Samuel Young nodded. They had these in South Africa too—just a circle of walls made from mud and stones, with a conical thatched roof on top. It looked like an enlarged version of the old graves back in his hometown.

He didn’t want to live in one of those; it felt inauspicious.

Mason said, “You can combine a prefab steel house with their style—use the steel panels as the main structure, then coat the inside and outside walls with mud and sand for insulation, and cover the roof with giant elephant grass. You know what elephant grass is, right? Have you seen it before?”

Samuel Young puffed out his chest. “I’m a graduate student in animal and environmental protection!”

“So you haven’t seen it,” Mason said. “Elephant grass is a type of miscanthus, also called Napier grass, because it grows so tall that even elephants can be hidden in the thickets. It’s pretty rare in the Greater St. Lucia Wetland, but I can help you look for it—we’ll definitely find some.”

Samuel Young was a bit frustrated; he actually did know about miscanthus.

Miscanthus is more common in Africa and Asia, living in tropical and subtropical environments. The most common Asian variety is called Chinese silver grass, and in Taiwan there’s also alpine miscanthus, which can grow up to two meters tall.

But the elephant grass Mason mentioned is more common in Africa, and can grow three or four meters high, spreading out like a forest!

This idea was workable. Samuel Young said happily, “Then help me find some elephant grass. I’ll make a trip to Hluhluwe to find a construction crew to lay the foundation and install a prefab steel house.”

Mason nodded. “Leave it to me.”

The resort town was twenty or thirty kilometers from Hluhluwe, so it wasn’t realistic for Samuel Young to walk there—he’d have to take a taxi.

There are two kinds of taxis in South Africa: one is the international kind, TAXI, and the other is a minibus similar to a Jinbei van, but bigger, with twelve seats, converted from scrapped minibuses from Europe and America.

Among South Africans, “taxi” mainly refers to the TAXI type, while the converted minibus has a nickname: “squeeze car,” also called “matatu”—a name borrowed from Kenya and Uganda.

Samuel Young didn’t want to ride in one of those. They were already scrapped vehicles, then shipped to Africa and refitted—basically moving coffins.

But aside from the matatu, he had no other options. The resort town was newly built and sparsely populated, so the government hadn’t provided public transport. Only the matatus, from who knows where, would pass through the town.

Of course, private cars would occasionally pass by on the highway, but they wouldn’t stop in the countryside just to give a ride to a random yellow-skinned stranger—they’d just speed by without a second thought.

All drivers knew the dangers of rural roads. The driving manual even warned: every stop in the countryside could mean a risk of robbery.

After waiting a while without finding a suitable ride, Samuel Young had no choice but to take a matatu.

For safety, he brought Nate along, so if there was any danger, he could have Nate take the brunt and make his own escape.

When Mason heard he was taking a matatu, he specially helped him pick out a vehicle.

This one was flashy, with spray paint and stickers on the body, a picture of Jesus on the rear window, and big red letters on the front reading “Air Force One.”

Samuel Young asked, “Is this the safest one?”

Mason said, “No, it’s the fastest. Haha, just kidding—it’s the first one to leave. I checked, and Air Force One is about to go.”

Matatu tickets were cheap—just ten rand per person.

Samuel Young handed the conductor twenty, who glanced down at Nate and gave him five back. “Children’s tickets are half price. If you’re willing to hold him, you don’t need to buy a ticket.”

The door opened and a blast of rock music poured out from the little speaker on the roof. After Samuel Young got in, the conductor closed the door again. He noticed there was a sticker on the inside of the door, with a line that read: Escape is absolutely impossible.

After waiting a few more minutes with no new passengers, the conductor got back in and knocked hard on the window twice. The driver, who had been dozing on the steering wheel, sat up, floored the gas, and they shot off.

Samuel Young immediately turned pale: he swore he’d just seen the driver hit the gas without even opening his eyes.

The young black conductor misunderstood his expression and said loudly, “Don’t worry, we’ll definitely be the first to Hluhluwe!”

Samuel Young gave an awkward laugh. “Actually, I’m not in a hurry.”

The minibus sped down the road like a king of the highway.

Soon, a Mercedes came up from behind, and the driver floored it again—the minibus went even faster!

Not only that, the driver rolled down the window and shouted at the Mercedes driving neck and neck, “If you think you can catch up, just try!”

Samuel Young quickly closed his eyes and made the sign of the cross over his chest.

He felt that the matatu must be one of God’s favorite creations, because once it started up, every passenger would start praying for God’s protection. Even the most stone-hearted nonbeliever would become a devout follower after getting on board!

Chapter 10: I’m Not Dead

The matatu rattled along, and in just over ten minutes they reached Hluhluwe.

The door slid open, and Samuel Young stepped out on shaky legs, with Nate behind him, pushing him impatiently.