Chapter 347: Mealtime
Sector 23, Room 013
While Li Ge and Ande were observing East Africa, the medical team accompanying them wasn't idle either. What they'd seen in Dar es Salaam that day had truly opened their eyes.
As he laid out bedding, Li Ji commented, "It turns out the court wasn't lying to us. This so-called East African Kingdom really isn't bad. The neat houses and intersecting roads remind me of what Tao Yuanming once described. And the city's construction—what a sight! Quite pleasing, really."
"Not quite, not quite, Brother Anren," interjected Yuan Ye. "To me, most of this East African Kingdom still seems uncivilized. The people dress in strange foreign clothes. Did any of you notice? A lot of the Chinese here have cut their queues and wear hair cropped short, no longer than an inch. They look like monks! Aren't they afraid of shaming their ancestors in the afterlife?"
"Brother Yuan, don't forget, this isn't the Far East—it's a foreign land. The Westerners here are different from our people. We're simply not used to their looks. Today I finally got to see for myself: blond-haired, blue-eyed people like demons, and those with skin black as ink—the ancient Kunlun slaves. Sure, some look similar to us, but that doesn't mean they're true Central Plains people. Remember, we saw many similar faces among the locals in Malacca and Annam."
"I won't be mistaken, Brother Anren," Yuan Ye insisted. "These Germans may speak gibberish, but earlier today I overheard two people on the street speaking clear northern Chinese. I'm from Daming Prefecture—I know the sound of my own dialect!"
"Gentlemen," chimed in another, "I might be able to explain. You all know I'm from Jinan Prefecture. Though I rarely left the city, I sometimes traveled to rural villages for free clinics. Once, I ran into someone in the countryside who was promoting an overseas paradise. Many peasants were persuaded to follow him. I thought he was a scammer at the time. But now, seeing Dar es Salaam and the way people dress—I realize now that 'paradise' meant East Africa. And those people who left must've ended up here."
"Then those people are our Chinese kin too!" Yuan Ye exclaimed.
"Most likely. I'd say many of the East Africans we've seen are actually our countrymen who emigrated here."
"But if they are Chinese, how could they cut their queues, change their clothes, and imitate foreigners? That's…" Yuan trailed off in frustration.
"Don't be too harsh, Brother Yuan," someone replied. "Maybe they were forced by the barbarians. It's their territory, after all. While these Westerners lack proper values, they do have their own rules. Perhaps they just don't like queues."
"But still…" Yuan protested, "our hair and skin are gifts from our parents. To alter them is a sin!"
Li Ji spoke up, "Yuan Ye, let me say this—though the Westerners may have their faults, they are ahead of us in many of their skills. And we all know deep down that the empire is in trouble. We've faced the Taiping rebellion, the Nian uprising, Western invasions by sea, frequent disasters, floods, droughts… It's no exaggeration to say the people suffer."
"I admit," Yuan said, "things are difficult right now. But disasters will pass. The court is rebuilding its armies. Internal strife is gone, and driving out the foreigners is just a matter of time."
"Time?" Li Ji countered. "The court may have time, but the people don't. If they can't eat for days, how will they survive? Faced with starvation, they won't care about loyalty, propriety, or righteousness—they'll do whatever it takes to stay alive. If the East African Kingdom offers even a single meal, some would give their lives in return."
"Enough," someone sighed. "Let's not dwell on it. We all know how things stand. But the Chinese spirit is resilient. I believe one day we'll see the glory of Han and Tang again."
"Well said!" the other three men in the dorm responded in unison.
Knock, knock, knock… Someone knocked at the door.
"I'll get it," said Li Ji.
He opened the door to find a young man—an employee of the East African Immigration Service.
"Dinner's ready, gentlemen! I'm here to take you to the canteen."
"Ah, thank you, young man. We'll be right there," Li Ji replied politely.
The four of them put down their tasks and followed the young man toward the public canteen.
On the way, Li Ji struck up conversation: "Young man, what's your name?"
"My German name is Hans Zhou. My Chinese name is Zhou Mo."
"Brother Zhou Mo, how do you have a Western name?"
"What Western name? I'm a German now," Hans Zhou replied.
"All right, all right, a German. Then how did you end up in East Africa? And how did you become a German? Your accent sounds like you're from Henan or Shandong."
"I'm originally from Shandong. But after immigrating to East Africa, I naturally became German."
"…Wasn't there any threshold? Don't they look down on you?"
"What threshold? Once I got to East Africa, I became a German. As for discrimination—what for? Our kingdom values equality. That kind of thinking doesn't exist here."
A Black man nearby: "★※ァ(○Д○)"
"Really? No differences because of habits or customs?"
"We all came from poverty. Who has the energy to worry about those things? Thanks to His Majesty Constantino and Crown Prince Ernst, we found a path to survival here. So of course we're united—like family."
And he meant it. Hans Zhou's wife was a Slavic girl. He had every reason to speak with conviction.
Hans asked, "So, uncles, you're from the Far East, right? What's your profession?"
"We're physicians," said Li Ji.
"No wonder! That explains why the supervisor told us to treat you respectfully. I knew you weren't ordinary immigrants."
Li Ji quickly clarified, "We're not immigrants. We were sent by the Far Eastern government to support the East African Kingdom."
"Same difference," Hans laughed. "Here in East Africa, doctors and teachers are highly respected—especially doctors. They're rare."
"Are there really so few doctors? I've heard that Western countries have their own kind of doctors—so-called 'Western medicine'—especially skilled in surgery."
"I haven't seen much Western medicine," Hans replied. "We just call everyone a 'doctor.' I've heard the army medics do some surgery—disinfection, bandaging, minor procedures."
Now Li Ji was curious. "Then what's the difference between your doctors and ours?"
"Not much, really. Most hospital doctors in Dar es Salaam are Far Eastern immigrants. They still prescribe herbs and decoctions—same as back home."
Li Ji felt a bit disappointed. "So there's no true Western medicine here?"
"Do you mean European white doctors?"
"Yes, exactly."
"I've never seen one. But I hear the palace doctors are like that."
"Would they be the kingdom's imperial physicians?"
"I'm not sure. I've only ever been to the city hospital."
"Is that just like a medical clinic?"
"No, much bigger! Three stories high, with over a hundred rooms."
Over a hundred rooms! Li Ji and the others were stunned. That was enormous—probably rivaled only by the imperial medical academy in the Forbidden City. But there was no time to dwell on it, as they had arrived at the canteen.
There were four canteens at the immigration center. The smallest was reserved for Immigration Service employees.
As they entered the dining hall, they saw a space with over a hundred tables arranged in three rows. To accommodate the aid team, their mealtime had been staggered so they wouldn't crowd the staff. It was already dusk, and everyone was quite hungry.
"Please line up, collect your trays, then choose your dishes and staple food…" instructed a staff member.
But someone had already begun serving themselves—it was Yalian, the interpreter assigned by the East African embassy. Having spent months in the embassy and attending Hechingen school before that, he was quite used to canteen procedures.
"Wait, we can choose our food now?" Yalian asked. "I thought meals were just assigned."
"That's how it used to be. But now things are better, so there are more options."
"Good to know! I'll take two loaves of bread, a portion of shredded pork with green pepper… what's that soup over there?"
"Tomato-onion beef soup."
"Italian style?"
"Exactly. A new Italian chef joined recently. This soup's his recipe."
"Haha, I saw it once in Trieste but never got to try it. Give me a small bowl!"
"You got it!"
With his tray full, Yalian took a seat and began enjoying dinner. His actions gave the aid team a model to follow, and soon everyone else was lining up for food.
Li Ge commented, "For regular folks, East African food is impressive! So many choices—and meat too."
Ande added, "Yeah! Back when I was studying, my family couldn't even afford pickles. It was millet porridge every day. Meat? Only during festivals. Life only got better once I passed the provincial exams."
Li Ge sighed, "True. Only those who suffer most rise to the top."
At another table, Li Ji told his three roommates, "This is incredible. I earn a good income back home, but I still wouldn't splurge like this. I try to live frugally. But here, regular East Africans eat fish and meat like it's nothing!"
Doctors aren't poor, so Li Ji's surprise was genuine. Even for someone well off, such meals would be considered extravagant. Normally, the best they could afford was a bit of lard for flavor.
Of course, East Africans didn't live like this every day. The aid team got special treatment—medical professionals are rare and valuable.
As for why foodie Yalian hadn't noticed the difference? It's because of his past experience. During his time at Hechingen, Ernst ensured the students were well fed. While the food wasn't chosen by the students—just balanced and nutritious—they were never hungry. Once he graduated, his high grades earned him a position at the East African embassy in the Far East. There, as a diplomatic official, he enjoyed first-class meals.
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