The Sponsor

Fred

Fred woke up with a mind numbing migraine. He had not touched drugs for a week and the withdrawal was incredulous. They had given him pieces of chewing gum that were supposed to act as a substitute for his addiction but they had no effect on him. If anything he felt more aggravated.

His room had a supervisor who made sure he bathed and had a change of clothes. That was done by 6am. By 6;30 am he was in the dining hall having breakfast. A buffet of sausages, eggs, French beans, toast and fruits. He poured himself a glass of juice, put two sausages on a plate and went and sat in a corner.

He watched people stream in. People who wanted a second chance in life. Men with scars, charred fingers and darkening lips that suggested heavy smoking. Girls with spots on their skin, cracked lips and withering frames. He looked at them streaming in and felt that he was nothing like them. He needed to get out of here. Fast.

After breakfast they sat down for the first session of the day where a counselor would urge them to share their story: How they got into drugs, what drugs they were using and what was pushing them towards redemption. There was a green rod and when it was passed to you, you would say something and pass it to the other person.

Fred found most stories dull.

"I started with cigarettes then bhang and graduated to powder. My friend introduced me. I want to be clean, I'm tired of seeing my family suffer because of me." a grown woman perhaps in her early forties said.

"I'm doing this for my kid because it's gotten to a point where I'd rather buy powder than pay her school fees," A chap added.

"I want to do this for my well-being, I got wasted in the club the other day and a dozen men violated me," a girl trembling in the corner whispered.

When the green rod got to Fred he picked it and passed it to the next person.

Afternoons were therapy time. You sat with your counselor and according to your progress or lack thereof he would prescribe activities, medicine or move you up a level if you were doing well.

There were four levels. Red, Blue, Grey and Green. People who wore red were in critical condition, considered functionless in society. People in blue had accepted that they had a problem. People in Grey had accepted they had a problem and they were putting effort to recuperate. People in green were fully recovered, they were in their last lessons awaiting discharge.

"Let's start this over again," Fred's counselor started. "When did your drug problem begin?"

"I don't have a drug problem," Fred said while lying on the couch in his red regalia.