Farming Life Starting in Africa

Miao Feng squatted down, gathered the pile of loose charcoal together, picked up two unused alcohol blocks from the ones Patrick had left behind, and stuffed them into the very center of the charcoal pile.

He lit the lighter, and the flames shot up with a "whoosh." He then picked up the tattered palm-leaf fan beside him and fanned it slowly a few times. The fire, aided by the wind, roared and burrowed into the cracks of the charcoal. Before long, the charcoal began to glow red, with a fine layer of white ash around its edges.

"Watch this," Miao Feng said to Hassan beside him while fanning the fire, his tone like that of an instructor, "starting a fire can't be rushed. You have to give it some time and let the charcoal burn slowly on its own. If you blow on it or fan it vigorously, you're more likely to put the fire out."

Hassan squatted down beside him, nodding earnestly, though it was unclear whether he understood. This man was incredibly taciturn; he hadn't uttered a single word since he came in, just squatting there blankly, his eyes fixed on the fire.

Patrick quickly brought out a large bunch of skewers of meat, skewered on iron sticks, with chunks of lamb that were alternating between lean and fatty, glistening with a thin layer of oil under the lights in the yard.

Once the charcoal fire was burning brightly, Miao Feng took the meat skewers and arranged them neatly in rows on the grill, with the iron skewers resting on the edge of the grill.

He grabbed a handful of seasoning from the small bowl next to him and carefully sprinkled it on, and it smelled delicious.

Patrick stood beside him, practically drooling, sniffing hard, "Miao, your cooking skills are absolutely top-notch in Ullr, without a doubt!"

"This is nothing," Miao Feng said, flipping the meat skewers in his hands. Oil dripped onto the charcoal, sizzling and sending up a puff of white smoke. "The seasonings aren't all there, so make do. If all the ingredients were there, I could make you swallow your tongue."

Hassan helped out, fanning Miao Feng with a fan. He fanned quite vigorously, but the direction was wrong, and the wind was blowing directly into Miao Feng's face, making a mess of smoke everywhere.

Rosen just came downstairs at that moment.

He was wearing a floral shirt, his chest exposed. As soon as he saw Miao Feng in the yard, he laughed, "Haha, Brother Feng, you've arrived just in time for lunch, haven't you?"

Miao Feng glanced back at him while flipping the meat skewers, his eyes narrowing into slits with a smile. His expression was the kind of playful banter between old acquaintances. "Hey, isn't that obvious? I could smell your lamb from far away, so I followed the scent all the way here."

Rosen smiled and shook his head, then turned to Patrick, who was still waiting expectantly beside him, and said, "Patrick, go to the basement and get a case of ice-cold beer."

"Okay, boss!" Patrick replied readily, but after taking a couple of steps, he turned back and asked cautiously, "Boss... could I also grab a bottle of soda?"

This guy is severely allergic to alcohol. Last time he drank most of a bottle of beer, he broke out in a rash all over his body and swelled up like a balloon. After going to the hospital, he found out he was immune to alcohol, and since then he's only drunk soda water.

Those two cases of local specialty soda water were brought over by Qian Bida last month. He said they were local specialties and wanted Lawson to try them.

How to describe the taste? It was like your heels had been soaked in Huoxiang Zhengqi Water (a traditional Chinese medicine for heatstroke), then you stepped in mud, and then someone stepped on your tongue. Lawson took one sip and never touched it again.

But Patrick liked it. This black guy's tastes have always been peculiar; Rosen sometimes wondered if his taste buds were different from normal people's.

There are actually a lot of drinks in the basement. Lei Bi, Farmer Bandit, Cola, Funeral Cola, Eight Sprouts, and the brothers of Pulse, "Excitement" and "Ice" - these are all genuine goods that Qian Bida brought over from China. In the Uller region, these are the real good stuff, and they sell faster than anything else.

But Patrick just happens to love that cult-flavored soda.

Rosen nodded and waved his hand. "Go ahead, drink whatever you want." Anyway, there are people willing to drink those weird things, so he doesn't have to throw them away. That's good.

He dragged a large stool over, sat down next to the grill, crossed his legs, and watched Miao Feng flip the meat skewers over the charcoal fire.

Miao Feng's technique was indeed skillful. He flipped the meat skewers in his hands, controlling the heat perfectly. The fatty meat was grilled to a slightly golden brown, sizzling with oil, while the lean meat was still tender, as if it would burst with juice if you took a bite.

"Brother Feng, how's the base station repair going?" Rosen asked.

Miao Feng is an engineer who helped build a base station and has been in Africa for two years.

This person is in his early thirties, has good skills, a good temper, and can get along with anyone.

He's not getting any younger, and his family is pressuring him to get married. His mother calls every few days to ask, "When are you coming back?" and "Old Wang's son next door already has a second child." Miao Feng couldn't take it anymore and planned to go back in the second half of the year to get married to his girlfriend and settle down completely.

"It's all laid out," Miao Feng said with a relaxed tone, as if a burden had been lifted. "Now we're just waiting for the people from China to come and inspect it. The signal strength has been much better lately, hasn't it?"

"It's alright," Rosen thought for a moment. "My cell phone has finally been upgraded from a PHS phone."

He paused for a moment, then said, "By the way, why didn't Ma Xiao come with you today?"

Miao Feng took the first batch of grilled meat skewers off the rack, handed half to Rosen, and gave the other half to Hassan, who was sitting quietly next to him.

Hassan's hands were trembling when he took it, not from fear, but from hunger. He hadn't eaten all day, having spent all his time running errands for Miao Feng.

"Ma Xiao's wife is pregnant," Miao Feng said, grabbing a handful of raw meat skewers and putting them on the fire. "He went with his wife to her prenatal checkup today."

Rosen took the skewer, took a bite, chewed a couple of times, and his eyes lit up. "Oh, Dr. Pan is pregnant?" His expression suddenly became meaningful, with an inexplicable mischievousness. "Looks like that indigenous witch doctor I introduced him to last time worked!"

Upon hearing this, Miao Feng burst into laughter, his shoulders shaking so much that he almost shoved the meat skewers in his hand into the charcoal.

"Hehehe, don't bring that up again! Last time Ma Xiao took that witch doctor's medicine, he had gastroenteritis for two whole weeks and missed several news stories. He's still cursing about it now, saying you did it on purpose."

"The result is good, isn't it?" Rosen grinned, a smug look on his face. "She's pregnant! The process doesn't matter, the result is what matters. Later, please pass on a message for me, saying that the witch doctor said the medicine can't be stopped, and she needs to take two more courses to consolidate the treatment."

"Come on, his wife is pregnant. If he keeps eating like this, he'll be bedridden again."

The two laughed for a while, then Rosen took a bite of meat and asked, his words muffled, "By the way, how's your shooting practice going?"

Just then, Patrick returned carrying a case of beer and placed it with a thud at Rosen's feet.