A few years ago, T&T chutney singer Adesh Samaroo riveted listeners with an anthemic refrain that cast rum in a new light - an unlikely panacea for a broken heart. "Rum till I die, is rum till I die. She tell meh she doh love me, and that is the reason why," he sang with unbowed conviction. Some may argue that Samaroo's rendition is purely a dark satire, but the reality suggests otherwise. By all indications, what may begin as a seemingly innocuous indulgence in a cultural pastime, or an antidote to life's challenges and vicissitudes, can become a deadly addiction.
A visit to Serendipity, a centre for addiction, proved just that. Located on Bedford Avenue, Brooklyn, Serendipity is a 50-bed residential facility for men. It also has its fair share of West Indian residents. The stories are harrowing, wrenching to the coldest of hearts. There are residents who have repeatedly run afoul of the law-a breath away from incarceration-were it not for the facility. Others like Oliver Johnson, 49, from Jamaica have a bigger problem. Sober up or die.
"I have been clean now for two weeks, the longest in my life," he said. His is a story that shocks and repulses. "My mother back in Jamaica used to give me alcohol in the milk bottle to shut me up," he recalled, slurring and inaudible at times. "So by the time I was a teen I was drinking every day....beers... I can't tell you how much.... but plenty." He candidly recalled psychotic episodes, of hearing voices "to harm others," and seeing huge shadows.
Hope on the horizon
Before being transferred to Serendipity, Johnson had undergone seven days of detoxification, and 28 days of rehabilitation at another centre. He talked about hustling to buy liquor, and devising ingenious ways of satisfying his cravings. He has not seen any of his children in 20 years, but still believes that there is hope for him. "God has something for me...I don't know what," he said sheepishly. Fortunately for Johnson and others like him, alcoholism is a disease that can be controlled, although it may be the road less travelled as a result of the challenges that line the way.... Challenges known only too well to recovering alcoholic Darrell.
A member of the Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) fellowship in Port-of-Spain, Trinidad, Darrell admitted that although he had been sober for 18 years, alcoholism was, in no uncertain terms, an incurable disease.
"Recovering from alcoholism is an ongoing thing. Its not like an exam that you can pass and you get cured. The slightest taste of alcohol can send any recovering alcoholic right back where he began." But for him, he said, alcoholism was a "blessed disease." "I'm a different person as opposed to 18 years ago. I'm a better husband, father, and friend as a result of the principles of the fellowship. I don't see it but people tell me so." Not that he doesn't regret the lost time with his family, and the horrific experience they were forced to endure. "I am still trying to make it up to them, although I know I can't."
A state of total oblivion
He admitted, with wry grin, that before his encounter with AA, he viewed his way of life as nothing less than normal. "It never occured to me that I was an alcoholic. I was happy with my drinking career," said the 50 something-year-old, who took his first drink at the age of nine. But his family and friends paid a high price for his disease. "I would forget to pick up my children from school, I verbally abused my wife, and she had to secure the rent money from me whenever she could. "In fact, I never realised I was supposed to be responsible for my first daughter until she was nine." By the sime she was age 15, his disease had taken a psychological toll on his firstborn. "She would run away, and it even reached the point where she ended up in court. I had to take her to see a psychiatrist."
But that didn't stop him from drinking, until, as he put it, there was a case of "divine intervention" in his life.
"AA saved my life. I had made deals with my 'higher power' before, but on that night my cry was 'Oh God I don't want to die'." He said he was on the compound on which his mother lived, drunk to the hilt, and only recalled someone inviting him to a meeting. "I didn't know what type of meeting and I don't recall anything else because I had a blackout. "My wife later told me I kept her up until 3 am telling her about these wonderful drunks I met there," he chuckled. But it was the support of those same drunks, his family, and his faith in his "Higher Power" that got him to the point he is at. Fortunately for Darrell, he has managed to steer clear of the clutches of alcoholism, and now works assiduously to keep others on the principles of AA path. But thousands around the world are not that lucky.
Treatment approaches
Serendipity's assistant director, Stephen Holmes, acknowledged the difficult work of running the facility's eight to 12-month programme. "We are dealing with men, many who have been mandated by the courts to be here. Some sneak drugs in and other lie about using, when they return after home visits. So we have to take urine and breathalyser tests. "We also have mental health issues, coupled with alcoholism and substance abuse, which make treatment a bit more complex. But we are here to instil new values and ideals." He went on to describe the programme, which included AA meetings, contracts as a means of behavioral modification, a merit system (which allowed weekend home visits after three months), and a transition programme that helped residents find work upon release.
While Serendipity boasts of a markedly high percentage of graduates, the overall recidivism rate of addiction continues to be 90 per cent, according to some estimates. Similarly, just as Darrell's steadfast climb from the murky gutter of alcoholism is not unique to him, there are many others who attempt to regain control of their lives, but are overpowered by the intoxicating temptress. Why do so many relapse? Is addiction a learned behavior, a disease, or genetically determined? Is there a spiritual component that is being overlooked? Holmes, who has heard the spiritual argument, dismissed a "one size fits all" approach to treatment. "Not everyone will welcome that spiritual piece. Of course, we allow residents to exercise their religious belief, but first of all, this is about the clients' needs and this is what we have to respect."
And while Darrell acknowledges the contribution of his "higher power," he is adamant that with greater awareness, any degree of alcohol abuse will be treated as a taboo - a potentially deadly indulgence that adversely impacts on the individual, family, the work place, society and future generations. It cannot be romanticised or trivialised as a rite of passage-a form of cultural baptism characteristic of "machismo" societies. This is nothing short of courting disaster. As Carnival 2011 approaches, the words are of Knute Rockne resound: "Drink the first, Sip the second, slowly... and skip the third." If you must. Have a safe and enjoyable Carnival.
Dr Glenville Ashby
and Carol Quash