Motorhome
This was his first time at Mogadishu Port, and although he was unfamiliar with the place, finding the address on the bill of lading was not difficult.
The Seamen's Café was full of people familiar with the port. After spending just one dollar on a tip, they were introduced by a waiter to a reliable guide.
They settled the guide's fee in two sentences, then took one of the military jeeps parked outside the café to the delivery address.
Chaka Abuluta and his cousin stayed at the café with Sun Nanzheng and the others, waiting for Li Bai to bring the vehicle back.
The guide's fee was not expensive—only ten dollars.
Although Somalia had busy ports, busy pirates, and, of course, busy battlefields, its overall cost of living was not high. After all, the average annual income here was less than six hundred dollars, possibly even lower, while monthly income hovered around fifty dollars. Ten dollars to show someone the way was practically free money.
The dollar and the euro were absolutely hard currencies here. Renminbi could also be used, of course, depending on the person. One yuan could be exchanged for one hundred Somali shillings.
If one did not care about hygiene, thirty yuan could cover three meals a day, including meat, vegetables, and staple food—enough to eat until full.
The protection fee Major Kamo Osaka, Chaka Abuluta's cousin, had quoted seemed expensive, but it was actually the soldiers' payment for risking their lives. Calculated against the value of a human life, it was practically dirt cheap.
If a firefight broke out, there would be no additional charges for bullets, equipment losses, or compensation for casualties.
Anything involving weapons or war came at a high price. In Somalia, one could find arms dealers from practically every country in