The inspection process was very casual, not even meeting the standard of mere formality. They didn't check the vehicle at all or ask the driver for a pass. The soldier holding the stop sign walked over to the tour bus, glanced briefly into the cabin through the glass, and then waved the bus through.
After passing the checkpoint, the scenery along the highway became more varied. In the distance, a series of rolling hills appeared, with patches of light gray rooftops scattered across the slopes, interspersed with flickering white points of light, likely sunlight reflecting off glass.
Lobamba is a town located in western Swaziland, on the border between the Hhohho and Manzini regions. It used to be the legislative capital of the country and the location of the parliament and the Queen Mother's palace. There was also a national stadium near the highway that could accommodate 2,000 people, making it a bustling large town.
But now, as seen firsthand, Lobamba was in a similar state to Matsapha. Villages near the highway were abandoned, with large concrete blocks piled up on the roads and the houses demolished. Within a quarter-mile of the highway, there were no buildings other than the checkpoint.
The main road leading into the town was a straight dirt path that stretched southwest across the bare open land for about half a mile, ending in a cluster of low, rudimentary houses. The town was teardrop-shaped, with its narrow end connected to the dirt road and surrounded by a circle of barbed wire fencing, enclosing a dense cluster of light gray rooftops.
At the junction of the dirt road and the highway was a military camp covering about an acre, surrounded by barbed wire in a rectangular shape. Inside the camp were three large barracks and one smaller one, arranged in a "pin" (品)formation.
It was already lunchtime, and smoke was rising from the chimney of one of the barracks. Apart from the guards at the camp entrance, no other soldiers could be seen, and even the watchtowers at the four corners of the camp were unmanned.
Four vehicles were parked in the open area in front of the camp: two Mitsubishi Pajero light utility vehicles painted in yellow-green camouflage, a Bedford 4-ton military truck, and a Land Rover 101 one-ton truck with an FN MAG Medium machine gun mounted on the roof.
As the bus passed the military camp, Deng Shiyang continuously pressed the shutter button on his camera.
After leaving Lobamba, the tour bus drove along the highway for about ten minutes before arriving at the Swazi Sun Hotel near Ezulwini.
As soon as the bus stopped, sixteen hostesses in apricot-colored cheongsams stood in two rows at the entrance, bowing in unison. A young woman, dressed in a neat navy-blue business suit over a white shirt with brown stripes and wearing a gold name badge on her left chest, stepped forward and greeted the passengers in Mandarin with a Beijing accent, "On behalf of the Swazi Sun Hotel, I welcome you all. I hope you have a pleasant stay, and I wish you success in your inspection."
The lobby manager looked to be in her twenties, with a delicate face lightly made up, her hair neatly tied into a bun at the back and held in place by an amber hairpin, giving her a sharp and professional appearance. Her expressions and movements were impeccable, showing that she had received specialized training.
Everyone followed her into the lobby. Several bellboys in dark brown uniforms approached the bus to open the luggage compartment and load the suitcases onto handcarts.
The luxurious hotel lobby was devoid of other guests, giving it a somewhat deserted feel. It had the same atmosphere as most Chinese hotels—bright, clean, and upscale, but also slightly impersonal and lacking in character.
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The hotel was originally named the "Royal Swazi Sun Hotel" and belonged to the royal family’s "Sun International Group." After the coup, it was nationalized. Currently, only two hotels in Swaziland allow foreign guests to stay: this one and the "Ezulwini Sun Hotel" in the capital, Mbabane.
As Swaziland's only five-star hotel, the facilities were quite complete, including a casino, gym, swimming pool, a large spa center, and an international-standard 72-par golf course.
However, Deng Shiyang didn’t have time to enjoy any of it. After lunch, he declined invitations from other group members and spent over half an hour exploring the hotel, hoping to find a local who could share information about the country.
The outcome was disappointing. There were no other guests in the hotel, and all the staff were Chinese, not a single local in sight. So, he went to the bar, ordered a beer, and sat at the counter, striking up a conversation with the handsome bartender.
The young bartender was very friendly, and there was a sense of "finding a familiar face in a foreign land."
The young man’s surname was Zhong, and he was originally from Hubei, China. He had graduated from the Beijing Union University’s School of Tourism last year with a diploma in hospitality management. However, he graduated just as the Olympic boom subsided, and the domestic hotel industry was struggling. Earlier this year, he came across information about the African expansion program by the China National Tourism Administration and signed up for the exam to become an overseas staff member in Swaziland. With his fluent English and certified advanced bartender skills, he stood out among many competitors and left China to work at the hotel at the beginning of the year.
In some environments, having the same eye and hair color or speaking the same language can quickly make people feel familiar with one another. That was the case here, and by the time Deng Shiyang started his second beer, it was as if the two had known each other for years, and they began to chat casually.
“How long have you been here?” Deng Shiyang asked, starting with the same question he often used when meeting colleagues in Baghdad.
“One month and twenty-one days,” Zhong replied without a second thought.
“Is the work busy?” But as soon as he asked, Deng Shiyang realized it was a rather silly question.
“Bored to death. You’re the first group of guests we’ve hosted.”
Feigning a slightly surprised expression, Deng Shiyang asked, “Does no one usually come here?”
“Not at all. To save energy, the hotel is usually in a semi-closed state. We received the notification that you were coming a week ago and started preparing then.”
“Getting paid to do nothing isn’t a bad deal.”
“That’s what I thought at first, but it took less than a week for me to change my mind.”
Zhong paused and then explained to the puzzled Deng Shiyang, “There’s no internet here, no satellite TV, not even a bar or café—absolutely nothing to do. Plus, we can’t leave the hotel, so apart from the dormitory, the only place we can go is the cafeteria.”
“What about TV and radio?”
“The TV and radio here only broadcast for four hours a day, and they’re not in English. As for newspapers, I haven’t seen one in over a month.”
“If you can’t leave the hotel, how do you get daily necessities? How do you stay in contact with the outside world?”
“We make a list of items, and they bring them in by truck once a week. For outside contact, there are international calls and mail, but the phone lines here are often down, and disconnections are common. So, writing letters is the main way to keep in touch with home. We’ve been asking our families to send more books and magazines, which we exchange among ourselves. I heard that the embassy is planning to install a satellite phone, so things should get easier once that’s done.”
Deng Shiyang sipped his beer, putting on a thoughtful expression while keeping the useful information in mind. After finishing two beers, he stood up to leave.
At the checkout, he placed his credit card and a $50 bill in the bill folder, using a slightly pleading tone, “Do you know where I can get information about this country? My boss asked me to write a feasibility report on investing in Swaziland, and he wants to know as much as possible about the place. Of course, I’m not talking about things set up for ‘public display.’”
The young bartender looked a bit hesitant at the cash, then, after thinking for a moment, awkwardly replied, “I’m not sure about that, but I heard from someone at the embassy that there’s a Chinese restaurant in Mbabane called ‘Huali,’ owned by a Taiwanese man who has lived in Swaziland for ten years. He might know something you’d be interested in.”
“Oh, that’s good enough. Thank you.” Deng Shiyang thanked him with a satisfied smile, tapping the table twice in front of the bill folder.
The bartender, seeing this, happily took the bill folder and walked towards the cash register in the corner of the bar.