Chapter Sixteen

 '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.