Chapter Nine

'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.'