Chapter Two
By Nightengale Ben-Onyeukwu
The following day, during
break, just as Tariebi had said, she took the ten regular SS3 students for a
tour. She wanted them to feel the pain of living in this kind of place; thereby
they would have the motivation of thinking of ways to build a beautiful future
for themselves instead of waiting on Shell and the Federal Government who for
years have done nothing.
'Hope
you all are wearing your boots?' Tariebi asked, leading the way. She was
wearing a blue-coloured jumpsuit, black boots, and her hair was tied up in a
messy bun.
The students replied in unison. 'Yes, Aunty
Tariebi.'
'Where
is Bola?' Tariebi glanced around. 'Okay. Here you are.' Seeing him, she turned
forward, and continued on the journey.
Bola
rolled his eyes at Tariebi's back, hating the fact that he was on this journey.
Just then, he saw a young boy hawking roasted plantain.
'How much for a slice of plantain?' Bola
asked the boy who was dressed in torn shorts and a faded shirt. Glancing around
he saw other hawkers in hole-ridden shorts which were just as worn out as their
faded shirts. He looked back at the young boy he called to buy roasted plantain
from and asked, ‘How much for all of them?' Was Bola being sympathetic? Or was
he trying to show off as usual?
'Just give me five hundred naira,'
the boy pleaded. 'My mother is sick. I need to buy her medicine. Your money
will help us a lot.'
Bola
said nothing as he took out his new white high-end wallet and said, 'I want all
of them. You can keep the change.' He handed the one thousand naira note to the
boy and he wrapped all the plantain in a bag.
'Gas
flaring has affected everything. Our crops, plantain are not doing well again,'
he said to Bola.
'Do
you need some hazard allowance?' Bola asked. This time he wasn't sounding rude
but gentle.
The
boy smiled and said instead, 'Thank you, sir...I'm grateful for the money.'
Happily he ran back home, perhaps to buy medicine for his sick mother.
Bola took a slice of plantain and ate. Then, he offered some to
the students. Some accepted the plantain while some refused to eat. Those who
didn't eat the plantain were still mad at him for being rude to Tariebi. They
wanted him to apologise to their teacher. But it seems Bola is stubborn and
proud. Would he change after this tour? Maybe, he would or would not.
Bola
took his Eva bottle water from his
bag, and drank from it. He caught Abinla's gaze and she immediately looks away,
cursing at him.
'Your
hair needed to be plaited,' Bola said. ‘I will take you to the women who plait
hair in the market, ' he laughed, as he reached out to touch her hair but
Abinla’s piercing gaze stopped him mid-air. 'Your hair is starting to slip out
of the twists. I just need to run my hands over your loosening braids and
remind you that you won't be accepted in paradise with that hair of yours.'
Abinla
rolled her eyes at him and said nothing.
'Oh, I really
miss the sweet-smelling rain,' Bola said when it began drizzling. 'I just hate
the smell of this one.' He wrinkled his nose.
'Our
place was once green and clean,' Tariebi said when they stopped to see a once
prosperous farm now cloaked in oil. 'Almost every day we hear of oil spill but
nothing is done to clean the mess. Before, we had clean water,' she said as
they continued, pointing at the damaged water. 'But now, we can't even boast of
good drinking water. Fishermen spend the whole day without catching any
fish...'
'One
of the most diverse ecosystems in Africa is now at risk,’ Abinla added.
'This is what happens
when you pay too much attention in school,' Bola chuckled, taking a bite of
another slice of his plantain.
'Due
to gas flaring our air is now filled with pollutants, which has created acid
rain.' Abinla glanced over at Bola, her gaze descended on the roasted plantain
in his hand. 'These must have been contaminated.'
'I didn't need them
anymore,' Bola said, tossing the remaining plantain into the bush.
Abinla
laughed at him. 'That serves you right.'
‘After this trip, Bola's stony heart
will melt,' a girl said, fiddling with her fingers as she looked ahead at the
group of old women coming towards them. They seem frustrated with the way they
walked. They were all carrying their farm tools, and dressed in their farm
dress.
'Where
are you all going?' A woman who was carrying an empty basket on her head asked
the students.
Tariebi
smiled. 'We are on a sightseeing tour.'
Bola forced a cough
from his throat, trying not to laugh. Abinla glared at him, and he shrugged
like he never cared.
'Well, I hope your tour
is for something good,' the woman said, ignoring Bola's silly ways. 'Our people
are dying in silence, our youths are now jobless. Oil spills have sacked us
farmers. The oil companies have damaged our environment and left us poorer than
before. We have no electricity, no water, and no good roads.' The woman put
arms around Abinla's shoulders. 'You
will get us out of this mess, won't you?'
Abinla
looked at the woman and smiled. 'Of course, if we must achieve a good breathing
environment, we must do it together.'
The
woman smiled, patting Abinla's shoulder, she walked away, feeling optimistic.
Bola
chuckled. 'That's our Abinla,' he said. 'Everyone takes her to be the saviour
of Bayelsa State. But I feel that we are doing nothing but hunting wild pig...I
forgot to wear a riding doublet and hose,' he scoffed.
Abinla rolled
her eyes at him.
'Did you hear the old woman?' Bola chuckled, amused. 'Your people were already
poor before but now you blame your poverty on gas flaring, oil exploitation and
oil spill... Can’t you people speak the truth for once? Here I was thinking
Abinla was a poor heiress that would regain her family fortune and sit on the
throne as a princess.' He shook his head. 'What a bunch of liars!'
'Yes, we never had enough but you should
never forget that our lands were green and clean. We used to have a bountiful
harvest. We would stay at least one hour in the water and everywhere would be
filled with fish. We were happy, had a fresh breath, enjoyed the sweet smell of
the rain, and weren’t afraid of cracking walls collapsing in on us. No one fell
sick like we do now. But everything changed since the oil drilling business.
Now we are all facing environmental catastrophe.'
'Were you
born when all these started?' Bola teased her.
'You're always so annoying,' Abinla huffed, walking up to meet with a girl who
was calling her to have a bite from her stale bread.
'Thank you, Amaoge,' Abinla hungrily took a
big bite of the bread and flushed it quickly down with her water. This was the
first bite of food she had taken since morning and she felt happy and a bit
strong.
'Nice to see you all having a
good time,' a voice said.
They turned and saw Mr. Johnson standing not
far from them, wearing a black vest and white trousers, with a book in hand,
and a beautiful smile in his eyes.
'Tariebi,' Mr. Johnson said, pushing his
glasses up his nose, 'why did you decide to tour this place?'
Tariebi
pointed at Bola, 'Well, I happen to have a student who doesn't care about
others.'
They all stared at Bola. Bola looked sad. He
wasn't happy about Tariebi saying he never cared for others.
'Maybe
you would change after this,' Mr. Johnson said to Bola.
'What are you doing here, Mr. Johnson?'
Tariebi asked, looking at the tall Mr. Johnson.
Mr.
Johnson looked at the students and replied, 'I am here to keep you company.'
The students laughed, except for Bola who
looked sad or rather remorseful.
Leading
the way this time, Mr. Johnson took them to the nearby Shell Petroleum
Development Company. 'Many people cannot sleep anymore due to continuous gas
flaring from these oil companies. Since the start of this gas flare we no
longer sleep comfortably like before. No one drinks from the rain water because
when it rains the water will be covered in soot,' he said, pointing at the
water which was already covered in soot.
'What
you mean by soot is that when it rains the layer of the water will turn black?'
A boy who had been silent since the journey spoke up.
'Yes,' Mr. Johnson answered. 'Nearly every facet of our lives has
been affected. Because of joblessness the majority of our youths have joined
militancy and other vices that are inimical to the society,' he spoke as they
walked on. 'We no longer enjoy the nightlife of gathering together enjoying
folktales because of the fear that we might be attacked anytime. We no longer
sit under the shade of trees, savouring the cool air as we tell the story of the
Tortoise and other interesting stories of our culture and tradition.
Anyone might say that the diseases caused by this mess are much higher than the
popular Corona Virus.' He stopped talking and spoke after a moment of silence,
'Those affected by the oil pollution should be given proper treatment, and
those not affected yet, should be taken proper care of.'
'The more the climate changes, the shorter
the life span,' Tariebi added.
'Maybe
if we embark more on technology, we might be safe,' a student suggested.
Abinla
looked at trees that were dying. 'It surprised me when I first saw this place.
It was really flourishing with palm trees.'
Amaoge glanced around. 'Well,
change is something that happens anytime. Bayelsa had been a state flourishing
with trees, farm produce and clean water. But now Bayelsa state as well as
other Niger Delta regions are almost moving to total collapse. All we see is
oil in the forest. No more periwinkles to pick. No more crabs in the river. The
creek is sick. A house can collapse anytime because of too much
cracking. Who knows in ten years' time this place might not be here.' She eyed
Abinla and grinned. 'But I am still optimistic because you have your dream
paradise spurring us every day.' She looked around. ‘I tell you what; I think
we don't need the government to help us anymore. We need to help ourselves if
we want our land flowing with milk and honey. Suppose we finally actualise this
dream of yours, then I will buy you lunch.'
Abinla looked around. 'Where?'
'A
place I think you'd like, Abinla. You would like to have lunch in White House,
right?' Amaoge stuck out her tongue playfully.
'White
House?’ repeated Abinla. 'But you don't have White House Passes. I understand,
we will teleport to White House.' She chuckled, pinching Amaoge's arm
playfully.
Abinla's smile faded when they
saw a great throng of people in a clearing, some of them were youths of the
state who were filled with bitterness, and a few were sick men and women who
had come to do harvest for their farm produce only to harvest nothing due to
oil choking the land. Majority of them looked sick and needed urgent medical
attention.
Glancing at Mr. Johnson, Tariebi said, ‘How can
we help these men and women?’ They are sick and need to take care of
themselves.'
'Can I help a little, Aunty?'
Tariebi shook her head without looking at
Bola.
'Right now we need to help these people,'
Abinla said to Tariebi as she moved further to check on the men and women. 'If
Bola can help send them to hospital or give them food, we should let him.'
'So that he would end up mocking them?' Amaoge
snapped. Her voice was filled with bitterness and contempt.
'My
family is rich,' Bola said proudly. ‘Abinla now understands why it is necessary
to be rich instead of being poor and boasting of building a paradise which
doesn't exist.'
There
was a sudden silence. Heads turned, and all eyes fixed on Bola, who gazed back
at them arrogantly, then on Abinla, who looked as though she had just been
cursed to be poor. Mr. Johnson stepped forward to put a hand on her arm, then
he looked up at Bola with a piercing gaze.
Bola
looked away, muttering, 'I'm sorry.'
Abinla
smiled, then she reached for her plastic school bag to get the medicine she had
bought for her mother this morning after selling some plastic bottles on her
way to school, she realised that her shabby purse had gone. She had wanted to
give the men and women the only money she had as she was hopeful to make some
sales before the end of today.
She
panicked as she checked her plastic bag thoroughly, then the pocket of the
school uniform she wore, and then she looked round the place. 'My purse is
missing...I had one thousand naira in it. I want to give it to these men and
women.'
'Have we been burgled on the
tour?' Bola said, chuckling. Then, from nowhere he lifted the purse and asked,
'Is this the purse you're looking for?'
'You
took my purse?' Abinla took the purse from Bola appalled at the thought of him
taking her purse without her permission. She opened it and was surprised to see
stacks of one thousand naira notes.
'Give the money to the people,
please. Look, I knew we would meet sick people on the way. So, I had to put the
money in my backpack to help them. You
can hate me all you want, but please, give them the money. They are in dire
need of it.'
Abinla wanted to give Bola back his
money but then, she realised that these men and women needed money desperately.
Sighing, she handed the money to Tariebi. 'Aunty, please.'
Tariebi
nodded, taking the money after a long pause. Then, she walked over and handed
the money to them. ‘I know we can't give you enough but we hope these little
tokens will solve a few things for you.'
Abinla
handed them the medicine, and said, 'Get well soon.'
Tariebi, Mr. Johnson and the
students passed little children playing on the streets, many with dirty faces
and bare feet and runny noses. Some of the neighbours united in their sorrow,
talking about having little or nothing. Some were seriously sick and needed
urgent medical attention.
Next,
Mr. Johnson showed them many animals lying dead in the forest, and some on the
streets. 'Forest has become quieter than centuries ago,' Mr. Johnson said, ‘No
more singing birds, only a few surviving birds crying in the forest.'
'What
about lions?' A boy asked in a hushed tone.
'Human
activities have erased most of the animals,' Tariebi answered with a sigh. 'The
surviving ones are escaping to a gentler climate.'
As if on cue, some
animals were seen running away to a gentler climate that would not harm
them. Most of the trees held no branches
which birds could nest and serenade on, so they decided to fly away too.
Was this animal’s
world war? Abinla couldn't help but think as she watched the animals run to
safety. What about the fishes? The surviving ones must have swum to other
clean rivers.
Abinla's boots sank halfway up her calf as well as the boots of other students
and the teachers, when they got to a muddy land soaked almost in oil. Their
clothes were stained with oil. The most pitied was Mr. Johnson who was wearing
white trousers, which had now turned into dark colour.
Looking
ahead, they saw some Niger Delta militants boarding a van. The sight of the men
loaded with arms made Abinla shiver. Lack of job and hardship turned these
men into becoming militants.
After they had toured
for like two to three hours, Tariebi said to the students, 'As you all go home
I want all of you to figure out the best ways we can help Abinla fulfill her
dream paradise. In a simple sentence, find solutions that would help everyone
savour the clean cold air we had lost.'
With that, everyone headed homeward instead of going back to school. However,
Abinla raced down to the pharmacy that she often bought medicines from. She had
given out the last money she had and so there was no penny in her purse. Hoping
for a miracle, she checked her purse again and never found any money. With no
other options, she headed to the pharmacy, hoping that they would sell medicine
to her on credit since she was their regular customer.
She
ran through the market, seeing young boys and girls hawking in their moth-eaten
blouses and shirts. Most of their clothes were slipping off their shoulders. It
was a sorry sight.
The pale-looking market women kept on calling customers to buy from them, hoping
to sell all their produce, even though most of what they sold looked rotten.
Abinla
smiled when she caught sight of a hawker tossing a twenty naira note at a
beggar by the roadside. She could feel the smile that appeared on the face of
the beggar when he picked up the money.
‘Everything will be fine someday,’
Abinla muttered, assuring herself even more as she hurriedly passed the
half-naked mad or rather insane people near the trash dumps. She quickly turned
her face away at the sight of some men who casually stopped to unzip their
trousers to urinate at the corners. What
else could they do? Since there were no toilets or lavatory anywhere around the
market, they had no choice but to urinate at the corners. They couldn’t pee on
their trousers, could they?
Abinla scrunched up her nose at the
smell of the urine, and the dirt that had filled up the market aisles. The time will come when toilets and
conveniences will be built in market places and none of you would have to urinate at the corners of the markets,
Abinla thought hopefully. That day was coming; she could feel it in her heart.
Reaching
the pharmacy, she quickly ran inside, not minding her sandy boots and stained
uniform. 'Good afternoon, Ma’am,' Abinla greeted smilingly at the nurse who was
standing behind the counter, eating corn and ube, her favourite combination.
The
nurse glanced at Abinla and smiled. 'Are you here to buy another medicine for
your mother?' She was looking smart in her white lab coat.
Abinla smiled awkwardly. 'Yes...but this time
I will buy them on credit...may I ask if you would sell the medicine to me? I
promise to pay later.' Though Abinla felt quite embarrassed, for the sake of
her adoring mother, she was willing to do anything.
'What
about the medicine you bought in the morning?' The nurse asked Abinla. 'Did you
give it out? I know you are Mother Teresa...'
'I
had no choice than to do what I did,' Abinla said, coughing.
The
nurse turned around to search the glass cabinet but remembering that her boss
told her in the morning not to sell on credit anymore, the nurse stopped
opening the cabinet, and turned back to Abinla, who was waiting for the
medicine.
'I'm sorry,' the nurse said.
Abinla
had walked inside the pharmacy, hoping that she would buy medicines on credit
for her mother only to hear disappointing words. Was she wrong when she gave
her medicine to those sick men and women?
What's more, having had an empty stomach
since morning, her stomach had been growling. Could she have caught an
ulcer? Having grabbed a bite of stale bread from Amaoge was still the reason
she could walk up to this pharmacy, Abinla thought.
The nurse couldn't help but blame
her for deciding to help others instead of keeping the medicine for her mother
who was the main reason she had bought the medicine. 'I know you want to save
the world but never forget to save your family first.' The nurse stared at her
as if she was giving her some lectures.
'I
understand,' Abinla sighed, and turned to leave.
The nurse
suddenly stopped her and said, 'There is something I would give to you for your
mother.'
When
Abinla heard that the nurse was going to give her something for her mother, she
quickly turned to look at the nurse and said, 'Please, what?'
The
nurse smiled, and said, 'Bamboo leaf tea...' She walked over and retrieved the
Bamboo dried leaves from the glass cabinet by the window, putting them in a
box. She had dried the leaves when she returned to Imo State with them. 'I
brought the leaves when I travelled to Imo State. The leaf tea has astonishing
health benefits. All you need to do is to brew the tea leaves in your tea
pot...'
'I
know how to make the tea,’ Abinla excitedly said, reaching out her hand to take
the box. 'My friend Amaoge gave me a handful of them when she visited her
village in Imo State.'
Grinning,
the nurse said, 'I harvested the fresh bamboo leaves, then I had to allow the
leaves to dry. I also enjoy drinking the fresh ones.' The nurse was willing to
talk more to her because she could see that Abinla loved her mother very much
and was willing to try anything that would keep her mother to her feet. 'Also,
when you are about to give the tea to your mother, you could add some honey...'
'The
bees are on the run,' Abinla said and the nurse chuckled.
Abinla glanced
at the clock on the wall and wanted to leave already to prepare the tea for her
mother, for she felt that her mother needed to take the tea already. If she
didn't leave, the nurse might continue to lecture her. She wanted to leave but
didn't know how to do it. The nurse gave her the tea for free, so she didn't
want to be rude.
The
nurse saw that she wanted to leave and said, ‘I won’t stop you from leaving.
Your mother needs the tea.'
When Abinla was about
to go, she suddenly paused, turned back again, and said to the nurse, ‘Thank
you so much. I sincerely appreciate it.'
'Make
sure to give her a cup every day. Sometimes, we don't need tablets, we need
tea. Bamboo is one of the world's fastest growing plants. Just like coconut,
almost all parts of the bamboo plant can be utilized.'
'I get it,' Abinla smiled and turned
back to leave.
At
the home of Abinla, Ayibaemi took some boiled plantain to his mother, who sat
up on her bed, playing a card. Boma was trying to be strong, so she felt that playing
card games would help her. The glow of the lantern illuminated the room. With
her thick dark hair, and the gentle illumination around her, the woman seemed
replenished with hope.
'Had to boil some
plantain for you,' Ayibaemi said softly as he walked in and sat next to his
mother, placing the bowl of plantain on a chair, he picked up a piece and began
to feed his mother.
Boma
smiled. 'Ayibaemi, I am not handicapped. I can feed myself.'
'No, I should feed you,'
Ayibaemi insisted.
'What
time is it?' Boma asked after a while.
'Almost
five.'
'Five! Why isn't Abinla back?' Boma
was worried.
'They
went for a jungle tour,' Ayibaemi said, sounding amused. 'You know how much
your daughter wants to save the world? I'm sure she is saving the world right
now,' he chuckled.
Boma
glanced at the door, wondering why Abinla wasn't back by now. If she was going
to sell empty plastic bottles, she sold them mostly with Ayibaemi. She would
have been aware that her children were going out for the reason of picking and
selling plastic bottles. Boma was worried that she had to stop eating the
plantain, and stepped out of the bed, touching the cold floor which sent a
shiver down to her brain.
'Mum,'
Ayibaemi walked up to help his mother back to the bed. 'She will be back.
Abinla hasn't saved the world yet, so she won't die until she has done that.'
Ayibaemi tried to convince his mother not to worry. 'If you hadn't sold your
phone, you could have called her. You don't have a phone, Abinla doesn't have
one. So, you have to wait for her to come back.'
'I
don't regret selling my phone to feed you and your sister...'
'Mum, I don't want to cry. I
hate to tell our poverty story,' Ayibaemi said jokingly and Boma smiled, wiping
up her eyes which were filling up with tears.
Just
then, Abinla came in and ran to the bed, looking worried. 'Mum, are you okay?'
She asked worriedly. She reached out her hand and touched her mother's forehead
to feel her temperature. 'You're a little bit cold.'
'Mum,
has been worried about you,' Ayibaemi replied in lieu of his mother.
Boma
stared at her daughter but didn't say anything. She was happy her daughter was
back home, happy that her daughter had a kind heart. She reached out and caressed Abinla's face,
her calloused hand suddenly became so smooth and refreshing to her tired face
that Abinla couldn't help but let out a tear.
'Mum,
I am sorry,' Abinla whispered. 'I gave some people the medicine that Ayibaemi
and I bought for you this morning,' she paused. 'I should have shut my heart
and brought the medicine to you...but those people were so sick that I couldn't
watch them die. I gave them the one thousand naira that was in my purse as
well...'
Boma placed a finger on Abinla's
lips, stopping her from speaking more. 'I understand. You did the right thing.'
Abinla
cast a glance at Ayibaemi. 'Have you eaten already?'
Ayibaemi nodded. 'I was able to sell a
few plastic bottles. I used the money to buy us plantain. Yours is in the
kitchen.'
Abinla
smiled at her younger brother. Then, she opened the box. 'The nurse gave me
some bamboo leaf tea. I will make some for you, mum.' Abinla ran out to prepare
the tea for her mother.
Within
a few minutes, Abinla came back with the cup of bamboo tea. She put it in her
mother's hand and said, 'Please, try and finish it. I added glucose into it.'
Boma
nodded with a smile. Ayibaemi didn't say anything. He sat on the bed, watching
as his mother took a giant sip of the steaming hot cup of tea.
After
Boma finished the cup of tea, she looked up at Abinla. 'I think I like it more
than the tablets. I feel warm now.'
'Really?'
Abinla felt her mother's temperature again, and she smiled when she found out
that it was not as cold as before. She turned to Ayibaemi. 'You have to drink a
cup as well. I will go change my school uniform. I look like a muddy child,'
she jokingly said as she rose to her feet.
Abinla
walked to the small room she shared with her brother and gently, she changed
into a worn out dress. After Abinla changed her dress, she went to her school
bag and pulled out her drawing notebook. The blue notebook had started to lose
its colour but was beautifully engraved Dream Paradise at the top of the
notebook. On the front page of the notebook were the words of George Monbiot,
the British writer known for his environmental and political activism; Nature is a tool we can use to repair our
broken climate…these solutions could make a massive difference, but only if we
leave fossil fuels in the ground as well. How possibly are we going to succeed
in avoiding climate breakdown without nature? Was that really possible? Abinla
had thought.
Settling
herself on their old bamboo bed, she opened the second page of her notebook and
began to look at her drawings, which had beautifully drawn flowers, lakes,
water fountains, trees, animals living friendly with humans, the birds chirping
sweetly, monkeys jumping from one tree branch to the other happily eating
bananas. Then, suddenly, she remembered the bamboo tea, and thought of
including the tree in her drawing. She believes that growing billions of trees
across the world is the easiest way to tackle the climate crisis.
Abinla smiled, and
muttered, 'Dream Paradise.'
Closing her
eyes, she envisioned herself walking among lush trees, plucking colourful
flowers and enjoying their scents, the bright moon lavishing the world with
brilliant lights, the ripening fields and colourful forests, the fields filled
with abundant harvests. She thought of the delightful fields of flowers growing
generously here and there, beautiful land of sunshine, butterflies flitting
from one flower to the other. She imagined herself staring at the upper reaches
of happy trees and listening to the whistling of the wind, causing the leaves
to dance, and the melody the singing birds had.
Abinla
couldn't stop to envision these wonderful things, the savouring clean cold air,
the warmth of her hands, flower bud on her head, her white dress swaying gently
in the wind, basket of fruits on her table, beautiful houses, beautiful
pathways, and animals living happily with humans.
Beautiful
day would arrive, Abinla thought with a sweet smile, and with it comes
my Dream Paradise, everything would flourish. We all would be alive to welcome
the new dawn.
For
a few minutes, Abinla stared at her drawings, and felt that she had a destiny
to fulfill, dreams she had already imagined, of a future that is filled with
sunshine, happiness and laughter. However, for her to show the path to a clean,
green, and just future, for her to bring the world into flourishing, she would
have to work towards it.
Just
then, she remembered the assignment Tariebi gave to her classmates, about
bringing a solution that would help her Dream Paradise come to actualisation,
Abinla couldn't help but smile. Then, after she closed her notebook, she closed
her eyes again. But this time, she fell asleep.
The
next day, Abinla woke up so late for school. It was about eight o'clock that
she was awakened by her mother's footsteps. Immediately, she woke up, and
throwing her wrapper, which served as a blanket, she got out of bed.
'Mum,
why didn't you wake me? I am late for school,' Abinla complained but wasn't
appalled with her mother.
Abinla
rushed out to the bathroom for a quick bath. She came back to the bedroom,
dressed in her uniform. She was so tired yesterday that she didn't have the
strength to wash them.
Boma, who was sitting on the bamboo
bed, looked up at her daughter, frowning at the stained uniform. 'Wear
something else. Your teacher will understand.'
Abinla
sighed and took off the smelly uniform, then went to her box and took out an
old brown blouse and faded pleated black skirt. She had always put her clean
clothes in the box of empty noodles, which she had gotten from a provision
store. Then, she took her dried dress hanging by the window and folded it into
the box. Grabbing her school bag, she started for the door but paused in her
tracks when she heard what her mother said about food waste environmental
impact.
'According
to research, food waste produces 3.3 billion tons of carbon dioxide, a
greenhouse that contributes to climate change,' Boma said.
Abinla
turned to her mother as she said, 'Honestly, if food waste were a country, I'm
sure it would rank the highest in population,' she laughed.
Boma
laughed as well. 'You're probably right. Since you want to change the world, I
think it's necessary for you to know that for us to have our land rolling clean
and green, we are not only tackling oil pollution, we should also try to solve
the problems of food waste by turning them into treasure. The careless way of
people throwing plastics, paper, metals, grocery bags, razors and other things
into the oceans without considering the inhabitants of the water, should be
stopped. Carelessness by humans can also cause danger to our health.’ She
paused and said after a moment of silence, ‘Abinla, humans often rely on
greener economics and reducing greenhouse gas emissions to tackle climate
change but we should know that when living systems are allowed to recover they
can suck carbon dioxide out of the air and lock it up. My point is, according
to an environmental activist, if we preserve species or rather wild animals it
would help slow down the Earth’s Sixth Mass Extinction that scientists say we
are living right now. This is why we should stop animal exploitation.’ She
paused. ‘The problem with the world is greed. We go for things we do not need
or already have in triple.’
'Yes,
you're right,' Abinla nodded in approval. 'I think environmental education
should be included in our curriculum.'
'People
should never forget to protect water for the future generation,’ Boma
continued. ‘ The earth might be blessed with water or rather many bodies of
water, but it is good for us to know that less than 1% of the water on earth is
fit for these uses; Agriculture, Transportation and recreation, Industries and
domestics. However, the remaining 99% is found in oceans, which is saltwater
and not good for consumption or maybe frozen in the polar ice caps, or too
difficult to reach for practical use by cities or communities…once we
understand how much we use water, this would help determine how much water our
household could save for the future. Drought could happen anytime and climate
change has the potential to increase stress on water resources. In other words,
we should learn to protect water. People should also never forget to dispose of
biodegradable and non-biodegradable wastes and avoid littering them around.'
Boma paused for a while and said, 'Just like you, I want to see ripen fields
and colourful flowers, want to see farmers at work harvesting their impressive
farm produce, want to see butterflies flitting from flower to flower, want to
see chirping birds flying high above, heading in V-formation. It would be a
beautiful sight, right?'
Abinla
smiled sweetly. She went to her mother and hugged her. 'You know too much,' she
whispered.
'That's because I am a Science
teacher.' She pinched Abinla's cheek playfully.
'How could you forget that so
soon?'
Abinla
chuckled. 'Tell me, what else do we need to do?’
'According to my research, the world
faces two existential crises; climate breakdown and ecological breakdown. If we
want to welcome a green and clean environment, then we should help each other.
We should work hard to achieve a clean and green environment... I can't wait to
sit on the bench while looking in admiration at the colourful and beautiful
world.'
'Green
is beautiful, and clean is green,' Abinla said, releasing herself from the hug.
‘Greta Thunberg, the Swedish environmental activist, inspires me a lot.’
‘Who is she?’ Boma looked up at
Abinla and asked curiously.
‘Didn’t you know? Greta Thunberg is
known for challenging world leaders to take immediate action for climate change
mitigation.’ Laughing, she added, ‘She persuaded her parents to adopt lifestyle
choices that reduce their own carbon footprint.’
‘Ooh,
I see,’ Boma chuckled. ‘Don’t tell me to become a vegan,’ she pouted her mouth
playfully and Abinla laughed sweetly.
‘I will have
to go.’
‘Are you sure?’ Boma smiled as she
held out Abinla's drawing notebook.
With
a sweet smile Abinla reached for the notebook and headed out after bidding her
mother goodbye. Her mother was feeling better now, Abinla felt happy about
that.
Abinla raced to school, and rushed
to her seat.
'I'm sorry, Aunty Tariebi. Sorry I
was late,' Abinla said to Tariebi who was chalking something on the board. 'I
woke up late. My mother wanted me to have a good sleep so she told my brother
not to wake...' She looked round and saw that the class was almost empty. There
were only two students in the class instead of the regular ten students. What
about the other eighty students? Anyway, no one ever talked about them, for
they would never show up in class, they would only be seen during the West
African Senior School Certificate Examination. So, she should only worry about
the other regular seven students who weren't in the class.
'Abinla,
it's all right,' Tariebi said. 'Amaoge just travelled to get some Bamboo trees
for planting. Bola had contacted his parents to order for flowers, and he has
also written to the Federal Government to join you in your vision of Clean,
Green, and just Future. You know his father was the former governor of Lagos
State, and also All Progressive Congress presidential aspirant.'
Abinla
sat down on her seat. From the corner of her eye she saw that Mr. Johnson was
there. Maybe he was here to help with her vision as well, she thought,
turning to greet Mr. Johnson with a polite smile.
On the desk before Mr. Johnson were
about four or more daily national newspapers; The Guardian, Vanguard, Punch,
Daily Trust and a few others. All the newspapers he was holding talked
about the environmental abuse caused by the oil pollution.
'Instead
of processing gas, oil companies chose a cheaper way of burning it as a waste
product...' Mr. Johnson said to Abinla. He was dressed in a brown shirt and
black trousers. He didn't wear his black rimmed glasses today but he had a
straw hat sitting on his head, which made him look handsome.
'That's
very wrong,' Abinla remembered what her mother told her about the environmental
impact of food waste.
'I know,' Mr. Johnson sighed. 'For
years I have been creating technology that would suck out oil from the ground
without damaging the land,' he smiled. 'I succeeded.'
Abinla
smiled. 'That's nice to hear.'
'Recently,
I read about a South Korean Professor Cho Jae-weon who designed an eco-friendly
toilet connected to a laboratory that uses excrement to produce biogas and
manure. According to him, faeces have
precious value to make energy and manure. I am glad that he put this value into
ecological circulation. Cho said that an average person defecates about 500g a
day, which can be converted to 50 litres of methane gas...’
‘Has
anyone started to use the toilet?’ Abinla asked curiously, smiling.
‘Yes,’
Mr. Johnson replied. ‘The environmental engineer devised a virtual currency
called Ggool, which means honey in
Korean. I googled it and found out that each person using the eco-friendly
toilet earns 10 Ggool a day. Students at UNIST can use the currency to buy
goods on campus, from freshly brewed coffee to instant cup noodles, fruits and
books. Also, students can pick up the products they want at a shop and scan a
QR code to pay with Ggool.’
‘I
think I like Cho Jae-weon already,’ Abinla said happily. ‘He is the kind of man
the world needs. He is saving the world in his own little way. I like this
technological advancement.’ She glanced at Mr. Johnson and asked, ‘Where
actually does he stay?’
‘You
want to meet him?’ Tariebi asked, smiling.
Abinla
laughed but didn’t reply. She had only asked that just to know more about this
man that was able to turn faeces into something treasurable. Yes, she knew that
faeces could serve as manure for farmers but didn’t know that it could become a
source of energy for powering a building, powering a gas stove, hot water
boiler and other things.
‘Cho
Jae-weon is an urban and environmental engineering professor at Ulsan National
Institute of Science Technology in South Korea', Tariebi said to Abinla. ‘So, if you want
to meet this professor that has turned human waste into green energy, he would
be glad if you turn your poop into green energy. Honestly, you will receive a
reward.’
‘Poocoin, Shitcoin…’
Mr. Johnson said, chuckling.
Both Abinla and Tariebi chuckled as well. The other two students in the class were busy
drawing in their large drawing books. They didn’t seem interested in Abinla,
Tariebi and Mr. Johnson’s conversation.
‘Our
urine can be used as an effective and sustainable fertiliser for agriculture,’ Tariebi
said when the chuckling died down. ‘A Singaporean brewery has just made a new
beer from recycled sewage and urine. The drink was given the seal of approval
for international safe drinking standards and deemed clean enough to use in
brewing a pint.’ She smiled. ‘People are now collecting litres of urine and recycling
them for useful purposes. When we collect and purify urine separately it
becomes more environmental friendly than simply allowing it to flow into the
sewer. Everyday scientists are finding renewable sources to power the world in
more sustainable ways. We are no longer going to imagine building an
eco-friendly world; we are going to turn our imagination into reality.
Everything will work out fine if we work together, and depend on each other.'
Abinla
smiled at Tariebi. 'Of course, Aunty. Nothing is a waste. If we can recycle liquid gold of wastewater and turn it
into sustainable use, then we can recycle anything.' When she lifted up her
desktop to put away her books, she saw a piece of paper, which had a flourishing
writing. Curiously, she decided to read through it. It was written by Bola, and
she read it quietly to herself;
Abinla, I am...sorry.
I made you angry. I have also apologised to Aunty Tariebi…I promise to help in
the best way I can to bring the land rolling in green and clean...it's me Bola
Tinubu.
Abinla looked at the yellow piece of
paper, at Bola's carefully written apology with such careful strokes and she
felt that he must have thought it through before writing to her. He was indeed
sorry.
'Abinla,'
called Tariebi from the blackboard. 'Is your mother doing all right?'
Abinla closed her desk and looked
at Tariebi, who stopped writing and turned to face the class. 'Yes,' said
Abinla.
