Venturing into a den of drug addicts, I muttered a timid hello. Silence was the answer. Seconds ticked away, but they felt more like hours. Clearly I wasn’t welcome.
“She just said hello, guys. Come on now,” one of the outreach workers I had come with hollered. Suddenly I was greeted back enthusiastically by the crowd, easing my panic. The message was clear: I had no voice here.
I was flanked by two men from Muslim Education and Welfare Association (Mewa). Since they perform regular outreach services in North Coast, they are well known by all drug abusers and the community at large. But the respect they get stems far deeper than the weekly service they give to the addicts. That’s because Jaymo* and Slim* (not their real names) are reformed drug addicts themselves.
I stood timidly behind Slim, observing the area. The den is accessible from the main road by a narrow, muddy alley. As you walk inside, the feeling is that of stepping into another dimension. You leave all the brightness of the modern world behind and step through the invisible veil of time into a grim, brown past.
One right turn and the view is enough to make a guest flee the scene. Men and women, of all ages are congregated outside an abandoned unfinished house. They sit on piles of uneven rocks lined all around the deserted spot. I followed Jaymo as he went to the heart of the den. I continued greeting the people as I passed them. I could feel their eyes following me even from the back, watching my every move
“Umetuletea mzungu leo?” an older woman with short hair and a leso tied around her chest asked Jaymo, teasing my light complexion. I gave an uneasy laugh.
Jaymo and Slim started setting up an area for the doctor to work. The clinical officer from Mewa was running a HIV testing session that day. The older lady piped up again about how there were no more incentives these days. She asked for the hygiene kits, biscuits and juices, that they used to receive as encouragement to go through with the testing. I sat next to the doctor, watching her work, and even though they had ‘permission’ to conduct the testing right in the centre of the den, the addicts themselves couldn’t be more bothered. They either sat huddled in groups concocting their drugs, or alone in the midst of a crowd, their minds far away in the land of the intoxicated.
Very few came for the testing. The ones who did came timidly because they needed more medical help than just the HIV test. Most of them had sores that won’t heal, and they asked the doctor for medical assistance. She helped where she could. If the situation needed a comprehensive medical diagnosis, she would advise them to go to hospital. Those who were too afraid to go to hospital alone were advised to go to Mewa offices, where one of the outreach workers would accompany them to hospital.
We sat on the opposite side of the addicts. They ignored us, and we didn’t push them to come get tested. I sat on one side of the doctor and Slim sat on the other, manning the new supplies we had brought along with us. The ground between us was littered with empty heroin foil packaging, and old razors were strewn dangerously on the ground. There were no needles on the ground because Jaymo and Slim had hung litter boxes for the disposal of old syringes. As part of their outreach programme, Jaymo and Slim provide regular supplies of new syringes. This system helps reduce transmittable diseases between drug abusers.
I realised I hadn’t seen Jaymo in a long time. When he came back his hands were gloved, he had gloved a pair of tongs as well and he was carrying litter boxes filled with old syringes. He had gone around the whole neighborhood picking up improperly disposed syringes.
I watched him interact with the addicts when he got back. How he talked to them. Somehow the incredibly shy man I met at the Mewa Drop in Centre in Kisauni had transformed into a social butterfly and a ferocious leader of sorts. He was one of them when he sat with them, but they also listened to him when he spoke authoritatively. His popularity and the respect he got from people who were high most of the time triggered my curiosity. I needed to find out how he (and Slim) ended up being well respected among people who — at most times — had no sense of self.
Read main story for the accounts of the two reformed addicts-turned-outreach workers