I want us to have a culture where teens don’t drink to black out or to where they tell themselves that it’s ok to harm another person, where women are not punished for speaking up, where neither boys nor girls nor men nor women tolerate rape or domestic violence or discrimination or hatred.
I took this downtown last week. The cat was sitting looking out. As soon as it saw me it headed for the screen part of the window. I couldn’t quite pet it through the screen.
The last two days have been at the 20th Annual Fundamentals of Addiction Medicine Conference in Washington State, 15 lectures. Everything from science trying to understand addiction via studying dopamine in ratbrains to the last presentation: Snohomish County started a program two years ago that pairs a social worker with a county sheriff or deputy to work with the homeless.
The county is trying to stop the revolving door of homeless to arrested to jail to homeless. 95% of the county homeless are addicted to heroin and some to methamphetamines. They don’t access services when they are “dope sick”. They describe heroin as being 10x worse than the worst influenza. I think of withdrawal from opioids as having all the pain receptors turned as high as they can go and screaming at once.
The sheriff and social worker go to the camps. They get to know people and offer services. They have helped over 100 people get their identification replaced. When someone is arrested, their homeless encampment is often stolen. No honor among thieves, you say? The rat studies address that: in addiction the brain puts the drug first, in front of food, water, sex. Some rats will access the drug until they die, just like people. I think of it as the person losing their boundaries to the drug. The conference used the phrase “incentive salience” — dopamine is released when the person or rat is cued that the drug is now available and again when the drug arrives. More on that in another write up.
At any rate, the clients do not get to appointments. So the deputy and social work start at the beginning: they make the appointment, go knock on the tent that morning, remind the person to get dressed, take them to get food and coffee and then take them to the appointment. Then they return them to their camp.
After two months, the first sheriff and social worker were so successful that the program was expanded.
They have 206 chemical dependency evaluations.
232 have gone to detox. The detox is 3-5 days. They are taken straight from there to inpatient treatment, 30 day minimum, but ranging from 30-90 days. After treatment, clients are taken straight to sober housing, with a 6 month supported stay and intensive outpatient treatment.
85% get through the detox.
59% graduate from the treatment
50% go on to sober housing and intensive outpatient.
Their first clean and sober client is two years out.
50% of the homeless who agree to the program getting to sober housing is huge. Recidivism and incarceration drop, so it is making a true difference.
The program is expanding. They have a Community Court set up, much like Juvenile Drug Court, modeled after a program in Spokane. If the person agrees to drug treatment, they can do that instead of jail. This is for minor offenders. The sheriff says that once the homeless person is incarcerated, everything is stolen. They then steal food and supplies for a new camp when released and it happens again. If the client completes the program, low level charges may be dropped. They are setting up a service center right by the court where the clients are sent immediately to talk to a chemical dependency person, to get medical treatment, dental emergencies, centralized services because these people do not have transportation.
The social worker is in kevlar and heavy clothes as well and is never to go in the encampments without the law enforcement officers: it’s usually private land so it would be trespassing anyway.
This was an absolutely inspiring presentation. It starts with outreach and intervention, and gives people choices. They will soon be opening a temporary site, up to 15 days with medical support and beds, for when a client is ready but the social worker needs to arrange the detox, the treatment, the housing. Sometimes when a client is finally ready, there are no beds. And they don’t want to send them to detox and then back to the streets. The sheriff says that he was “volutold” for the program, but he, the deputy and the social worker are all clearly inspired by the program and enjoy their work and that it is making a difference.
Any write up on addiction fits today’s Daily Prompt: messy.
βSiqalo used to be the most promising child in our house β¦ the last born. He got the best of everything. We took him to better schools than we did his younger sister and brother. He did well for the better half of high school.Then he met up with the wrong friends, and never even got to matric,β Fanele Ngcobo tells GroundUp about his son.
Siqalo is 22. He has been a whoonga user since 2015. By 10am, he has already smoked his second fix. Without the drug he struggles to function. Withdrawal effects β which people refer to as βarostaβ β include stomach cramps, vomiting, and extreme anxiety.
Whoonga is a mixture of marijuana and heroin and rumoured to contain anti-retrovirals, detergents and even rat poison. Active addiction has spread in KwaZulu-Natal townships such as KwaMashu and iNanda. Hundreds of people now live in Durbanβs βWhoonga Parkβ,
Siqalo was a keen soccer player, says his mother, Sizakele. Now his worn, black soccer shoes peek out from under the bed in his old room at home in iNanda, Durban.
βHe always went for practice with his friends at the local playground. But after a while, soccer wasnβt the only thing he and his friends were playing with; he was also experimenting with dangerous drugs,β she says.
Siqalo lives in so-called Whoonga Park, under a bridge next to the Berea railway lines in Durban. The park has become a den for whoonga users. They have bright beach umbrellas to protect them from the heat and black plastic bags for shelter. The activities under the bridge are in plain view. People trade and smoke. In the afternoons and at night, many take to the city streets to hustle for food and the money they need to buy their fix.
βThere are no beds here. Even if you can get a blanket or sheet to sleep in, it doesnβt last a week. The police will burn it,β says Siqalo. βSo itβs easier just to use cardboard and plastic as it is easy to find in the streets. Although I miss home, I cannot go back home like this. I need to be clean. My family doesnβt trust me around the house and for good reason because Iβve stolen their money and appliances too many times. I tried to be clean when they first fetched me, but arosta is too painful β nobody can understand. But I still want to go home.β
Cooked meals, showers and clean clothes
Nobuhle Khuzwayo from eMpangeni, KwaZulu-Natal, is one of those trying to get off whoonga. She attends the iSiphephelo Centre housed at the Denis Hurley Centre in Durban, where she gets cooked meals and clean clothes three times a week. For a few hours she is free of whoonga.
Co-founder of the centre Sihle Ndima says it is a place of safety for young girls and women living on the streets of Durban. It offers meals, counselling, clean clothes and showers.
βMany of them return back to the streets soon after classes, and the work we do seems like failure, because in the end they go back to using whoonga,β says Ndima. βWe work with a rehabilitation centre in Newlands East, Durban, and they offer free help.β
Khuzwayo, who is 30, came to Durban seeking a job in 2014, but after numerous failed attempts, she was left homeless and desperate.
βThe shoe factory I was working for closed down after a month. Thereafter it was difficult to get employment. I had been staying at the Dalton hostel with some friends, who later introduced me to smoking. They would tell me it was marijuana, but after becoming a frequent smoker β¦ I would get headaches, pains and stomach cramps when I hadnβt smoked. I just could not cope without it. When I confronted them, they told me it was in fact whoonga. I was already deeply hooked,β says Khuzwayo.
She could no longer live at the hostel. She moved to Whoonga Park. To get money she would have to resort to sex work, crime or selling cigarettes. She found a boyfriend who sold cigarettes at taxi ranks to help get them food and the R30 a day they needed to buy whoonga.
βTo survive on the streets, I got myself a boyfriend because you canβt survive a day alone under the bridge as a woman. There are men known as amaBhariya, who claim to own the spots in Whoonga Park. They do not smoke or deal the drug; they do not speak local languages or even English. They are ruthless. They rape and kill women under the bridge and make sure the park functions the way it does. They wear blue workmenβs clothes and hats and use the underground drains to move around. So if you donβt have a man to protect you, they will always take advantage of you,β says Khuzwayo.
Merchants outside the park sell whoonga for R30. βThey are usually in the streets or in nearby flats but not many sell whoonga under the bridge,β she says.
Hundreds now live in Whoonga Park beside the railway lines in Berea, Durban. Photo: Nomfundo Xolo
Khuzwayo has now moved to a local shelter, paying R20 a night. Her closest friend had TB and when she died it was a turning point.
βI am tired of this life. I am determined to change. I donβt want to die a senseless death without dignity,β she says.
She is now a part-time cleaner at iSiphephelo. After attending all counselling and life skills classes she will qualify for rehab. βAfter rehab, I am going to go back home and stay with my sister in eMpangeni. You cannot stay away from whoonga in the city,β says Khuzwayo.
Siqalo and Khuzwayo say whoonga users are known as amaPhara. βBecause we look like zombies. Weβre dead people walking. We sleep standing. We stab you for your phone and sell it for a fix. Plastic and rubble is our shelter, faeces and rubbish are everywhere, and we run from police who destroy our things and chase us away every week. But we always come back. We canβt survive anywhere else,β says Siqalo.
Khuzwayo says she has seen people high on whoonga killed by trains.
βYou canβt save them, because itβs like the railway shocks you, and youβre unable to move β¦ seeing the train come at you but unable to run. Iβve seen some getting crushed in half and some losing their limbs. Even a security guard, who was chasing us one time, got stuck and the train crushed his foot.β
βOne way or the other, youβre lucky to survive under the bridge.β
I am reading Dr. Robert Johnson’s Inner Work. I feel like I am on a journey, but it is a journey that is interior. I keep returning to the photographs I took in 2014, from the train, traveling from Washington to Michigan and back. I am tending my interior and asking questions. The trip across the country is so beautiful. I hope that our internal journeys will be as beautiful….
Out my kitchen window. For weeks I saw this food disappear, but no birds. It is around the corner from the hummingbird feeder. I think the hummingbirds guard the area.
Discover and re-discover Mexicoβs cuisine, culture and history through the recipes, backyard stories and other interesting findings of an expatriate in Canada
Engaging in some lyrical athletics whilst painting pictures with words and pounding the pavement. I run; blog; write poetry; chase after my kids & drink coffee.
Refugees welcome - FlΓΌchtlinge willkommen I am teaching German to refugees. Ich unterrichte geflΓΌchtete Menschen in der deutschen Sprache. I am writing this blog in English and German because my friends speak English and German. Ich schreibe auf Deutsch und Englisch, weil meine Freunde Deutsch und Englisch sprechen.
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