When I first heard about the American opiate crisis, I remember immediately blaming the pharmaceutical industry for pumping strong, addictive drugs into low income populations. It only occurred to me much later on that this problem had infiltrated African societies; morphin, betadine fentanyl and heroin are all dangerously hard drugs that float through the streets of Rwanda. It’s difficult obtaining specific information on the numbers; the facts and figures are still blurry, particularly because drug users that go through a rehabilitation process are protected by the anonymity of psychiatric institutionalisation, or the Narcotic Anonymous programme. Adding to this is the stigma of drug use in a society that culturally values an adherence to tradition and even a pursuit of virtue. This makes both the system and individuals protect the facelessness of drug addicts, in an attempt to save them from social alienation. As a result, a population of parents, friends, spouses and children are unaware that their loved one is consuming poison daily, and that this poison is in turn consuming their lives. Heroes on heroin A common misconception on heavy drug use is that it solely stems from a desire for intoxication. We must dispel this idea if the generation of men and women targeted by drug peddlers are going to receive genuine help. The effect of opiates (the chemical base of drugs like heroin and morphin) has widely been documented as a spike in “comfort” hormones such as endorphins and dopamine, and a strong sensation of pain relief. This makes some opiate formulas instrumental to the well-being of people with, for instance, chronic illness. Opiates decrease appetite, which might explain its popularity in war-ridden and poor areas such as Afghanistan, particularly amidst conflict that required wounded soldiers to surpass their pain and keep fighting. I believe there is a common denominator here with Rwandan users of hard drugs. Rehabilitation centres and jail cells both house a number of physically and mentally mutilated people, who live with 1994 sequels that require psychological and physical attendance they often cannot afford. I would go as far as to presume that this renders them a specific target of drug peddlers; it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to note that the Tutsi genocide survivor with extensive trauma over the things they have witnessed and endured would be more prone to wanting to numb their mind than the adult that has grown up knowing nothing but stability and love. An anecdote that has always saddened me is the fact that, according to individuals that have gone through rehabilitation, their doctors and even prison guards, heavy drug use and alcohol abuse both spike dramatically during the Kwibuka period. Indeed, PTSD is a concept Rwanda addresses at a collective level. The trauma of the nation is often mentioned and critically explored. However, it appears the limited resources, and even the culture of proud resilience, is preventing this topic from being fully addressed at an individual level. Post-traumatic stress disorder isn’t just real. Some studies have even found that trauma can be inherited in the DNA, and this can lead to a variety of mental afflictions that often result in substance abuse. Trauma also cannot intelligently be characterised as “craziness”, under the pretense of maintaining a culture, which in fact promotes cohabitation through compassion. Such a (mis)characterisation only prevents people from seeking help until they start flirting with death or dabbling in criminality. As long as the growing habit of drug use in Rwanda is not addressed with an empathetic and compassionate understanding of the particular vulnerability of our population to such abuses, our young and promising minds will keep feeling alienated by their society. This is the fragmentation the drug dealers will exploit: “No one might understand your pain, but I know what can alleviate it.” The fight must be intentional When mentioning the opiate crisis in America, I cited that the pharmaceutical industry is said to have intentionally flooded markets with addictive drugs, with the aim of maximising their income. Similarly, I believe the rising hard drug use in Rwanda, particularly in the aforementioned communities and young minds that have intent and means to defend and contribute to our country, is not accidental. I think that, just like the current mediatic war against the country and particularly our leadership can show, detractors are finding increasingly perverse methods of attacking our stability. An intoxicated mind, a troubled individual whose substance abuse has led to depression and isolation, cannot effectively contribute to their country. They cannot be critical of the situation(s) around them, or the state of local politics, because they’re either prioritizing obtaining the (expensive) drug at all costs, or have developed apathy to the long-term future of a community that no longer identifies with them. Drug abuse should not be looked at as a moral issue, it should be considered a welfare and security issue. The same compassion that has guided our reconciliation efforts, to which we owe the stability and rapid development of the country, should be used when dealing with people suffering with PTSD, substance abuse and any other mental illnesses. It is the only way to ensure division is not used once more to weaken Rwanda to the core. The author is a copywriter and cultural commentator. Her work principally critiques West and East African post-colonial political movements.
