African Business Chronicles

Chapter 79: Casual Conversation

"After everything you've said, what's in it for you? Why are you speaking up for the Hungarians?" Franz asked curiously.

Often, sincerity moves people the most, and Ernst spoke plainly: "For the sake of immigration to East Africa."

Franz slowly walked to his desk, lazily reclining on a sofa, and said, "Seems like you really care about East Africa. Still, with all due respect, Europe is far more valuable than that godforsaken land in Africa—and don't argue just yet."

He continued, "I've looked into Africa too. The French are close to North Africa, which was part of ancient Rome's Mediterranean ring, so its strategic importance is understandable. The British hold the Cape Colony—after all, the Cape of Good Hope is the maritime gateway to Asia. The only valuable things left in Africa are ivory and gold, which are mainly in West Africa. As for East Africa, I really don't know much, so I'm curious why you see such great potential there, Ernst?"

Franz wasn't truly interested in Africa. He was just puzzled why Ernst would invest so much manpower, resources, and money in developing a land with no significant resources and a harsh environment.

Ernst asked, "May I sit somewhere?"

"Of course, make yourself at home, Ernst," Franz replied.

Ernst pulled up a chair and sat facing Franz.

"As for East Africa, Your Majesty, do you believe in the existence of gods?" Ernst asked in return.

As a Catholic, Franz answered without hesitation, "Of course, I believe in God!"

Naturally, Ernst wasn't talking about the Christian God. As a man from the previous world, Ernst was a firm atheist. But after experiencing the mystical event of reincarnation himself, his beliefs had started to waver.

Of course, Ernst didn't believe in Christianity. He hadn't been Western in his past life and had always scoffed at the concept of a god. If a real god existed, surely he wouldn't have chosen Ernst as the one to be reborn.

Deep inside, Ernst felt a mysterious sense of purpose—an inner force that connected him to Africa and drove him to continue this journey with the continent.

He couldn't quite define it—maybe it was a feeling, a belief, or an ideal—but none of those words captured it exactly.

"Your Majesty, it's like a force as mysterious as religion, guiding my actions. And I enjoy following it, so many decisions just come naturally without any clear answers," Ernst tried to explain the feeling but couldn't put it into words.

"God's guidance, perhaps?" Franz murmured. As an emperor, he had felt something similar—both a desire for Austria's growth and a hope for the continued glory of his family. Franz believed he carried that mission, though in the face of worsening conditions, he often felt powerless. It was a contradictory emotion.

"To me, East Africa is currently a bottomless pit. There's nothing of value there—just animals and natives. But that very lack of history and attention makes it the perfect canvas for my dreams. It's like I'm a painter, free to color East Africa however I please. In Europe, I'm just another insignificant prince, bound by rules and unable to be my true self..."

Ernst and Franz, mismatched in age and status, chatted like old friends. Franz, feeling relaxed, stopped asking about East Africa's specifics.

...

Trieste

"There are more people here today than usual, and I hear a lot more Serbian accents," said Jean Degu, a staff member of the Hohenzollern overseas fleet, to his colleague Phil Mo.

"Is East Africa really worth going to?" Phil Mo asked.

Jean pulled out a bottle of cheap Italian red wine, took a swig, and said, "Looks fine to me! Not much different from Europe's countryside—just a bit more barren."

"Europe's population, especially in the empire, is just too large. Land is always limited, but the population keeps growing. Some people have to venture out."

Phil sighed, "Yeah, population growth is fast. Many in our generation came from the countryside. A few decades ago, our parents still worked on noble estates. Now, we're in city factories, working for capitalists."

"Thankfully, you and I are at least a bit educated. Otherwise, we'd still be doing manual labor in factories or ports. But now, just writing and guiding immigrants gets us paid!"

"Speaking of factories—remember Flanders? I heard from an old coworker at the tavern that he died on the job recently. A healthy man, strong and fit, but collapsed after working nonstop for over ten hours..."

While the two chatted about East Africa, then Europe, from rural to urban life, a young immigrant nearby became intrigued. His name was Krik, a 15-year-old Serbian from the Hungarian countryside.

Coming from generations of farmers, Krik had no special skills—only physical strength. The family land had gone to his elder brother, so Krik had to find work elsewhere.

When East Africa started recruiting, Krik didn't really know what to expect. But the requirements were simple—food and housing were guaranteed, and there was pay. So Krik joined other jobless villagers and followed the Hohenzollern staff to Trieste.

Curious, Krik approached Jean Degu and asked, "Uncle, have you been to East Africa?"

Jean looked at the young man and replied, "I've sailed to several ports there—Dar es Salaam, Tanga, and the newest, Mombasa. I've been to all three."

"Is East Africa really like what the newspapers say?" Krik asked.

Jean thought for a moment. "If you mean all of Africa, then yes, most of it is. North Africa is just sand, stretching from the Mediterranean to the Atlantic, with occasional oases full of Arabs. Along the Atlantic is West Africa—the starting point of the slave trade—known for gold and ivory, but it's unbearably hot and humid. Further south, you'll find white sand beaches—beautiful, but still barren. South Africa's nice, but that's British land.

"As for East Africa? I haven't heard of any special resources. But the ports I visited looked pretty decent. Not as developed as European cities, but definitely better than most villages."

Jean's words reassured the immigrants. At least East Africa wasn't a desolate wasteland. Living there wouldn't be worse than life in their villages.

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