The recent political participation of women left a bad taste in many traditionalists’ tastes. For these men and their sons, they sought for more… agreeable women.
There were not only Boer women in this town after all. There were the elves. For Lodewijk Crone, who was looking for a mate, the options were unlimited. The nearest was either the Zulus or Xhosa. If he wanted to cast a wider net, there were also the Tswana or the Sotho.
Like any man from a developed country looking for a mate, they went to the local mail-order bride or matchmaker. Strangely enough, it was orchestrated by a woman, not just any woman, but a Zulu.
The matchmaker looked at the Lodewijk and knew there would be few takers for this man. The tastes he divulged to her were not something the local elves could fulfil. Elves were a matriarchal society, but he wanted women who were the opposite of that, akin to human society.
“I know some strange woman that might interest you,” The matchmaker offered and flipped through numerous documents. Finding the one she was looking for, she handed it to Lodewijk.
Caroline Ellison
I am only interested in a poly relationship. Something like Imperial Chinese Harem.
None of the non-hierarchical bullshit. Everyone’s partners should be ranked. And there will be vicious higher struggles in the higher ranks.
I’m masochistic. So, I like doing things hard, unpleasant, physically taxing or emotionally painful
Partner: Sam Bankman-Fried
Are you interested?
Lodewijk only baulked at this document and looked towards the Zulu matchmaker.
“It’s what you want. I believe she is a good choice,” The matchmaker looked away. Even she believed the candidate is unhinged in some way or another.
“What is this poly thing she is asking for?”
“It’s a… it took some time for me to understand too but it’s a consensual relationship between all partners.”
“So, I have to share her with this… Sam Bankman-Fried?”
The matchmaker kept silent, not wanting to discuss the issue anymore.
“Of course, yes. No, I mean of course not!” Lodewijk thought about it carefully. It sounded like something sinful even if he was partially interested.
“Well, I have little takers for this woman. So if you change your mind, you can come to me and we can discuss the matter further. Anyhow, how about this?”
The Zulu picked up another document that was randomly selected and handed it to Lodewijk.
“All I know is her name and that she is a Xhosa. Is that all?”
“That’s all she was willing to divulge. If you ask me, keep it between us, don’t tell her! But she is a little embarrassed about seeking my services.”
Lodewijk shrugged. Well, what could go wrong?
A simple dining establishment by the Boer side of town. It was all that was arranged by the matchmaker. He had to pay for everything of course since as the matchmaker put it, the males using her service far outnumber the women. She accepted payment in either cattle or pound sterling. Since he wasn’t a farmer and lived in the urban areas of town, he handed over good old pound sterling.
It seems the staff was briefed or familiar with the proceedings for he was quickly escorted. One thing he noticed about the clientele, was that it was full of Boer men like him. They were all dining with elven women.
He was brought to his seat and on the other side was his date. She wore the umbhaco, a long skirt and an apron sown together with embroidery. Beaded necklaces known as ithumbu wrapped around her neck. She was pouting at Lodewijk’s sight.
“So… are you,” Lodewijk checked the placard he was given, “Athandwa?”
He instinctively smiled, feeling he had butchered the name somewhat.
Athandwa frowned and asked in poor Elfrikaans, “Tell me about yourself.”
It was as if she was reading off a script of some sort.
Lodewijk got flashbacks of the trauma he had interviewing at various merchants in the Port. For some reason, they all asked the same question! The English merchants paid well, so he interviewed there. There was even an acronym for the top-paying companies the English merchants belonged to called MAANG.
“I am a simple man who works for Meta Trading Companies, I make uhh… around 500-pound sterlings a year.”
It took some time for the Xhosa girl to register his wounds. She started counting her fingers. 500-pound sterling was a lot of money. She began thinking about the number of cattle one can buy with that kind of money.
She then asked a strange question in English, “Have you cut your dick off?”
Now it was Lodewijk’s turn to register her words. The seriousness in her gaze greatly intimidated him.
“Uhm… of course not! Why would I cut my dick off?” Lodewijk replied in English.
“Then, you’re still a child,” Athandwa frowned once more.
The date did not go well, and Lodewijk could only complain to the Zulu matchmaker about the strange woman he was matched with.
“She asked if I had cut my dick off in English? What the hell!” He explained to the matchmaker who only broke out in laughter.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Wiping a tear off her eye, the Zulu explained, “The male Xhosas undergo an adult initiation rite known as Ulwaluko where their foreskin gets cut off. Most Xhosa women would prefer that their mates undergo this as well.”
“So… I need to get my dick cut off?”
The Zulu slammed her fist against the table.
“Your foreskin! The thin layer of skin of your penis! Our Zulu men once had to do so until Great Queen Shaka banned it! So be grateful that most Zulu women won’t mind if it is not cut!”
“Oh. So do you think I should cut it?”
“That is up to you to decide. I don’t give a shit about your foreskin.”
Lodewijk decided to book another session with another woman. Crossing his fingers, he hoped it goes well.
The Indian merchant was a man from Ceylon. The Indian walked up to him and shook his hand.
“You’re the Boer who runs the port? Thanks for ordering through me instead of the East India Company (EIC),” The Ceylonese thanked him in English.
“I doubt the EIC would be able to fulfil such a small order, so I should thank you instead,” A couple of Indians that were part of the Ceylonese merchant crew carried the cargo off the ship.
He handed the merchant a small pouch full of pound sterlings, obtained by exchanging the gold nuggets for pound sterlings in the bank at Port Natal. The pound sterling was pegged to gold, which was why the bank was very helpful in facilitating this exchange.
Jan bit his lip and wondered whether he should tell this Sri Lankan about what was on his mind.
“Here is some advice. You should not trust a man whose surname is Rajapaksa.”
“You’re a fortune teller? How do you do your fortunes? We use parrots back in India.”
Jan shrugged and kept mum. How should he explain it to this man? Eh, doesn’t matter, he doubted it would change much.
“I suppose every man has his secrets.”
Opening the crate, he could smell the familiar smell of swimming pools, ammonia. It was not exactly ammonia, but it smelled like it. He looked around him to see Boer bureaucrats, both men and women by his side, as well as his two trusty Veldkornets looking at the crate with curiosity.
“This is opium. Mix it with tobacco and it will be a good smoke. Be warned, it is crazily addictive. I forbid its usage recreationally. Only doctors or medicine men are allowed its use in this town. But this shipment isn’t for this town; it will be heading right for Potchefstroom. Let’s hope the Zulus keep their word. Well, if they do touch this shipment, it’s not my fault if their Impi gets addicted to it.”
With the assistance of Russell to manage the trade route, he hired some Boers to ship the shipment to Potchefstroom. Instead of an ox, the wagon will use the Cape Horse to ensure it will get there as quickly as it could. Jan wanted to know the results of his little initiative as fast as he could. He needed the gold from the Zoutpansberg. So many plans were bottlenecked because of the lack of funds.
He even wrote up a letter for Potgieter to help explain to him what the man needed to help him with. It was simple, sell it to the Zoutpansberg Boers. Let the traders give it a whiff. If they like it, they’ll buy it with their gold.
When it’s in Zoutpansberg, some of them would trade with the dwarves in the mountains, causing some opium to end up there. Hopefully, the dwarves would get addicted to it too. Once both of them get addicted to it, then they can maintain a constant trade route between Potchefstroom and Port Mpande, dumping opium into Zoutpansberg and getting tons of gold for it.
Some might say what he is doing is immoral. Well, no one questioned the British when it did its Opium Wars.
And if they could get this up and running, well, he was going to dedicate some lands to growing Opium to feed the new addicts cultivated in Zoutpansberg. And once the addicts are weakened, then Potgieter could also expand his influence and settle in Zoutpansberg so he could directly secure the gold. At that time, they could directly dump the opium on the Lobedu dwarves.
But the land was limited, so it needed to be expanded. That was why he was in Nokuthula’s new office.
Incorporating the Boer’s multi-storied town hall design, it was integrated with plants growing around the structure. They both beautify and reinforce the building’s interior. It could be all just a simple sales pitch by her, but the building’s exterior was beautiful.
The interior was barren, but she explained that they were still working on it.
Sitting by her desk, he looked at the Zulu, dressed in Zulu attire. She wore Zulu regimental regalia, and her headdress was filled with colourful feathers.
“How goes the fight in the Free States?”
“The San are a nuisance, but we had them finally leaving our lands. A couple or two still do hit-and-runs from time to time. But we will eradicate them.”
“Uh, that’s good. Since most of the Princess’ loyal chiefs went over to the Free State with her, a lot of Zulu lands now lack people, right? I had proposed this once before, so let me ask once more. Would you be interested in opening the land for surveying? Our land surveyors believe there are a great many resources to be found.”
“Since there is scant Zulu in the area, I don’t see why not. What offer would you make for mining rights?”
“How to discuss mining rights without discussing whether there are any minerals in the regions?”
“You should pay for the gracious opportunity to survey our lands. You would be the first to do so, so I expect a good offer.”
“The land might have nothing. Will I receive a refund then?”
“If I lose my bet while gambling, will I get a refund?”
The Zulu wasn’t willing to budge. She wanted concessions.
Jan decided it would be best to concede with her. It would be good to have her be amiable. Because it won’t be Boer labourers working in the mines, it will be Zulu ones.
“How about this? We split the profits of any mine. A Joint-Venture like Port Mpande. 50-50 split of all profits. We’ll each have a say in the mines’ operations. If we don’t like it, the mine won’t operate.”
Nokuthula chuckled.
“What a horrible offer. We own the land and yet you wish for equal profit-sharing. That does not make any sense to me. 99% of profits shall go to us, 1% shall go to you.”
“Without land surveyors coming in. Without mining experts coming in. Are you sure you’ll be able to even open a mine successfully? I urge you to reconsider your offer. Because we won’t be able to do business if you’re stubborn.”
Jan took a second to realize the irony of his role. He was no different from a Western MNC going to an African country to invest in their mines. And the way he negotiates isn’t too different. The Western MNCs provide skilled labourers to ensure the mine runs smoothly, while the country collects a fat share by sitting around doing nothing. Their workers would be employed in the mines too.
“90-10.”
The Zulu just wasn’t willing to budge. Then again, he wasn’t providing much. He wasn’t a renowned Western MNC with numerous years of expertise in mining. Any mining activities will be done with basic open pit mining with little machinery, and every worker slowly hacking away at the stone.
“Come on. Please give a better offer. 60-40? We’ll be starting a Joint-Venture sharing all the minerals in the land. At least make the deal good enough so we Boers can remain invested in this venture.”
Nokuthula frowned, grumbling about the greed of the Boers.
“Final offer. 70-30. Take it or leave it.”
“Fine.”
They began drafting a document formalizing the creation of the Zulu-Boer Joint Venture for the exploitation of minerals in Princess Cetshwayo and her supportive chiefs’ lands. First of all, they needed to come up with a good name, but Jan couldn’t think of a good name that would sound good. Debswana of the Joint Venture between Botswana and the diamond cartel De Beers was a good name.
But how could he mix Boer and Zulu so that it would sound good? BoeZulu? ZuluBoe? BoZulu?
When he asked Nokuthula about her thoughts on the matter, she simply said, “Just call it Cetshwayo. I still must ask the princess for permission. I’m sure she will give her approval once she knows it is named after her.”
With no reason to oppose the naming convention, the Cetshwayo Company Limited, or simply Cetshwayo.
Even though he disliked the unequal Joint-Venture, he could always increase his share in the future. A couple of cattle and pound starlings would help boost his share. But he didn’t think there would be much. If they found gold, then he would start dumping all his funds to secure as large of a share as possible.
The German rats, the ones in charge of running the coal mines were all too pleased when with the news.
Bastian Hanneke, owner of Ratfrica Mining Co, which specialized in land surveying rubbed his hands in glee.
“There’s a motherload of coal in the region. I know London is hungry for coal. We could export them to London.”
“If zere is no demand, at ze very least, you could replace wood with coal,” Eilert Biermann, owner of German Mining Co, added on.
“We’ll still try to figure out an arrangement with our Zulu counterparts. So, I recommend packing up and preparing your men for an expedition. Keep your men in check, and do not cause any offence to your Zulu hosts. I do not wish to start a conflict over something as trivial as this.”
The rats nodded in agreement, their tails swaying from side to side.
Checking it off on his to-do list, Jan scanned the endless rows of things he had to do. Now, there was still the matter of the referendum. He planned to gerrymander the result to his liking. By right, since the matter of Women’s Suffrage only affected the Boer side of town, only Boers should vote on the matter. On principle. But nothing was stopping him from expanding the number of eligible voters. Of course, he had to be reasonable in his justification. He can’t allow children to vote. His men would be suspicious to find the gifts of candy a few days before the referendum.
Port Mpande was a joint venture between Zulu and Boer. So, he had plenty of reasons to give to include the Zulus. By gerrymandering the referendum to include Zulus, he would win with a landslide.
He took some time to reflect on how Africanised he had become. Was he going to rig every referendum and election in the future?