Several weeks ago while I was buying fruits at our local market, a young man walked up to me and begged me to buy him food. From the look of things, this brother didn't just need food; he needed an entire makeover. His lips were ashen and cracked. He was shaggy and his clothes barely hung on his wire-thin frame.
The fruit sellers eyed me as if to tell me that this brother was trying to Hornswoggle me. From their body language, it seemed like they knew Hornswoggle and his ilk.
I have one principle concerning such situations; when a stranger stops me in the streets - (and it has happened many times) - and tells me he is hungry, I look for a food kiosk, pay the bill, and request the trader not to give the person I’m buying food for money. That's exactly what I did. I paid for some bananas and left.
“Hey, Sir,” the greengrocer rushed after me a minute later. “Take your money. We know these types of people. He is asking us to give him the money, claiming he would buy food later.”
“He wanted the money to go and buy muguka ,” the greengrocer explained.
I had thought about this. But I gave Hornswoggle the benefit of the doubt. I did not want to cast aspersions or judge him, as I did not know what he was going through.
This is not an isolated case. In our country, some men have become slaves of substance. These are men who should be building the nation. However, their dreams are coming down right before our eyes. And these are dreams that are supposed to take their communities and the country to the next level.
This means that, in the grand scheme of things, and when I zoom out from that interaction with that addicted brother - and have a macro outlook - I will also lose. The addicted brother's loss is mine as well. It takes two to build a nation. And when one person - or, in our case - an entire generation is too addicted to pull its weight, then we will all lag.
One man's slavery costs other men their freedom. One man's addiction affects other men in ways, immeasurable ways, which nobody can perceive or quantify.
If we only knew the innovations, skills, and developments that addictions are robbing us of, we would treat this issue with the seriousness it deserves. We would go on an all-out war to stem its tide, the same way we did with the pandemic.
We were all born for a purpose. And the Enemy comes, in sneaky ways, scheming to kill, steal, and destroy our purpose.
I would have loved to know the dream of the addicted brother, who wanted a 10 bob. Maybe, just maybe, he was born to play a central role in our nation's next big leap. But now we are all being robbed in broad daylight and, because we can't see the big picture, all we do is complain that he's a bother.
I feel for families whose loved ones are battling alcohol and substance abuse. I cannot fathom the pain that comes with giving your child everything and spending all your resources, then seeing him roaming all over the estate, begging for 10 shillings to fuel an addiction.
Some of us who are on the outside looking in may blame the parents. We may even blame the addicted brother. But I have learned to hold my tongue and reserve my judgment. I have learned to whisper silent prayers to all the affected persons. And that's because we are all one family.
