A needle in my arm is not who I am
The Express Tribune asks heroin users and their families about the painful journey of substance abuse
A man injects himself. PHOTOS: MUHAMMAD IQBAL/EXPRESS
PESHAWAR:
Said Wali’s family does not know how to help him – nothing they say to their boy is getting through. Their boy is a grown man of 27 struggling with heroin addiction.
Like many dealing with relatives who use drugs, Wali’s family went through a period of denial. They saw the signs but, his family tried to rationalise the red flags. Most families attribute the odd behaviour to stress, education or career woes or a bad romance. Saida Khan, Wali’s father and a resident of Tirah Valley, admitted they did not know exactly when Wali started using drugs. But they could see the changes in his routine.
“He would take a bath every day and was fond of playing cricket but we noticed he was becoming lazier with each passing day.” Then came a moment when his parents realised he needed help but unsure of what was ailing him, they took him to a general physician. Saida told The Express Tribune Wali did not really answer the doctor’s questions conclusively so the doctor suggested Wali be kept home for a few days.
Within five hours at home, Saida said, they understood – Wali was a drug addict. Their world came crashing down; Wali’s had already been unravelling for months.
“And that was the moment I wished I was dead – [imagine] the stigma for our family. Had she been living, his mother would have died on the spot.”
Wali, who left school during the primary years, was and still is being blamed for keeping bad company, suggesting his family believes it was other people who led their son astray. This influence was repeatedly identified by family members but Wali would not listen to what his parents or family had to say.
But now, Wali is the family secret. “We feel extremely embarrassed the moment he appears before guests [in our home or hujra] – he’ll be shivering and demanding money for drugs,” added Saida.
“I wanted to commit suicide when I came to know my son had borrowed money,” said Saida. “He started borrowing even from those relatives with whom we lost contact ages ago. This is not acceptable in Pukhtun society.” He said Wali was stealing things; selling the family’s valuables became a routine.
The father keeps going over what went wrong. “I was told Wali had been refusing to bathe for weeks but who would take that seriously; not taking a bath is not a serious issue – am I sick if I don’t take a bath?”
When asked if they knew where Wali is now, Saida replied, “No, we haven’t heard from him in 17 months. We don’t even know if he is dead or alive and we don’t need to know.”
Wali was a functional boy who once upon a time went to school, did his homework, enjoyed a spot of cricket and hung out with his friends. His downward spiral is hard to examine as Wali’s right to write his own history or be considered a member of society worth saving was taken the moment he was identified as an “addict”.
The first taste
It’s easy to ‘other’ the drug user – to paint them as dangerous and degenerates. The portrayal of drug users often looks for the underbelly: the seedy dealer, the shivering addicts huddled around fires or under bridges, the waste of space that previously was a person.
Clutching half a rotting naan, Imran sits on the greenbelt outside the General Bus Stand on GT Road. Wrapped up in a tattered old shawl, the 27-year-old is aware of where he is and how he got there. He admits he has no one to blame but himself.
“You’ll find most of us say that [we started using] because of our friends but no, I approached them [heroin users], sat with them under the bridge outside Central Prison Peshawar,” Imran stated bluntly. “But, yes, I feel guilty because I used to have a nice, normal life,” is how the 27-year-old described the beginning of his drug dependency.
With deft fingers, Imran peeled a stem with a sharp blade. He told The Express Tribune he was from Khyber Agency and has been using drugs for more than eight years. He first started using when he was a teenager.
“I don’t remember if I ever touched a cigarette before I got addicted to heroin,” recalled Imran. “But that evening, around 4pm I left home after a fight with my elder brother and I wanted [to act out by hurting myself].” He added, “I was angry because I knew my brother was right, being against the company I kept – my circle of friends.” Three of his four friends were gamblers, he added, as if that justified his brother’s concerns.
The prophecy loop
Why doesn’t Imran “just stop” using heroin, if he feels guilty? “I am not treated like a human being. Wherever I go, everyone hates me,” offered Imran by way of explanation. He has three brothers and two sisters—all married—but none in touch; Imran has not been home in four years. He said they know about his addiction and even if he returned, his family would never accept him in his current condition.
Without the possibility of acceptance from society, Imran would rather just live out whatever is left of the life which he destroyed.
“I think the only way I can return to any semblance of a normal life is if the authorities stop the supply [of heroin].” In his opinion, “Until and unless the supply is blocked, I can’t think of coming back because so many people relapse even after treatment at hospitals.”
There are places to get help in Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa. Till 2013, there were only 16 rehab centres in all of K-P for almost two million recorded drug users. In 2014, Chief Minister Pervez Khattak announced setting up a 200-bed hospital. According to a handout issued then, the CM directed the centre be set up in any existing building in a couple of days. Finally in 2015, the chief minister inaugurated two buildings for a drug rehabilitation centre in Hayatabad Sakoon Kore III and Sakoon Kore IV run by Dost Foundation. Khyber Teaching Hospital offers free rehab services. Yet all these buildings have no meaning if people who abuse substances feel as isolated as Imran or are wiped out of collective conscience like Wali.
Like many users, the high doesn’t come cheap. When Imran was asked how he affords his habit, he got up from the greenbelt and walked away, saying, “Don’t follow me otherwise I will make cuts on my body.” There are hundreds like him, seeking shelter under bridges, besides railway tracks and around garbage dumps. Every now and then, police bring water cannons, dispersing them like animals. The drug users just get up and regroup at other locations.
“I’ve been using drugs for 33 years – there was a seven-day break in 1987 when I checked myself into a hospital for treatment,” 47-year-old Luqman Hakeem of Charsadda told The Express Tribune. Hakeem is under treatment at KTH. The math is simple – he started his inextricable relationship with drugs at 14.
“I was visiting a shrine with my friends, somewhere near Attock, when I saw them sitting behind a tree,” shared Hakeem. “I was curious. When I asked what they were doing, they offered me heroin – that’s when I tasted it for the first time.” Hakeem has been addicted since.
Happily ever afters
Hakeem said his son left for Germany and his two daughters were at home. “I can’t enjoy my life knowing that my children suddenly grew up and I wasn’t even there for them. I don’t even know how my children studied, got married or left for another country.”
His brothers, who also live in Europe, and his son would send money back home. But since Hakeem was the only remaining man at home, all the money would go through him. Hakeem admitted he would take a substantial chunk to feed his habit and give a small amount to his mother for the house.
“I still remember – I injected myself, came to our hujra, saw a crowd of people and then saw my daughter all set to leave; it was her wedding but I her father did nothing but sit on the charpoy like an unwanted guest.”
Hakeem knew he had isolated everyone. “I have done everything from stealing my wife’s jewellery from the house, to cutting off electricity wires to sell.”
Yet, he says the one thing which racks him with guilt is how he robbed his family of Rs1.3 million. Hakeem’s brother had sent him the money to buy a car and run it as a cab. “I spent the entire amount on drugs but would rent a car daily to show my mother I was driving passengers from Torkham to Peshawar,” he admitted, hanging his head in shame.
Like Imran, he believes everyone had to hate him; how could they trust him anymore. “I love my wife, but since 1990, I have not ever shown her—not even a single tiny gesture—that I love her but she never abandoned me. I have ignored her, beaten her…” Hakeem paused before he said, “I never felt I was married or that I had three children of my own.”
Published in The Express Tribune, May 3rd, 2016.
Said Wali’s family does not know how to help him – nothing they say to their boy is getting through. Their boy is a grown man of 27 struggling with heroin addiction.
Like many dealing with relatives who use drugs, Wali’s family went through a period of denial. They saw the signs but, his family tried to rationalise the red flags. Most families attribute the odd behaviour to stress, education or career woes or a bad romance. Saida Khan, Wali’s father and a resident of Tirah Valley, admitted they did not know exactly when Wali started using drugs. But they could see the changes in his routine.
“He would take a bath every day and was fond of playing cricket but we noticed he was becoming lazier with each passing day.” Then came a moment when his parents realised he needed help but unsure of what was ailing him, they took him to a general physician. Saida told The Express Tribune Wali did not really answer the doctor’s questions conclusively so the doctor suggested Wali be kept home for a few days.
Within five hours at home, Saida said, they understood – Wali was a drug addict. Their world came crashing down; Wali’s had already been unravelling for months.
“And that was the moment I wished I was dead – [imagine] the stigma for our family. Had she been living, his mother would have died on the spot.”
Wali, who left school during the primary years, was and still is being blamed for keeping bad company, suggesting his family believes it was other people who led their son astray. This influence was repeatedly identified by family members but Wali would not listen to what his parents or family had to say.
But now, Wali is the family secret. “We feel extremely embarrassed the moment he appears before guests [in our home or hujra] – he’ll be shivering and demanding money for drugs,” added Saida.
“I wanted to commit suicide when I came to know my son had borrowed money,” said Saida. “He started borrowing even from those relatives with whom we lost contact ages ago. This is not acceptable in Pukhtun society.” He said Wali was stealing things; selling the family’s valuables became a routine.
The father keeps going over what went wrong. “I was told Wali had been refusing to bathe for weeks but who would take that seriously; not taking a bath is not a serious issue – am I sick if I don’t take a bath?”
When asked if they knew where Wali is now, Saida replied, “No, we haven’t heard from him in 17 months. We don’t even know if he is dead or alive and we don’t need to know.”
Wali was a functional boy who once upon a time went to school, did his homework, enjoyed a spot of cricket and hung out with his friends. His downward spiral is hard to examine as Wali’s right to write his own history or be considered a member of society worth saving was taken the moment he was identified as an “addict”.
The first taste
It’s easy to ‘other’ the drug user – to paint them as dangerous and degenerates. The portrayal of drug users often looks for the underbelly: the seedy dealer, the shivering addicts huddled around fires or under bridges, the waste of space that previously was a person.
Clutching half a rotting naan, Imran sits on the greenbelt outside the General Bus Stand on GT Road. Wrapped up in a tattered old shawl, the 27-year-old is aware of where he is and how he got there. He admits he has no one to blame but himself.
“You’ll find most of us say that [we started using] because of our friends but no, I approached them [heroin users], sat with them under the bridge outside Central Prison Peshawar,” Imran stated bluntly. “But, yes, I feel guilty because I used to have a nice, normal life,” is how the 27-year-old described the beginning of his drug dependency.
With deft fingers, Imran peeled a stem with a sharp blade. He told The Express Tribune he was from Khyber Agency and has been using drugs for more than eight years. He first started using when he was a teenager.
Users of drugs gather under Railway Bridge near Central Prison Peshawar.
“I don’t remember if I ever touched a cigarette before I got addicted to heroin,” recalled Imran. “But that evening, around 4pm I left home after a fight with my elder brother and I wanted [to act out by hurting myself].” He added, “I was angry because I knew my brother was right, being against the company I kept – my circle of friends.” Three of his four friends were gamblers, he added, as if that justified his brother’s concerns.
The prophecy loop
Why doesn’t Imran “just stop” using heroin, if he feels guilty? “I am not treated like a human being. Wherever I go, everyone hates me,” offered Imran by way of explanation. He has three brothers and two sisters—all married—but none in touch; Imran has not been home in four years. He said they know about his addiction and even if he returned, his family would never accept him in his current condition.
Without the possibility of acceptance from society, Imran would rather just live out whatever is left of the life which he destroyed.
“I think the only way I can return to any semblance of a normal life is if the authorities stop the supply [of heroin].” In his opinion, “Until and unless the supply is blocked, I can’t think of coming back because so many people relapse even after treatment at hospitals.”
There are places to get help in Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa. Till 2013, there were only 16 rehab centres in all of K-P for almost two million recorded drug users. In 2014, Chief Minister Pervez Khattak announced setting up a 200-bed hospital. According to a handout issued then, the CM directed the centre be set up in any existing building in a couple of days. Finally in 2015, the chief minister inaugurated two buildings for a drug rehabilitation centre in Hayatabad Sakoon Kore III and Sakoon Kore IV run by Dost Foundation. Khyber Teaching Hospital offers free rehab services. Yet all these buildings have no meaning if people who abuse substances feel as isolated as Imran or are wiped out of collective conscience like Wali.
Like many users, the high doesn’t come cheap. When Imran was asked how he affords his habit, he got up from the greenbelt and walked away, saying, “Don’t follow me otherwise I will make cuts on my body.” There are hundreds like him, seeking shelter under bridges, besides railway tracks and around garbage dumps. Every now and then, police bring water cannons, dispersing them like animals. The drug users just get up and regroup at other locations.
“I’ve been using drugs for 33 years – there was a seven-day break in 1987 when I checked myself into a hospital for treatment,” 47-year-old Luqman Hakeem of Charsadda told The Express Tribune. Hakeem is under treatment at KTH. The math is simple – he started his inextricable relationship with drugs at 14.
“I was visiting a shrine with my friends, somewhere near Attock, when I saw them sitting behind a tree,” shared Hakeem. “I was curious. When I asked what they were doing, they offered me heroin – that’s when I tasted it for the first time.” Hakeem has been addicted since.
Happily ever afters
Hakeem said his son left for Germany and his two daughters were at home. “I can’t enjoy my life knowing that my children suddenly grew up and I wasn’t even there for them. I don’t even know how my children studied, got married or left for another country.”
His brothers, who also live in Europe, and his son would send money back home. But since Hakeem was the only remaining man at home, all the money would go through him. Hakeem admitted he would take a substantial chunk to feed his habit and give a small amount to his mother for the house.
“I still remember – I injected myself, came to our hujra, saw a crowd of people and then saw my daughter all set to leave; it was her wedding but I her father did nothing but sit on the charpoy like an unwanted guest.”
Hakeem knew he had isolated everyone. “I have done everything from stealing my wife’s jewellery from the house, to cutting off electricity wires to sell.”
Yet, he says the one thing which racks him with guilt is how he robbed his family of Rs1.3 million. Hakeem’s brother had sent him the money to buy a car and run it as a cab. “I spent the entire amount on drugs but would rent a car daily to show my mother I was driving passengers from Torkham to Peshawar,” he admitted, hanging his head in shame.
Like Imran, he believes everyone had to hate him; how could they trust him anymore. “I love my wife, but since 1990, I have not ever shown her—not even a single tiny gesture—that I love her but she never abandoned me. I have ignored her, beaten her…” Hakeem paused before he said, “I never felt I was married or that I had three children of my own.”
Published in The Express Tribune, May 3rd, 2016.