In an earlier post of mine I asked the question whether beginning a new thing always entailed letting go of an old one? Whether moving on always required letting go of the former?
Now I know. Yes it does. You cannot enjoy both the past and the present moment, and neither can you overreach living in the future while experiencing today. The practicality of it all makes it so simple, discard this to create room for that; but what if one weren’t practical at all, and chose sentiment over wit. Well then such a person is at a risk of losing it all. Their common senses, the past at the expense of the future, and the present at the cost of both, sentiment and all.
One of my all time favourite songs is Travellin’ Man by DJ Honda ft. Mos Def. My favourite line goes like this, “Memories don’t live like people do, they always remember you…”
So last week I took a walk around my ‘hood, you could call it a walk down memory lane I guess. Made me feel a bit nostalgic and it’s the reason for my post. The situation right now is that everything is in boxes. Boxes, most of my books, my shoes and jewellery; the house is littered with boxes in the kitchen, boxes in the lounge and boxes in the bedrooms. I’m finding old stuff, unused stuff still in shopping bags and my sister even found a crisp R 200 note still in an envelope with her name on it. For now it’s like thrift heaven, right in our very own house!
But like I was saying I took this walk around the ‘hood, and appreciated the moment for what it was.
“I hate waking up early on Saturdays,” I thought. “Should I go or should I stay? “I was musing over a commitment I’d made earlier on in the week. Well if you want people to take you seriously, you had better go and keep your word. Urgh! Alright conscience I give in to you!
I got up, got dressed and ready to leave the house. I had promised to be a part of march, a demonstration against the use of drugs and I was keeping my pledge. I got on a taxi and jumped off just in time to hear a consortium of drums and people chanting, it seemed to be coming from the R.E.C. Wellness Centre (formally known as the LDAC Centre.)
As I approached the group of adults, children and cars, I was greeted first by the Police vehicle, then by the little red t-shirts of children, followed by larger white t-shirts of the adults with a banner and an inscription on them. I couldn’t see the print from where I was, “I’ll read that once I’m closer” I thought.
“Hello! Fifi!” Someone disturbed my train of thought and I looked up to see a wave followed by a notion to advance. I began to briskly walk towards two smiling faces as I caught sight of A. and F. “Join in.” A. Said with her boisterous tone. I quickly fell in line after a round of brief tugs that I gave to each of them. Then I saw L. (My prayer warrior-angel). He smiled at me and waved his free hand, while holding a camera in the other. Man I love this kid! I thought as he shuffled over and gave me a quick hug.
9:20 am
“Ons is lankal dik van Tik! Lankal dik van Tik!!! {We are sick and tired of Tik!! ( a local variant of crystal meth )} We chanted our message with greater urgency as we passed the old high school where I used to attend. Even though it was a Saturday some of the kids where in casual clothes hanging around the entrance gate. A few looked at us with questions on their faces, others smiled and waved eagerly, while yet a few more looked amused by all the commotion.
In front of the ‘R. E. C. Wellness Centre’ banner, but after the drums and the police car, were three kings carrying a makeshift coffin. As we marched I found myself amused by the break out in doses of administered caricature from the three. I guess they certainly picked the right fellows for the job; do drugs and either end up in the coffin or crazy like them. LOL
10:00 am
We arrived in Chrisville where the march would culminate in a showcase of talent and testimonies from patients of the R. E. C. Wellness Centre. We marched past open doors and residents peering out from their homes, and as we did a second turn, I couldn’t help wondering if the drug dealers were’nt the ones peering at us through doors and the cracks in the walls. Were we the ones who needed to be afraid and to be thankful for the police escort or were they just as fearful of us? Small kids who were attracted by the noise began joining the protest and I calmed myself with this thought, “No one would dear do anything in broad daylight.” I hadn’t done anything like this since my varsity days. I thought back to varsity on the Wits West Campus, although I always seemed to spend my lunch breaks on the East side. I flashed back to the rock buns from 7/11, the green library lawns and of course the student protests. Initially I had been a part of that, but I grew weary of polities and the unrest towards the end of my years at Wits. It did however feel nostalgic and good to be a part of something like that again. It felt good to be a part of something bigger than me; I took a breath, raised my fist and shouted louder. “For the children!” I thought.
12:20 am
We got to our destination where there was a prepared stage, a covered carport, chairs set out and a borrowed sound-system. Before I sat down; I borrowed an oversized t-shirt from green-eyed R. just to fit in. The King had a fresh cut and was not about to deny me my request; not since he’d been trying to get into my good books. I’ll get into that story another time😊. Like most events I found myself engaged with the children; we laughed and chatting while enjoying the show. They were such intelligent company. After the event E. walked me home. I was fulfilled; I’d used my time to make a difference.
So why am I going to a drug rehabilitation centre? Well because I’m addicted. No not the kind of addiction you’re thinking of, but to the people there. Allow me to explain.
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“Here comes a beautiful girl!” I heard one of the guys on the back of a van parked in front of the centre tell his friend as I approached. They both looked my way and I saw the smile on the first guy’s face broaden as I drew nearer. “He must have been totally startled that I turned into the centre,” I thought as I continued to make my way. People looking at me, always made me feel a little awkward and the eyes of these two gentlemen made me feel like I was starting to walk funny.
“Hi.” I stood at the entrance and greeted the two gentlemen who were also in the presence of a lady, but had evidently aborted their conversation upon my approach. Someone who knew me came out and gave me a hug, then another and another. I was secretly relieved L. had made this gesture which the others followed suit, “Thank you king, Lord knows I need a hug or two this morning. My confidence isn’t where it ought to be.”
I’d woken up a little later than I’d planned to; and those dang taxis! I had to wait 20 minutes to get one, which of course made me late. I often hearer people joke about the notion of African Time; how it was almost culturally acceptable that should you invite an African somewhere they were almost always expected to arrive late, while the host on the other hand was expected to start their proceedings late as well. Well then I must not be a true African and probably have my ancestory roots elsewhere because I can’t help but notice if I or anyone else runs late.
As I walked into the centre I came across some familiar faces and a few new ones. “It’s because this place is free,” I mused. “People will often run away from the thing that’s good for them, even if it’s free.” My uncle Wayne, who was the director and founder of this centre, had created it as a place where anyone could come. It didn’t matter whether they had money or not, as long as they had an addiction that they were trying to kill, the centre would accept them. By its full title the centre was known as the Local Drug Action Committee Centre, but most people called it the LDAC for short and as a result of this benevolence the LDAC had become a haven for the Licorice Allsorts of people. From the business man, right down to the adolescent who’s parents where probably worried sick about their ‘little baby’. If there was one thing I now knew about adictions and its choice of victim, it was that it wasn’t really picky at all about who it chewed up and then spat out.
Towards the back of the centre the chairs where neatly packed in a circle, ready to be used for a group session. Forming part of the circle was an old worn out couch that I’d sat in on a previous occasion. I found the familiarity comforting, so I opted to sit there as opposed to one of the other white plastic chairs while I waited. “Alright everyone, let’s take our seats so we can start!” I heard uncle Wayne bellowing in the background and saw patients scramble to find their seats. I smiled while waiting patiently for everyone; and I thought to myself, “God, I still can’t believe you’re using me to speak to your people. I have a weekly slot to speak life into these your people? Truely I’m blessed.” Uncle Wayne took his seat right next to mine on the couch and then our devotional began.
“Let’s pray,” he said while motioning with his hands for everyone to stand up. I stood up and we all held hands as uncle Wayne lead the prayer:
God grant me the serenity To accept the things I cannot change; Courage to change the things I can; And wisdom to know the difference.
Living one day at a time; Enjoying one moment at a time…
Everyone had their eyes closed as they said the words, almost incantation-like, but I kept my eyes opened as I peered over my shoulder from time to time to see the words written in large print on the wall.
“…amen.”
Everyone sat down again at the end of the prayer and I took my seat as well. As I looked around I was reminded of the book I read by James Frey, A Million Little Pieces. Itspoke about the author’s six week journey in a rehab centre and I had acquired it for only ten bucks at a thrift store by the beach; but it left me with a deep respect for anyone going through the rehabilitation process, anyone trying to put together the million little pieces of a fragmented life. I put on a smile and I began, “It’s really good to see you all again. Today I wanna talk about defining moments. ”
As I went further into what I’d prepared I saw the lights go on in some of the patient’s minds, and the engagement between us grew. One of the patients, a middle aged woman shared about a recent defining moment in her life, and was brought to tears by the rawness of the emotions. She would later on approach me after the session and thank me as she told me that she had not intended to disclose that with the rest of the group; I hugged her and reassured her that she would be alright and that she acted with bravery. I began wrapping up the session but I could see that people still wanted to talk, this was great but there were still more sessions and more talks to come. We stood up, held hands and did the Serenity Prayer once again. This time I closed my eyes as I said it, I might have mumbled a few times, but I let the words resonate deep in my heart.
Uncle Wayne offered to drop me off, instead of letting me catch a taxi back. I was very grateful for this. On the way one of the assistants at the LDAC asked me if was going to continue the work there. “Why do you say ask that?” I questioned. “Because this place is addictive, and I see you’re addicted,” he joked. I smiled back, fully comprehending what he meant. “Yes, I am addicted.”
Uncle Wayne with my Angie
*******
I’ve committed to come here, to this centre, every Thursday morning for as long as I can. I’m a healer, and I touch people’s lives; that’s what I do.
This is the work of God, the product of love. Turned my degrees three 60. Heaven coming down, upsided my tipsy turvy rightly wronged. Endowed with strength to forgive them that rejected. Rise to fly above the ones that hated. Thieves tangled in their own net and damaging words abated.
The Chronicles of Nana 