Wale goes to Roko
Wale Verity was born of African descent in London. His paper round took him past the local chemist’s, an inviting glass-fronted exhibit of neatly packaged vitamins, instant remedies and over-the-counter cough lozenges. He loved the sight and taste of the medicines so much he studied Pharmacy. In the late 1980s, a merger or a hostile takeover, he was not sure which, cost him his job. Later that same year his mother died. An only child, his meagre inheritance having run through his fingers and several baskets of financial products, his musician girlfriend, Ayo, left him. Ayo blamed Wale’s chronic reluctance to extend himself enough to meet her needs to find herself. So Wale marked time in the anticoagulant service of his local community clinic, until the commissioners closed it because he treated well too many patients well. Shortly afterwards, with his last few grains of liquidity and hope running out, he met his rose-petal at a wedding. He perked up again.
Born into a white North Roko family of colonial descent, a kolo, Jane had a degree in English from Toronto University. She taught at a school owned by a North Roko garbage company. Wale “Googled” Niroko and followed soon after, having made up his mind that he would brave an inferno to be with her. They got married in Zadunaria, the capital of North Roko and set up “Veritreatable” a pharmacy and health advisory clinic in the converted garage of the three-bedroomed house Jane inherited from her family. Soon his “little girl girl in the world,” Dele, came along. His friends in London said he had landed on his feet. I’ve got Ayo to thank for that he thought. Then the Chinese found Tantalum; and as they say “anything people dig out of the ground is grounds for killing peoples.”
To be continued.
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