As the rickety bus passed along the Odawna river, I peeped through from my side of the window, trying my best not to knock my head against the exposed metalic frames. You will not believe what met my eyes. Junkies. From young and old, male and female, some with babies strapped on their backs, and whatnot. It was a pity seeing the youth being wasted away.
No one tells you this part of our nation’s story. You eventually bump into it and then reality dawns on you.
I believe they were once like you and I. Their stories are not any different from the daily hassle and battles of the ordinary citizen. Theirs is a struggle for a penny to purchase their daily dose of crack. For you it’s a shame. For them it’s satisfaction.
They are everywhere and most often on our streets calling out for passengers and driver’s mates saying, “Herh! mate where’s my one cedi?” They are the ones we tag thieves and criminals. You can call them all sorts of names, the hoodlums, the addicts, even the crazy. They care not. Some are from prominent families, others are not.
Do these people have rights? Are they considered a part of our society? Their slums and shacks get whisked away by government yet they keep coming back. May I ask which interventions and government policies are there to cater for the needs of these group? For most of them, there is no place called home than to be on the streets in the company of their fellow addicts.
They think you are the problem. You think they are the problem. Before you start judging, have you bothered to draw them back into society? Are our rehabs functional enough to reform these groups of people?
I’m left here with a bag load of questions while they roam the streets looking for their next victim.
Yes, they live amongst us incase you have forgotten. The junkies are with us too.