Depression

by Stepney Emeh
edited by Juwah C. Awele

What is depression, is there a clear cut definition? How do you know when you are depressed? What do you do when you or someone you know is feeling depressed? This short piece will try to answer these questions and more, we proceed.

First we will start with what depression is, or is not, and for the purpose of this article, I will make use of the medical term for depression, Major Depressive Disorder (MDD). Significant research has been made into MDD and different guidelines have been put out with which one can determine if a certain person is clinically depressed or not. These guidelines can be found under the following;

§  International Classification of Diseases (ICD) 10th edition; and

§  Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) V

I will be using the DSM V classification for this article due to personal preference. The DSM V says that before a person can adequately be classified as having MDD, the following diagnostic criteria must have been fully checked:

1.     Depressed mood most of the day, nearly every day as indicated by either subjective report (e.g feeling sad, empty, hopeless) or observations made by others (e.g appears tearful).

2.     Markedly diminished interest or pleasure in all, or almost all, activities most of the day, nearly everyday

3.     Significant weight loss when not dieting or weight gain, or decrease or increase in appetite nearly everyday

4.     Insomnia or hypersomnia nearly everyday

5.     Psychomotor retardation or agitation nearly everyday

6.     Fatigue or loss of energy nearly everyday

7.     Feeling of worthlessness or excessive or inappropriate guilt nearly everyday

8.     Diminished ability to think or concentrate or indecisiveness nearly everyday

9.     Recurrent thoughts of death, recurrent suicidal ideations with thought out plans

At least five of the aforementioned symptoms must have been present during the same two week period and represent a change from previous functioning and at least one of the first two symptoms must be present before a clinical diagnosis can be made.

I put up these criteria to underscore the fact that it takes quite a number of things to add up before a person can be considered depressed. Depression requires prompt medical attention and as such the term should not be used loosely. Although there may be situations where the criteria may not necessarily fit, that determination should be left to a health professional.

Suicide

This is a very important aspect of MDD, in fact, it is its major sequelae. From a research done in 2014 by Centre for Disease Control (CDC) in the US, the following facts about suicide in the United States, which may give insight to potential issues and trends here in Nigeria, West Africa or Africa in general, are worthy of note:

§  3.5 - 4% more males die due to suicide than females

§  Suicide is attempted 3 times as often by females

§  Suicide is the 10th leading cause of death currently in the US

§  Suicide was the 2nd leading cause of death for adults between the ages of 10 and 34 in the US

§  Doctors and Dentists have the highest suicide rate among the working class.

According to the World Health Organization (WHO) Mental Health Atlas survey in 2014, the suicide rate in Nigeria is at 6.5 per 100,000 and the Society of Family Physicians of Nigeria also came up with a report that about 7 million Nigerians are living with depression which of course is a risk factor for suicide. It begs the question, why is mental health not being spoken about, why is there such a taboo regarding issues bothering on mental health? It is unfortunate that in our environment these issues are quickly shrugged off as attention seeking but still; what can we as individuals or as a people do to help others, or even ourselves, whenever we see them, or ourselves, falling into that dark space?

As the old saying goes, “Prevention is better than cure.”

We should always check up on friends, family and loved ones as a lot of the time there are subtle cries for help. The DSM V criteria can be used as a detector for these cries and whenever signs point towards the extreme, professional help should be suggested. Again more fora should be made available for the discuss on mental health, especially depression, and persons who have fought the severest forms of this unimaginable mental battle should be given the opportunity to speak and share their stories which could very likely help other people going through similar issues.

Always remember that not everyone who smiles is happy and so it is good to pay attention to the little triggers. Never shrug off anyone who says s/he is feeling depressed or suicidal, rather help in any way you can and always suggest professional help.

Finally, the journey back from a mental breakdown can be long, tedious and very frustrating and patience is required when dealing with issues of the mind; No one should be expected to, "just feel better".

Overall, pray for your friends and family always.

Next

Drugs, Politics & History

by Stepney Emeh

edited by Juwah C. Awele

Welcome to the first of a series of discussions on a range of topics I feel is currently affecting and shaping our existence in what I like to call “today’s Nigeria” and I would like to discuss with the youth, yes that may include you.  

For starters, I would like to talk about the current endemic use of drugs that has swept the young people in and of this country. This particular topic is very important to me for the mere fact that I am a health professional and have seen, first hand, the effect of drug abuse and even medication consumed in very high quantities.

From my research and experiences, I will give you a very simplified classification of the type of drugs currently in circulation in Nigeria and which I believe can be put into two groups:

HARD drugs, group one (1), examples of which include heroin, cocaine, amphetamine, ecstasy, GHB, and alcohol;

SOFT drugs, group two (2), examples of which include cannabis (hash and marijuana are gotten from this) and valium.

When you talk to a generous number of youth in an attempt to find out why they use these drugs, hard or soft, you come to realise that a majority of these young people began substance abuse as a result of peer pressure. Another sizeable number say they started using drugs because a parent or older person at home was a consumer and still some others might site medical reasons such as marijuana for severe headaches, as an anticonvulsant or to help with glaucoma.

The topic of drug abuse seems to have re-emerged in current discourse because there seems to be an increase in drug related deaths in today’s Nigeria, which begs the following questions.

·      Why do we glorify the use of drugs?

·      Why is excessive smoking and drinking currently the new ‘cool’?

·      Why is there a surge in the consumption of drugs?; and

·      Why are the real medical implications of these drugs not being publicised to the youth?

I believe a single response that cuts across these questions is that perceptions are disconnected from reality. The perception that the drugs are just for recreation or that drugs help the users escape daily life struggles are disconnected from the reality that the use of these drugs is slowly, but surely, sucking life out of our youth, the reality of the medical complications.

Before attempting to solve a problem, you must have acknowledged that a problem exists, you must agree that there is one. I may not pull out all the possible facts and figures to convince you but from my experience in the field, I can tell you that there is one and if you are not in a position to see it now, then know that if nothing is done about the current trend then it may soon be clear for you to also see.

We proceed to possible solutions.

The first step is sensitization. We need to let young people know the hazards of snorting powders, smoking combinations and injecting cocktails and this starts from home. It may be a sibling, neighbour, friend, cousin or spouse, advising them, showing them or telling them the adverse effect of these substances. Whoever it is, the message may go a long way in reducing abuse.

The second step is sensitization phase-II. This time led by the community, government and/or corporate bodies., advertisements that will act as reinforcements to the home-based messages need to be put in place through various media platforms – print (newspapers to billboards), audio and visual – to engage and educate our youth. The conversation on substance abuse needs to be driven aggressively by all and considered critically.

The third step is control. How does the government reduce the availability of or at least strictly supervise the use of drugs? We clearly can see that declaring drugs 'illegal' isn't working. The main issue here has been reported on several fronts as the lack of financing for our anti-drug agencies. The NDLEA, NAFDAC and the other outfits need to be adequately funded and personnel of these agencies need to be trained and re-trained to give them the required skills to tackle this new high. The current laws need to be implemented to the letter and a nationwide crack down on drug peddlers needs to be carried out.

The fourth step is adequate rehabilitation. Ideally every teaching hospital should have a well-equipped rehabilitation centre for drug addicts undergoing treatment. Also private individuals should be encouraged to help in building rehabilitation centres. Rehabilitation is important because there is a need to reintegrate people who have fallen prey to addiction into the un-addicted world.

Let us not pretend that this issue does not exist because it is very real. It is an issue that is eating into our youth and you might well know that the Nigerian youth constitute a greater percentage of the general population and are a great potential labour force. A sub-productive younger generation means lower productivity in the nation which in turn means decreased economic viability and possible disaster for the future.

These are just my thoughts and I felt I should share them.

Next

Fantamania, Amnesia and Other Diseases

by Azuka Chiemeke

Amnesia is not such a bad thing sometimes. Once in a while I have found it convenient to forget one faux pas or the other logged in my mind. In fact, one personal indiscretion which I would gladly expunge from memory, but which alas has stuck stubbornly like strands of meat in my teeth, is being caught by my mother, thirteen odd years ago, using offering money to buy suya. Another is when I taught a two-hour class (blissfully?) unaware that the zip of my trousers had been open the whole time. I very much doubt that the erudite damsels at AGGS Onitsha would ever forget the bizarre spectacle of a pair of yellow and pink-patterned boxers, peeping through the khakis of their English teacher (corps member), as he fervently explained the differences between active and passive voices.

Forgetfulness on the other hand can be hurtful, particularly when one is on the receiving end. Like when Amanda who, in the vain hope of making a favourable impression, I took to the Ozone cinemas with the remnants of my NYSC allowance (N3,000), conveniently forgot my existence in the presence of her current boyfriend, a bank manager (happily married, two kids). Yes, I have seen quite a few things.

You can probably imagine my extreme discomfiture when Christie, on whom once I had hung my universe and whose smiles had been the fabric from which my dreams were woven, had the gall to announce – not in the safe confines of a confidential tete a tete, but on twitter and then facebook – that I, Jaja lacked the boldness to woo a girl; that I, Jaja croaked like a frog and screeched like crow; that I had tried with her and failed. I, Jaja.

It is not her that I blame as I remember that cold, dreary September afternoon six years ago when we first met. No, neither is it the fault of my friend Jawbone who introduced us: he was just a cog in fate’s wheel. It was Christie’s black dress, the one with the pretty little blue and white designs, contrasting pleasantly with her fanta-yellow skin, those bright eyes that shone like spanking-new Honda headlamps, those impossibly perfect teeth fit for Close-up ads, the superbly sculpted nose and moonless-night-black hair; it is them that I blame, them and Akon.

Needless to say, I fell in love on the spot, promptly forgetting my name and my manners. Even after Jaw had introduced us, I kept repeating her name to myself for no reason at all, twisting it this way and that, as if it held the secrets of the universe.

I should have spoken my mind there and then? Seized the moment? Told her that I loved her? Declared intentions, or amnesty or something? Carp diem my foot! What did I, a hillbilly, 17-year old 100 level English student of Delta State University, Abraka know about love? We never even uttered the word at home. Yes, we dutifully told our mum that the soup was finger-licking good; we thanked our dad each time he paid our fees; we got worried each time a sibling stayed out late. But tell them we loved them? Never! To us "love" was an exotic animal, an endangered species found only in Daniel Steele, Harlequin novellas and steamy Mexican soaps.

Besides, what if I had told her - then what? Then she would have noticed my worn sandals with more mileage than BRT. Or seen that my Jeans – the only pair I owned – didn't quite reach down to my ankles; my oversized T-shirt, a promo gift from Emzor Paracetamol; the skinny arms that hung limply from my shoulders like broken branches; my hair so thick and unkempt that bush-meat probably roamed free in the undergrowth; my yellow teeth; bloodshot eyes – she would have seen all these, laughed and scolded saying, "love is not for people like you".

So I kept quiet and swallowed my words, choked on them. To my immense joy, Christie and I were course-mates and soon developed a friendship of sorts, after Jaw got out of the way like the good friend he is. Yes, Christie has quite forgotten how I faithfully followed her everywhere like a puppy after its mistress. She no longer remembers the numerous times she caught me staring during lectures and her mischievous smiles in reply. Wasn't that chemistry, proof?

She surely can't remember one night in the female ward of a government hospital when a nosy, overfed matron asked me – I swear on the grave of my dead cat – this matron asked me whether Christie was my "babe". Then I glanced wistfully at the beauty shivering violently on the bed in the throes of a malevolent fever and said, "Yes, yes she is". Just like that but Christie wasn't conscious at the time so it probably didn't count.

So you see, she is so easy to forgive, I don’t blame her. I spent a semester daydreaming of kissing her instead, surely she would taste just like Fanta, wouldn't she? After all, she was yellow just as an orange. So on and on I fantasized and each time I joined Jaw and the Room-19 gang at Coke-spot I stuck to Fanta while the others chugged Sprite, Coke and Schwepps. And then disaster. I looked on as the entire male population of DELSU Abraka wooed her, watched helplessly as beau after beau courted her. I saw her slipping from my hands like sand through a sieve but I simmered like a pot of stew.

You've got to hand it to those DELSU guys though. I mean those guys were pros, they knew how to woo girls. Academic endeavours aside, those belated undergraduates majored in taking ladies out to fancy restaurants like Bravo and Genesis where they fed their charges fat with chicken and rice and coke and fanta, slipping little morsels of flattery and lies in between. Those smooth operators – mostly SUG stalwarts sporting starched shirts, designer wristwatches and car keys – they found the strings to the girls' hearts and played with the dexterity of concert guitarists. They pirouetted the girls like ballerinas, spinning the damsels senseless like carousels. Then like harrier hawks they went for the kill.

Not one to be outdone by the competition, I quickly struck back. I plagiarized Shakespeare, devoured several self-help books, notably The Art of Public Speaking, Dating for Dummies, Wooing 101 and How to Get Your Dream Girl in Ten Easy Steps, studying them with the seriousness of a final-year medical student. I understudied the most accomplished Don Juans on campus. I drank Fanta. To coax more money from my dad I invented non-existent fees and phantom textbooks. With the proceeds of my treachery I bought a few passable second-hand clothes. I prepared frantically for the sessional exams, determined to make an all-round impression on Christie. Of course after taking any paper I would fortify myself with more Fanta. I cut my hair.

First semester, year two, I was finally ready. I took Christie to Coke-spot where we devoured wrap after wrap of Gala and drank bottles of Fanta; she loved it too, little wonder her complexion. I took her on walks to the bank of river Ethiope behind the Girls' hostels – since the more fancy beaches like Mudi and Arthur's were too expensive, being the exclusive preserve of those lecherous SUG chieftains and their bikini-clad acolytes. Certainly, that was enough proof of my love and devotion, wasn't it? What do you mean? I should have popped the question? Don't be silly. That would have been merely superfluous.

I tried, I really did! But to no avail. Yes I chose words carefully, like a suit-tailor his material and sewed those words together into phrases, phrases into clauses and then sentences. I washed them, ironed them, checked for tense, concord, punctuation and removed dangling modifiers. Then I tried them on for size but they didn’t fit. Ah! Imagine my pain, I could not tell Christie. So I consoled myself with even more Fanta.

As expected, Despair that portentous landlord of my mind came demanding rent and in my frustration I let loose my inhibitions, freed myself of all restraints and set off on a spree. I dated girls of all kinds – tall, not so tall, thin, busty, Igbo, Urhobo, Igala, Ghanaian, and even Somalian; I swear, Akpevwe and Stacy are my witnesses.

I slowly garnered a reputation as an inveterate serial kisser. My haunt was that open space in front of Council Hall, popularly dubbed "Small Market" by its other patrons. But all these girls were nothing like Christie. They tasted of sawdust, locust beans, garlic and engine oil but definitely not like Fanta.

Then, Final year, second semester; time was fast slipping by. Christie and I had remained friends through thick and thin, SUG stalwarts, Ghanaian beauties and nosy matrons notwithstanding. She said nothing and I kept mum, hiding my feelings like stolen funds squirreled away in Swiss banks.

However, one night, a week before our final exams, Courage – that prodigal son of mine – had snuck up to me like Nicodemus. In between the old AfriBank ATM and the staff quarters on Campus 2, I brought out my words from their hiding place and said them. As wrinkled as they were, I bared my heart before Christie; a million stars winked that night in admiration of my candour and a thousand crickets chirped offering moral support. I even smiled just like they do in those Dettol ads: "If I don't take care of her...."

You want to know what happened, you really want to know? Well, inclining her head, first to the right and then to the left, Christie took a long look down at me smirking, I had knelt in supplication. She took my heart, tried it on like a wedding dress and then rent it like sack-cloth before my very eyes. She turned and sauntered to her hostel.

What could I do? I just knelt there because I was too dumbstruck to move. My heart had sunk like the ill-fated Black Swan, all my hopes and fantasies were shipwrecked just like the Spanish vessel. I just stayed there like Jonah on the shores of Nineveh; like castaway fish rotting at the riverbank. What did I do? I forgave.

I forgave her as I got up, dusted my trousers and walked home, blinking back the tears that stung my eyes (I didn’t cry, mind you). I forgave her for not picking my calls the next morning, for never ever speaking to me again. I exonerated her as those clowns in Room 19 turned me to a laughing stock up till my graduation. I gave excuses on Christie's behalf even though she refused to invite me to her wedding (she is happily married, one kid, heavily pregnant with a second), I forgave.

Unlike her I never forgot, neither did the stars but the crickets are long gone. I know she did not lie but simply can’t remember. Time heals all wounds, they say; save for tribal marks.

I no longer drink Fanta.

P.S

1. DISCLAIMER: The above story is a work of fiction. While purely co-incidental, any similarities to real persons (living or dead), places and events are however NOT regretted.

2. For more information on the lecherous antics of SUG members please contact the Students' Affairs Division of your nearest higher institution.

3. The writer of this piece is an Achebe wannabe (currently unemployed), who, under the pitiable delusion of someday winning the Booker Prize, divides his time between writing bland, colourless prose and composing nonsensical verse. In his bountiful spare moments he gossips (over bottles of Chelsea Dry Gin) with his friend and fellow writer, Steven Osiegbu, wooes his neighbour's househelp (Onome) and supports Manchester United. He has never drunk Fanta.

All rights reserved© 2013

Next

When the Job is not Enough

by Chidiogo Mbonu

edited by Juwah C.A.

(Image Source)

I hear it wherever I go – at work, social gatherings and even on the bus. It seems it has become a mantra of some sort for Nigerians, especially young Nigerians. It takes different forms, but falls generally within the lines of, “I don tire for that my work”, “Ooh, tomorrow is Monday” and “I can’t wait till its Friday/Make Friday come abeg.” Rarely anybody today seems happy to go to work or seems fulfilled doing what they do. I am in the same shoes – the unhappy ones – and my curiosity or should I say my fear of never escaping this gloomy pit has set me to discover the reason for the widespread song of job dissatisfaction.

The first step I took was to randomly ask people what their ideal job would be. It turned out, interestingly, that most people did not have any particular kind of job in mind. All that mattered, they said, was how much they were going to get paid. A few other people, however, did not care so much for the money. These other people just wanted a job that afforded them an awesome work-life balance. There were those still who said that their current jobs were the furthest possible thing from their dreams and so they wouldn’t hold their breaths waiting for happiness. This third group say they just work because the nation has nothing better to offer them.

Now I was making some progress, I had in a way determined three fundamental causes of employment unhappiness – small salary, zero work-life balance and negative passion. The next thing I did, and my second step, was to conduct an online survey. My aim was to expand the sample pool and by so doing, find out if more people agreed with the premises I had extracted from my enquiries. If people did agree with my fundamentals, then I wanted to know which premise, in their opinions, posed the greatest obstacle to being satisfied with work (in Nigeria).

The survey consisted of 10 simple questions ranging from, “How satisfied are you with your job?” to “Will you be willing to leave your current job even without another?” Below are my findings, but first I should mention that the survey is still open and that the research is still on:

1.     80.8% of the respondents agree – 42.3% strongly so – that a significant pay rise would make them happier with their jobs.

2.     61.5% of the people are dissatisfied to various degrees but 15.4% are not satisfied at all.

3.     57.7% say that their current jobs were in line with their dreams (but remember that 61.5% of the respondents are dissatisfied.)

4.     57.7% again say that they have a healthy work life balance (yet work doesn’t seem so great for 61.5% of the total respondents.)

5.     23.1% of the population do not feel appreciated at work but 38.5% do, the rest, however, are not sure how they feel.

6.     65.4% of the people disagree that their colleagues make the job difficult but 15.4% agree

7.     50% of the repliers – 26.9% strongly so – are of the opinion that a lack of tools and resources make work difficult; 15.4% of the population are indifferent.

8.     96% of our respondents believe there would be better job opportunities if the economy improves, not a single soul disagreed with this, almost unanimous.

9.     81% of my population is not willing to resign without having another job (neither would I, ”A bird at hand is worth more than ten in the bush”)

10.  As for the alignment of personal with organisational goals, it was close: yes, 38.5%; no, 34.6%.

I had subtly initially assumed that job dissatisfaction partly stemmed from elements of the working environment but the significant percentage of respondents who were fine with their work environment quenched that thought. In fact, an early interviewee actually told me that he wishes he could have his colleagues around during the weekend as well.

The summary of the responses for me is that there is still no summary, I definitely have more work to do. Nevertheless, I have gained some insight that I feel is worthy of being shared. I believe many people would quite naturally be happier, but not necessarily happy, with work if their pay increases. I perceive that having a job that you are passionate about or that you feel is adequately challenging is perhaps not enough to bring full satisfaction. I was surprised that even people with enough time for life outside work were not quite content – another initial assumption quashed, how wrong I was.

To conclude, as every great write up must have a conclusion, I believe, for now, that being satisfied with anything including a job remains in the state of the mind. I strongly believe that an important part of all that is needed is for an individual to pursue his/her interest in a particular field and to keep developing himself/herself in that field. For now you need to re-wire your brain to see the best in your colleagues and the tasks at hand. You must create your personal priorities in life, develop your abilities and attitude, and finally build the mentality of being part of something greater than yourself. I truly believe all these will make you different and special, hey, it’s working for me.

This true life story adapted from John Nemo’s ‘Fired Up: Ignite Your Passion. Love Your Work. Live Your Legacy!’ embodies my point, it goes:

‎During a visit to the NASA space centre in 1962, President John F. Kennedy noticed a janitor carrying a broom. He interrupted his tour, walked over to the man and said, "Hi, I'm Jack Kennedy. What are you doing?"

"Well, Mr. President," the janitor responded, "I'm helping put a man on the moon." 

‎To most people, this janitor was just cleaning the building. But in the more mythic, larger story unfolding around him, he was helping to make history.

Here's the point: No matter how large or small your role, you are contributing to the larger story unfolding within your life, your business and your organization.

And when your entire team embraces that type of attitude and belief system, incredible things happen. Satisfaction is achieved. ‎

Without this satisfaction and appreciation, the job you are doing will always be problematic or boring, and will heavily impact on how long you keep at it, whether or not you have all the incentives in the world.‎

The End (…for now)

(Image Source)

Next

GOD OF WAR Z: BLOODLUST IN SYRIA!

Kratos (Image Source)

There is blood everywhere, there is war somewhere – peace has forever been an elusive existence, only dropping by on the eve of destruction. There is too much being shed on the global scene and children are growing never having known a semblance of serenity.

When you come up against the God of War you should know that resistance is futile, just as dry cloth first resists water but inevitably succumbs to the rain, Ares assuredly comes to claim his victory.

Il y a du sang partout!

The Ghost of Sparta killed his wife&daughter and then sought revenge on his master, Ares, the erstwhile god of war for deceiving him to commit the murder. Kratos exerted his revenge with a hand from Athena and another from the troubles in the Box of Pandora, to became the God of War! The Ghost of Sparta’s was an existence of revenge and seeking freedom: from his Ascension to the Chains of Olympus, from Betrayal to his Rise as The Warrior, blood followed Kratos and not even the cities of Attica were spared.

God of raW: Bashar Al-Assad?

The Syrian civil war has been described by sources including Aljazeera as “the deadliest conflict the 21st century has witnessed so far”. Resentment driven by “lack of Freedom”, economic strife and outrage from the “crackdown” on Syrians bringing the Arab Spring through the Southern City of Deraa are reportedly the blades that slit the first wrists. The bloodshed rages, six years on and Russia, America, Turkey, Iraq, Iran and Saudi Arabia have turned Syria into a proxy battlefield. These members of the international community, amongst others, have had a hand in death of “more than 465,000 Syrians” and in making “over 12 million Syrians” homeless in their own home.

Peace talks and Geneva conventions have crashed and burnt while “one of the largest exoduses”, according to BBC, in the modern era unfolds. From Aleppo and Deir Az Zor to Damascus, the situation in Syria is sad and disgraceful. Let us forget who is to blame but remember that two wrongs do not make a right and three certainly make no sense.

About half of Syria’s refugees are children, “2.4 million”, and so my wonder is who or what the Sunni and Shia Alawite are fighting for. Tomorrow should always to be for the children and the time for this aging generation to live the high life is gone. The goal of the day should be a better tomorrow, for the children of today to live in peace and for us, when we are weak and frail, that there may be the calm and resources for our care.

Elements of tomorrow are in the air, but you need to understand the chemistry. Reports have it that the ‘chemical weapons’ red line has been crossed, this has now truly gone beyond mortal warfare.

Bashar Al-Assad: God of War?

Bashar Al-Assad (Image Source)

Next

Drug Abuse: A User's Perspective

by Tosan Alexis Dorti and Juwah C. Awele

Marcy McNeal

“It was Friday #tgif and I was on campus. As usual the week was dull and mentally exhausting: boring lecturers, electives, silly lectures, project, unnecessary tests, and the list could go on but who cares. It was Friday, it was time to chill and relax before the world would try to come and kill me with stress. I cannot kill myself abeg and so, what better way to begin the weekend than with a couple of finely rolled chocolate royales or if you like, skunk, grass, Mary-Jane, weed, ganja but officially cannabis. They say Mary-Jane is the starter pack for serious drug abuse, hard stuff like cocaine and hero but I say whatever, who cares.

It was now late in the evening and only two distantly spaced sodium-vapour street lights brightened the road behind my hostel with a deep shade of orange. Brunei, that’s my hostel, was a pack of self-contained flats starting at a basement and ending up on a second floor. The rooms were stacked in a square with a smaller, parallel square-courtyard at the center and an old and scarcely used road passing right behind, behind being the face of the old box looking away from the main campus. The front of each of one hundred flats pointed towards the center of the yard and each, except some basement flats with only rear windows, had a balcony out back. The ambience behind Brunei was on point; the sky was blank and starless, the deep orange from the lamps was bright but didn’t shine far and there was perfect silence but for the crickets in the distance. But even the noise from the pests somehow made sense, it jived with the setting, I lit up!

What better scenery could I have asked for? I was at the rear balcony of the abandoned kitchenette on the corner of the second floor, and I struck my blue-headed match stick against the wall. It exploded in an instant with the aggression of an RPG-7 anti-tank rocket launcher but then crackled and fizzled in the seconds that followed into the void of near silence and a steady flame. I guided that flame against the wind to the joint already waiting between my lips, it made contact with the tip and I drew a deep breath. The burning embers of my smoke stood out in the darkness, resonating with the deep orange of the lamps down below. A wisp of smoke from the smoldering tip ascended just for the sake of ascension as I took in that breath, great stuff, I exhaled.”

A friend collapses today and another suffers a stroke the day after, the common denominator, drugs. Drug abuse is a dangerous present day phenomenon with the ‘simple’ use of narcotics being viewed as normal in Nigeria and many places around the world. Stimulants, sedatives or any of their many appellations are becoming a serious issue just as the crack epidemic was in the US in the 80's and early 90's, leading to the then President Richard Nixon tagging it Public Enemy Number 1.

The blue watermark of rophynol aka rochi on the tongue is evidence for why another bro’s brain skips the beat midway through every sentence. The demand for codeine has gone beyond just its ability to alleviate cough and expanded into its ‘soft drink’ phase. It has become necessary that we as a people stand up and fight for a cause that is not only economically but also socially uplifting, it has become pertinent that we once again go up against Public Enemy Number 2 – sorry, corruption has been hugging the top spot on Nigeria’s top public enemy billboard for over fifty years.

One can only wonder what the drug enforcement agency is doing - a division that was created by Decree 48 0f 1989. "There is thriving Indian hemp cultivation in the South-west and South-south geo-political zones of Nigeria." They ought to go after the manufacturers and those who profit from the business rather than the users who are an endangered species, just like Kwankwaso did in Kano at the inception of his administration in 2011. "If you take an estimate of 10 boys particularly in Kano, seven will be on drugs." The former Director General of the National Drug Law Enforcement Agency, Mr. Otunba Ipinmisho, says that there is no money to follow the barons, dope pushers, candy men or whatever you call them. 

Let’s get clinical. Drug abuse technically is the deliberate use of chemical substances for reasons other than intended medical purposes and which result in physical, mental, emotional or social impairment of the user. Peer pressure seems to be what launches so many onto this path, especially young people who are trying to fit in, who want to belong, be cool. #Newsflash, parents need to teach their sons and daughters what the heck self-esteem is, they need to teach their kids that no one needs drugs to be cool, to belong - just do you.

The illicit drug business is one of the top 3 consumer based business worldwide even with it having no need for advertisement just like ijebu garri. The consequences; crack babies, dead livers, damaged kidney, sagging boobs, destroyed nose linings, Nigeria losses $2bn to India monthly for medical tourism, the list could go on but who cares. Nigeria’s poor health budget does not have time to deal with the repercussions of trifle things as dipsomania so, a word is enough for the wise and as they say "If e no good for your brain, QUIT" #PeaceOut

Drugs and Young People

Next