African Business Chronicles

Chapter 29 – A Harsh March

March in East Africa marks the beginning of the rainy season. Thunder rumbled through the sky as a downpour descended like a curtain. The rain fell fast and hard, hammering the sparsely vegetated earth and turning patches of exposed yellow soil into murky mud pits within minutes.

Dirty rainwater quickly gathered, snaking around grass and hills. Countless small streams formed, flowing into gullies and ditches, all of them pouring into the rivers.

The Little Rhine River was no longer calm. It surged with rapids, filled with floating branches, weeds, and silt from upstream. The current raced forward, pounding downriver at full force.

In the rice fields of Second Town (Ruvu), the excess rainwater overflowed into the drainage channels and poured into the river. Rice stalks bent and collapsed under the force of wind and rain. The mixed mud-and-brick houses swayed under the storm's fury, as if the very heavens were trying to tear everything from East Africa's surface and hurl it into the sky.

Such overwhelming storms were common during the rainy season. In the dry season, Africa resembled a dead land—endless stretches of savanna, barren and uninhabited. Occasionally, explorers and hunters would catch glimpses of migrating herds crossing the yellowing grasslands in silence.

But when the rains came, the whole continent seemed to awaken. After half a year of stillness, water poured down with fury, and life exploded into motion. Rivers twisted and spread. Withered plants turned green again. Wildebeest and antelope chased the freshest grass in massive herds. Hippos played in lakes. Crocodiles stalked the rivers, awaiting prey.

…

Life flourished.

But for the East African Advance Corps moving inland, this was not good news.

Captain André of Squad Four sat calmly on a rock, scraping mud off his boots with a knife. Meanwhile, Staff Officer Zhou Wei was directing men to inspect supplies.

"Make sure the food and ammunition are on top of the carts," Zhou ordered. "Keep them off the ground—don't let moisture ruin anything."

"That tarp isn't tight enough. If water leaks in, what then? Everything must follow protocol exactly like we practiced! We have a long road ahead. Securing supplies is a top priority."

A sudden rainstorm had forced the expedition to halt. They stopped on a high ridge to rest and regroup.

"André," Zhou said, "we should stop here for the day. We've been pushing hard for two weeks. The men's morale is slipping. Let them rest."

André nodded. The rain had lessened slightly but showed no sign of ending. "You're right, Zhou. The timing wasn't ideal—we left at the worst part of the season. I didn't expect the storms here to be so fierce."

André chuckled, reminiscing. "This reminds me of my early days in Europe. I was still a rookie, on my first field campaign. One night it rained hard, just like this. We had camped in a low area for a forced march. The shelters flooded, our uniforms soaked through, and the next day we had to face Napoleon's army in wet clothes."

Zhou listened quietly. He had read about Napoleon in textbooks—a brilliant and ruthless figure. It struck him that André had actually fought in those wars. Judging by his age—though André never said—he must have been over fifty.

"You've had an incredible past, Mr. André," Zhou said.

"Thank you, Zhou. But what surprises me more is you," André replied. "Back in primary school, I had never seen a man from Qing China. I only knew them from pictures. My teacher said Chinese people all wore long braids, men and women looked the same, and they were addicted to opium and looked tired and sickly all the time."

He continued, "After I retired and joined the Hexingen Company, they paid me to work here in East Africa. That was my first time crossing the sea. My first time seeing Chinese people. When they stepped off the ship—sure enough, they had braids, and looked severely undernourished."

"But the first rule here is: cut the braid, wear your hair short. Once cleaned up and dressed in German uniforms, they looked completely different—like Mediterranean Italians with black hair. Then I watched them work. Back in First Town, their determination and work ethic made me realize Italians couldn't compare—they're too fond of leisure. Still, I thought they weren't as good as Germans."

"Then I met you, Zhou—and my thinking changed. Your education, discipline, and composure showed me that Chinese people don't need comparisons. You're just as capable as us Germans. Some of my former comrades—even the French and the British I met—were downright crude. But you Chinese… you're like Prussians: natural-born soldiers, and the world's best farmers."

Zhou smiled and said calmly, "Mr. André, let me correct you. I have already received my citizenship certificate from the Hexingen government. I am a German. And I believe these people here, too, will one day be part of the German Empire. As Principal Ernst once said: it doesn't matter where you come from. If your heart is with Germany and you're willing to dedicate your life to it, then you are, truly, a German."

André laughed heartily. "You're right, Zhou. I was being narrow-minded."

…

As evening fell, the makeshift camp grew quiet. After days of marching, the soldiers of the Advance Corps slept soundly, undisturbed even by the continuing rain.

Sentries remained on watch in the rainy darkness, guarding against wild animals and other threats. Zhou Wei patrolled the camp now and then. Everyone else could sleep—but not him.

He had trained at the Hexingen Military Academy, where they taught that a good soldier leads by example. A real officer never delegates what he can do himself.

…

On the third day, rested and reorganized, the Advance Corps set off again.

Though the mud made travel slow and painful, they moved forward with unshakable resolve—heading straight toward Lake Zollern (Lake Tanganyika).

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