I could have been a junkie

Sep 14, 2008 News

---

By Michael Benjamin

Junkies
They proliferate the Bourda Green. Just for the fun of it, I conducted a manual count. In every five persons that passed my way, one was a junkie.

They all had one thing in common; they were all smelly and unkempt. They earned their living by providing cheap labour in the daytime, and some of them have admitted to stealing at nights. The majority has suffered the indignity of imprisonment.

There was something else that I noticed about these junkies that bothered me. They were resentful of folks that were not of their kin, as though these people were responsible for their sordid state.

Every morning, I would arrive at the market at around 07:00hrs and open up my stall to start business for the day. The unavoidable sight of junkies emanating putrid odours, always on the hunt to con some unwittingly hapless soul, all comprised the layout of the market. They disgusted me.

Six months ago, on Tuesday March 11, I was standing in close proximity to the Communications Centre at the University of Guyana awaiting the commencement of the DSW 328 lectures. This course dealt specifically with alcoholism and drug abuse.

Barely five minutes had elapsed when a man, from among a group of three, approached and attempted to engage me in conversation. My short, crisp responses warned him that I was in no mood for idle talk, so he decided to let me be.

He and his colleagues subsequently retraced their steps and headed for the Spicy Dish Canteen at the northern end of the campus. Instinctively, I dismissed them from my mind.

Unknowingly, I had had my first interaction with one of the members of the recovery community that was there for a planned interactive session with my class. I became aware of their mission only after they had eaten and returned to the classroom.

Clarence Young was in charge of the group that included Robert, Wayne, Jack and a lone female, Odessa, who attended the sessions in the capacity of counsellor.

She operated out of the Phoenix Drug Rehabilitation Centre in Mon Repos. This institution helps recovering addicts deal with the intricacies associated with recovery.

The session lasted for about two hours, with each recovering addict recounting his experiences, the fluctuating circumstances, and the embarrassment associated with substance abuse.

Rastafarianism
I grew up during what I wish to refer to as the ‘Rastafari Boom.’ This was the time when scores of young men screwed up their hair in dread lock fashion and advocated a strong love and devotion to Haile Selassie, His Imperial Majesty. Marijuana was, and still is, regarded as a sacred herb.

The ‘Rastas’ would light up the chalice, and amidst loud chants of “Jah Rastafari,” they would pursue the rituals of smoking ganja while reading the Psalms.

I had six brothers, two of whom were ‘Rastas.’ I never smoked weed, but I really enjoyed the ‘ital.’ This meal was cooked in what the ‘Rastas’ referred to as ‘a yat.’

They would then scoop hefty portions in a calabash and offer the brethren a sip. I sipped the ‘yude’ but I never smoked the ‘ganja.’

Stereotypes
Junkies are people that are hooked on illicit drugs to the extent that they steal, beg, prostitute, or indulge in other decadent behaviour to feed this vice.

History is replete with such individuals who, at one time, were financially well off, until they ill-advisedly experimented with a marijuana cigarette, cocaine, or other addictive substance.

The addictive nature of these substances inevitably transforms users into devious, scheming and conniving people.

The desire to slake an insatiable thirst for drugs soon ensures the depletion of their funds. Junkies suffer rejection, abuse, and vile criticism from family members as well as associates.

With rejection on one hand, and the need to satisfy an insatiable vice on the other, junkies resort to unorthodox methods to feed their illicit vocation.

Junkies are virtual nuisances. They will employ crafty ways to swindle a few dollars from gullible people. They ignore basic hygienic procedures, become dirty and unclean and, as a result, carry a terrible odour.

Such anti-social dispositions precipitate rejection by family members and close friends. Most junkies are homeless because relatives become disgusted with their dishonesty and deception and reluctantly order them out of the home.

Jail is a real and immediate threat because, after junkies would have liquidated all legal options to procure money to feed their habit, they resort to unlawful and anti-social behaviours to attend to their dirty habit. Junkies are parasitic creatures that steal expensive stuff and sell them for ridiculously negligible sums.

These are only a small sample of the views I nurtured of drug addicts. I have been the victim of many thefts and have had to replace expensive stuff that junkies stole.

Whether addicted to marijuana, cocaine, heroin or amphetamines, I noticed that addicts behaved unreasonably irrationally and cannot be trusted. I felt that persons of such ilk were nuisances and parasites and belonged in jail.

They prey on law-abiding citizens, devising ingenuous ways of robbing them of their hard-earned possessions. I cannot remember ever seeing a well-dressed junkie.

They are always unkempt, dirty looking and carry unpleasant odours. I have never encountered an addict who did not steal to feed his/her dirty habit.

Loaded with these preconceived notions, I attended the discussions with the aforementioned group.
Prior to our initial meeting on the catwalk, this was my only interaction with the group. It was refreshing to note that each member of the group was aware that he had transgressed.

The first sign of repentance was their willingness to bare their souls to a bunch of total strangers, their sole intention being to minimize the unfortunate blunders that they had made.

Midway into the first presentation, I felt a twinge of embarrassment. The preconceived notions that I had initially nurtured quickly dissipated as I listened to their individual recitations.

I confessed to myself that I had been unfairly judgmental, without the benefit of all the facts pertaining to addiction and the addicted. Prior to this interactive session, I had many encounters with addicts.

I have discovered that, despite their sincerest promises to curb the habit, as soon as they are released from rehabilitation centres, they weaken and subsequently relapse into old vices. They then recoil under the veil of self-denial.

Now, here was a bunch of young men who willingly engaged in a stirring, soul-baring session with an aim of sensitizing the uninitiated to the vileness of drug use. Such candid and frank revelations impressed me to the point that I felt renewed respect for them.

Obviously, the situation required great courage for the recovering addicts to bare their souls before virtual strangers, knowing fully well that they risked incurring the wrath and scorn of that group. I applauded their pluck.

Impression
Every member of the recovering group was well dressed. Junkies do not own anything of value, much less nice clothing and shoes. These items promptly exchange hands with the dealer for a joint or a smoke. Their overall disposition somehow substantiated their boast of abstinence.

Jack was the first at the podium. He painstakingly described the many challenges and embarrassments that he faced while addicted to cocaine. He juxtaposed this feeling with that of a man with an urge to have sex.

“Try resisting the temptation of having sex for, let’s say, six months. The anxiety and frustration you experience is on par with the way a junkie feels when he cannot get a fix,” he pointed out.

The other members of the group recited similar sordid experiences while actively involved in drug use and the challenges faced on the road to recovery.

Their unrestrained confessions really impressed me. I even questioned if I were in their position whether I would have had such courage to fight off the demonic forces that attempted to drag me back into such decadent activity.

My new outlook of junkies was not as outcasts, but as people that desperately needed the support of society to take control of their lives.

Conclusion
Drug addiction is a family problem. A family that is closely knit will obviously feel the effects when one member suffers the ignominy of drug abuse. Fortunately, even though two of my brothers were Rastafarians, they somehow managed to stay far from other hard drugs, like cocaine and heroin, among others.

Nevertheless, I have a close friend who is addicted to cocaine. While I fully understand the technicality associated with intervention, and the need to show him empathy, the issue is not so simplistic. On several occasions, after allegations of theft, the police detained him and I was forced to intervene.

One part of me warned that jail is the most viable solution, while another section of my brain implores me to give him a second lease on life. I always succumb to the second option. Friends are forgiving and tolerant, but friends must also be honest.

Your better judgment warns that only one decision is viable, yet strong bonds prevent irrational choices. Addiction is an extremely complex situation that requires understanding and compassion.

I remember my impetuous days when I hung out with friends who experimented with drugs. Back then, I refused to succumb to peer pressure.

I am now more informed, so it is more difficult for anyone to manipulate me. As a young man, I was exposed to cocaine. I could have been a drug addict then.

By now, I would have been a full-fledged junkie, that is if I was still alive. But you know what, I said a resounding NO. Young people, I urge you to do the same. Don’t experiment with drugs, not even once!

---

---