The Tavern
It was precisely because Zhao Aiguo, the musclebound man, was even more stubbornly exacting than Li Bai that Li Bai's Tavern had the second-best hygiene within a hundred miles, surpassed only by the neighboring Chinese peacekeeping force's mess hall.
If not for the need to ensure local employment, he would have preferred to hire retired mercenaries who had hung up their guns for good. At least they had some sense of personal hygiene, unlike the local black cooks in the kitchen. Before each shift, they had to use at least half a bar of soap to wash themselves, scrubbing until their bathwater went from muddy to clear before they were even passably clean. They also had to trim their nails regularly, or who knew what strange things they might end up putting in the food.
Even so, as soon as their shifts ended, the employees immediately ran wild. In less than half an hour, they would revert to their true mud-monkey selves, no different from the filthy locals who gave no thought to personal hygiene. They'd get themselves dirty all over again, laughing and joking as if they didn't care in the slightest.
If they could not at least maintain their personal hygiene while on the job, Li Bai and Zhao Aiguo would have fired them long ago. These were already the more obedient workers, carefully selected by the town and several tribes.
With anyone else, they couldn't understand a word you said and did whatever they pleased. At best, they would accept your advice with an open mind and refuse to change—a response that was already quite generous.
As for hygiene habits, there was absolutely no chance of them developing any. Not in this lifetime.
So the average African's lifespan probably wasn't much longer than the Samos