, its monitor covered in a thin layer of dust, indicating that its owner hasn't touched it for several days.

The most interesting thing is the large balcony inside the house, which is filled with flower pots of all sizes, growing tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, scallions, and several pots of leafy greens that I don't know the names of.

Some were planted in large plastic buckets, some in basins with holes, and some in those metal cans used for storing paint. The vines climbed up the trellis, onto the balcony railing, and then drooped down through the gaps in the railing, a lush green expanse.

This bedroom is equipped with a water-cooled circulation system. A water pipe is connected from the outside and runs through the wall tiles and floor of the room. The water is drawn up from the underground well, cool and refreshing, and carries away the heat from the walls. It then flows out from the other end to water vegetables or flush the toilet.

This thing sounds simple, but it's considered a feature of top-tier luxury homes in this area. Many wealthy families don't even have it; they all make their own.

To the west of the bedroom was a small studio of about twenty square meters, the door of which was always closed. It was Rosen's forbidden territory, and only he had a key. Inside the studio was a simple semi-CNC lathe, which was actually a second-hand machine.

This thing is just for show. The real work is done on that silver-gray all-purpose platform inside the capsule.