‘There was also nothing as painfully depressing on a Sunday as coming across people who once held me in high regard’
BACK
For many black South Africans, Sundays are reserved for spiritual worship, avidly attending society schemes meetings or just simply catching up with friends and family at local Chesa Nyama spots. For young people in the townships, particularly those who were bred in the 80s, Sundays contained a profound sense of nostalgia. With it, deeply embedded memories of a poverty-stricken, but somewhat oddly pleasant childhood once a week. It was the day to wear our nicest clothes usually reserved for church and special occasions.
Sunday was a day we looked forward to. Feasting on a ‘several” (read ‘seven’ colours meal), as affectionately referred to eKasi. This meal was special for everyone because it was the one meal in the week one had the privilege to eat a piece of meat. On rarer occasions, they were followed by a homemade jelly and custard dessert. If the family was fortunate to own a TV set, they would end the day by watching the American, Sotho dubbed series ‘In The Heat Of The Night’.
As poor as we were, it was such a monumental time to be alive, especially on a Sunday. I remember the swishing sound of a sorghum grass broomstick, as my mother impeccably swept the yard. And the soothing music of soul ballads from the 70s and 80s era, softly playing on a cassette stereo system from the neighbour’s house. A day where there were no residual tear gas fumes and the unpleasant smell of a burning tyre infused with burnt human flesh. Sunday was a day where there was no senseless black on black killings and Inkatha Freedom Party boycotts and brutal terror attacks on innocent and defenceless township dwellers. This seventh day of the week was bestowed with peace, a day we unknowingly were afforded an opportunity as young kids growing up in impoverished households to dream unreservedly.
FORWARD
Fast forward to 20 years later. At the height of an intense DRUG addiction, Sundays quickly turned from a heavenly dream to a hellish, depressing nightmare. Weekends, but especially Sundays were the most challenging of all days in a week. The vibe that Sundays exuded had such a profound effect on me and would undesirably lead me to uncontrollably reflect on who I was growing up and the dreams I held as a child. Another reason I dreaded Sundays, was because of the overwhelming community member presence in the streets as they went about doing their errands and ‘Sundayed’. They would often come across me in a debilitated state, heavily withdrawing from the previous night’s binge, which was embarrassing.
I had no way to hustle money for DRUGS on Sundays. The cravings were usually stronger and far more intense, I couldn’t also just sit around at home and spend time with family. And, because I lacked the capacity and access to resources that were readily available on a weekday, the insatiable hunger for DRUGS would often remain unfulfilled, which drove me absolutely (and literally) insane.
There was also nothing as painfully depressing as coming across people who once held me in high regard. People who drew inspiration from my artist, fashion taste and impeccable choice in women. They would now disrespectfully disregard my presence because I had become a junkie. There was no feeling as disheartening as having to be in places where a lot of people gathered, mindlessly walking and obsessively hoping to find an R50 note that somebody may have dropped to buy a bag of DRUGS. When that ridiculously idiotic plan didn’t come to fruition, I’ll have to resort to asking strangers for a R2 coin to buy 4 RG cigarettes, to ease the withdrawal and the cravings.
Sundays also served as a strong reminder of who I authentically am. Nostalgic ambitions I had as a child would visit me. I couldn’t handle the trauma and crippling emotion evoked by these unwelcomed memories. My mind would uncontrollably race with suicidal thoughts and what made it more unbearable was that I didn’t have the courage to end my life. Every nanosecond that went by was excruciating and when people were excitedly going to church to reinforce and strengthen their relationship with God, I would intensely pray he takes my life instead.
IN BETWEEN
I am incredibly pleased that God ignored my foolish prayers. When I hit rock bottom a little over 3 and half years ago, it would miraculously turn out to be a blessing in disguise. I would eventually surrender the fight to stay addicted and sought professional help, fully restoring my life in the process. And since I’ve recovered from DRUGS, Sundays have been nothing but blissful and joyous again. These days I usually wake up early and go for a run and enjoy the quietness of a Sunday morning as the birds chirp and sing harmonious tunes. Sundays truly feel like heaven again and I couldn’t be more grateful.
Gugulethu ‘GK’ Khoza is recovering addict who has turned his life around and will regularly share his experiences to inspire and help young men recover from addiction. More of his stories to follow.
No matter how dark and long the night, day light will always come 🙏🏽