NOVEL NEXT Chapter 9: Chapter 9: Talent
Are there any talented people among Africa's black brothers?
There certainly are, but unfortunately Joe Ga knew only a few.
The majority he met were similar to the bottom-tier laborers like Zhabu, and slick old airport bosses like Sayram.
Laziness was almost a common illness in all African nations. As long as they could eat their fill and have a fire, they could get high, and with some alcohol, they would stay high until the next morning.
This wasn't so evident in North SD because their survival pressures were greater, and most people there were MSL, with many being of mixed black and white descent.
But in the areas bordering South SD, including the entire southern region, these places were essentially ruled by various Tribes, and those people were the epitome of living for the moment.
They were genuinely optimistic, and also genuinely brutal!
The militia of the Tribes, euphemistically called militia, but in relatively chaotic times, they were hardly better than bandits.
Joe Ga had witnessed as a child, nearby villages fighting over water rights resulting in loss of lives, after which they ceased all interaction and forbade intermarriage.
This is essentially what the Tribes here were like—they would wish to annihilate each other over territory, benefits, or even a few cattle, truly committing to actions that deepened their blood feuds profoundly.
The guy who ordered AK74s from Joe Ga was a militia leader of the Xiluk Clan.
Joe Ga had specifically inquired about it. The people of Xiluk Clan had recently clashed with the militia of the Dingka Clan, reportedly with many casualties, and their urgency in buying guns was probably to regain their footing.
They definitely could not beat the people of the Kadin Clan. Fifty rifles would barely allow them to maintain some capacity to retaliate.
This was the reason Joe Ga decided, despite the risks, to go through with it. There was a smidgen of justice stirring within him, more so because the Xiluk People, being the weaker side, theoretically should not offend more people, especially those who could offer them aid.
But even so, Joe Ga felt somewhat uneasy. It was his first time doing business on others' turf, and he was alone, which was not merely a matter of having courage.
So when Zhabu mentioned that Wild Bull Arun and 'Hyena' Karman could be hired, he was somewhat tempted.
As mentioned before regarding the talent in Africa, in Joe Ga's eyes, Wild Bull Arun was a typical Africa talent—two meters tall and as strong as a bull, capable of manually strangling a zebra, and carrying 80kg luggage without gasping for air.
Most importantly, the guy looked like a fierce bandit and had a very wild temperament.
It was also because of his personality that Joe Ga wasn't very fond of him.
But 'Hyena' Karman was different; he was from the Bali Tribe, now the most senior hunting guide in Ad-Damazin, the best savanna guide.
This 45-year-old guy had been fighting for over thirty years. As a tribal mercenary, he had never stopped battling.
From bows and swords to rifles, this man was a living fossil of Africa's wars and had miraculously survived in such frequent conflicts, a genuine veteran of countless battles.
The Africa people didn't care about that, but Joe Ga knew that surviving thirty years in such intense combat, from the age of fifteen to now, this man, if literate, could write a book that would serve as a war manual for Africa's brothers.
This was true talent in Joe Ga's eyes!
Joe Ga had been waiting at the airport for half an hour, and the pilot Sayram hadn't arrived yet. Instead, Zhabu showed up with three black men.
Wild Bull Arun, 'Hyena' Karman, and a slightly younger black man.
Zhabu approached Joe Ga with a toothless grin, saying, "Hu Lang, I brought the men for you. If you decide to hire them, you must give me a tip."
Joe Ga reluctantly pulled out a stack of small bills, picked two five-dollar notes, and stuffed them into Zhabu's hand, saying, "Just don't spend it on alcohol. Buy more food for your wife and kids."
Zhabu, having gotten the US Dollars, couldn't really listen to what Joe Ga said.
He ran to the side jubilantly, waving his arms and kicking his legs, holding two US dollar bills against the sun and inspecting them from left to right as if they were never enough.
The US dollars in Joe Ga's hand caught the eye of Wild Bull Arun, and this menacing-looking black fellow greedily eyed Joe Ga, saying, "If you want to hire me, you must first give me a thousand US dollars. I can work for you for a hundred US dollars a day."
Zhabu, standing nearby, heard Wild Bull Arun's price and loudly protested in anger, "Hey, Arun, that's not right. The Hu Lang is my uncle's friend."
Wild Bull Arun glared at Zhabu with a strange look and waved his hand, "There are no rules here, in Ad-Damazin I am the rule. This guy is a smuggler, what's he packing in his luggage rack? Phones? Computers? Lamps?
If he doesn't pay me, he won't leave Ad-Damazin."
Leaving aside Wild Bull Arun's physique, Joe Ga had met plenty of bastards like him in his lifetime.
He gestured with his hands for the angry Zhabu and the smug Arun to calm down and turned his face towards Karman.
Karman was a slender-looking middle-aged black man. He was said to be 45 but looked more like 60.
His bald head wore a dirty, unbranded baseball cap, his beard was flecked with gray, and he was dressed in a camouflaged military uniform.
Standing about one meter seventy-five, Karman seemed even shorter due to his hunchback, and the oversized military uniform he wore looked somewhat comical on him.
In most people's eyes, he was just a decrepit old man with a lifeless air, but Joe Ga dared not look directly into Karman's eyes—not because they were formidable, but because they lacked vitality.
His lifeless eyes had almost no sparkle, and Joe Ga, a novice, instinctively feared them, a physiological reaction unrelated to anything else.
Avoiding Karman's gaze and staring at his nose bridge, Joe Ga asked with a smile, "Can you work for me?"
Karman nodded and said in fairly fluent English, "Yes, sir, I need money.
If the price is right, I am willing to work for you."
Joe Ga paused briefly upon hearing this and then asked, "To what extent can you go?"
Karman glanced at Arun, who was standing beside him with his arms crossed and haughty demeanor, and said, "That depends on how much money you can offer me…"
Then Karman pulled aside a young black man and said, "This is my son Muto. He is a hardworking lad who married a beautiful wife.
But his previous two children did not survive, and last week, his wife died in bed while pregnant with their third child.
He wants to leave here and start over in Ethiopia, where he plans to run a farm.
He needs at least twenty thousand US dollars!
If you give me twenty thousand US dollars, I can do anything for you. I am very familiar with Africa."
Karman's 'job application' prompted Wild Bull Arun to burst into laughter, continuously mocking Karman's ignorance in African local colloquialisms.
Joe Ga ignored the big man and stepped closer to Karman, whispering, "Do you know what's packed in the airplane's luggage rack?"
Karman looked up and murmured, "By the size, it should be guns!"
Upon hearing this, Joe Ga put his hand on Karman's shoulder and whispered in his ear, "Twenty thousand in advance, twenty thousand annual salary.
Work for me for a year, and you'll get forty thousand dollars. If you die, I'll give your son an additional twenty thousand dollars in bereavement funds.
Do you have any objections to my current situation?"
Upon hearing this, Karman instinctively licked his dry lips, and then suddenly crouched and lunged toward Wild Bull Arun, like a wild dog charging at a lion…