Austen Tania, Shining Star College, Abuja
I predict, dear self, that you, in your collection of memories, wherever you are gambling with life right now, may be wondering or trying to fully remember what was going on in the mind of your past self, especially during the time when there was so much pressure to take drugs just to feel among.
Also read: Short Stories for 13 Year Olds: A Complete Reading Guide
You may be wondering how I dealt with that pressure, how I overcame it, and why I chose to remain drug-free. Well, that is why I am writing this letter: to remind you of what happened.
So, cork a bottle of wine — the non-alcoholic kind — as we trudge down this valley and what sometimes seems like the lurking shadow of death.
I know you warned me to keep away from bad company, but may I confess that I had a friend named Amina?
Hold on. Doesn’t that name ring a bell? You remember the Amina we often teased as the girl with a ruler-straight body and lanky legs? The one whose long legs seemed to stretch out like sturdy pillars whenever she walked? You remember her now?
I wonder if you remember Amina, who was born into a relatively privileged home, better off than mine. She was the last child of her parents, just like me. Amina and I would often laugh and discuss the perks of being the last child, or the “latest addition”, as my father would call it. We would also laugh about the shenanigans we sometimes got up to, behaving like people haunted by an evil spirit, or as my mother would say, like someone had shaken her calabash in the land of the spirits.
Amina and I had a very good friendship, filled with affection. I often called her Obi Oma, which means “good heart”. The first day I explained the meaning of the name, she accepted it wholeheartedly because it suited her personality. She was kind, loving and understanding, and I often wished I could have some of those qualities.
Notice that I stressed was, because it never occurred to me that I would one day describe my friend in the past tense. But I have learned that the events of the past can shape the future. So, let us drive on.
As time went on, I noticed that Amina started talking about how her siblings inhaled a white, powdery substance that somehow made them behave as though they had been transported into another world.
Powdery substance?
Would inhaling a powder make someone behave strangely? My mind raced to my mother’s kitchen, where I remembered the powdered pepper she kept in an old Ovaltine tin. I wondered if that would have the same effect if I sniffed it.
What if I got caught experimenting?
Nevertheless, my curiosity quickly grew. Amina assured me that she was not involved. Her moral standards, as well as the values she had been taught, forbade her from taking alcohol or harmful substances.
My mother would prepare a stick for my back or “roast” me alive, as she would jokingly threaten, so the thought of experimenting disappeared from my mind. Instead, I became curious about the role Amina’s parents played in their children’s lives.
I wondered if Amina’s siblings had learned about drugs from the books they read, the movies they watched, the friends they kept or from watching adults experiment with substances. I also wondered if they had learned it from their parents.
My own parents were very involved in my life. They monitored what I watched, recommended books for me to read and noticed changes in my behaviour. I wondered whether Amina and her siblings had received the same kind of guidance.
Eventually, Amina could no longer resist the influence around her. She joined her siblings in what had started as a perceived bad habit.
As time passed, I noticed a drastic change in her physical appearance. Her eyes looked different, her voice became weaker and her once healthy appearance seemed to disappear. Her thin limbs revealed her veins, and she became a shadow of the person I once knew.
She also became withdrawn and isolated herself, which made me curious.
Whenever I asked what was wrong, she blamed family problems or said she needed some space. Our conversations and outings became less frequent. She became easily irritated and often acted unlike herself.
At some point, we even quarrelled because I was offended by her new attitude. I regretted it deeply afterwards.
We stopped talking for days. The days became weeks, and the weeks became months.
Eventually, I went to her to reconcile, but although she looked normal on the outside, her attitude was no longer the same.
About a month later, I heard that she had died.
My mother told me plainly, but I did not immediately understand what she meant. I looked at a rusty iron bucket nearby and wondered how “kicking the bucket” could have anything to do with Amina’s death. Then it finally hit me: my friend was gone.
I struggled to process it and was overwhelmed by guilt.
Later, I was told that an autopsy found that she had died after taking a dangerous amount of cocaine.
“Cocaine? What is cocaine?” I wondered.
I spent the rest of that year learning about cocaine, its effects and the dangers of drug abuse. Even though Uzoma, a 15-year-old boy in my neighbourhood, casually called it “coke” and claimed that it was harmless, saying it could boost your confidence or make you bold enough to stare blankly at a girl, talk back to your mother or even challenge your father, I was not convinced.
I wanted to find out for myself.
I sat at my father’s desktop computer and searched for ways to remain drug-free. I also looked for ways to convince people like poor Uzoma that drugs were not necessary for confidence or courage.
I found thousands of reasons why a young person like me should avoid drugs and resist pressure from friends or even siblings. I also found many reasons why a young person like Uzoma mattered and why he could still be helped if someone reached him early.
I wondered if Amina and her siblings could have been helped earlier. I wondered if they felt guilty whenever they used drugs. I wondered if their parents ever talked to them about the consequences of harmful choices.
I did not want to end up regretting my choices. I did not want to destroy my future.
So, why did I choose to stay drug-free?
First, I wanted to protect my health.
I do not want to risk a premature or sudden death because of the temporary effects of drugs. Whatever temporary pleasure drugs may promise is not worth putting my health and future at risk.
Second, I wanted to protect my relationships.
Drug abuse can affect the way a person behaves and interacts with others. I had already seen how Amina’s changing behaviour affected our friendship. I did not want to destroy the relationships that matter to me.
As they say, no one is an island. We need other people to grow, learn and succeed.
Finally, I wanted to become someone who could help others.
I want to educate and encourage young people, especially my peers, to understand the dangers of drug abuse. I want to be an example and a role model to others. I do not want to ruin my future with drugs.
I also want young people to understand the importance of talking about their problems. They can speak to a trusted adult, parent, teacher, counsellor or religious leader instead of suffering in silence.
People should know that they are not alone. There are people who can help.
I think about Amina’s siblings, who eventually needed rehabilitation. I think about the dreams Amina left behind. I think about all the things she could have achieved if her story had been different.
In essence, I will stay drug-free to protect my health, avoid problems in my relationships and build a better future for myself.
I will also use the sadness of losing my friend as a reason to speak up. I want to help other young people understand how drug abuse can affect their present and their future.
I am quite sure, future me, that you are already doing this by now — or perhaps even more.
So, all I can say is: stay drug-free.
And… see you when I see you!
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