‘Until a few months ago, I had given up on life. I knew my fate was sealed, and that getting back on my feet was impossible. Let me tell you my story, not because, I like to tell it. Actually, this is the first time I am sharing it.

I have realised that there are several people who share my life’s script. I am sharing this story so that young people do not follow this script. 

Back in high school, I always distanced myself from the other students. I was a hard worker, with my eyes firmly fixed on the prize. I wanted to be chief executive office of a big company in the city, and to achieve that, I knew I had to work hard.

But when I was about to complete high school, things took an unexpected turn. I started associating with some students who had lost focus in life and indulging in alcohol. Ironically, this was the most popular group.

They received letters from girls and would shine when we went on an outing. In order to feel important, I joined them. Their leader was a boy I shall call Martin.

He had transferred to our school after being expelled from his two previous schools, all within the span of just one year. In a system that characteristically rewards delinquency, he became the dominant leader.

His deep pockets, coupled with the fact that he came from a well-to-do family, was a magnet to many of us, whose parents, out of necessity, had to ration their pocket money.

One fine weekday during the second term when I was in Form Four, Martin suggested that we sneak to his home, which was just a few blocks from our school in an up-market area.

Like a loyal poodle, I followed him. His parents were not at home, so he fished out a bottle of Martini Rossi from his father’s drink cabinet. I drank it the way one would take a glass of juice, since that is what it tasted like to me.

We didn’t have much time, so we quickly downed the whole bottle.

I have heard my colleagues here in rehab describe how they felt the first time they got drunk: a whole new brightly coloured world opened up before them. That is exactly how I felt. I even wondered where I had been all my life.

The effect of the drink caught up with me on our way back to school; I ran into trees on the sidewalk several times. In fact, were it not for Martin, who was a little steadier, I would have walked straight on to the path of an oncoming car.  That day marked the beginning of my journey downhill.

INDUCTED INTO THE WORLD OF ALCOHOLISM

Martin effectively inducted me into the world of alcoholism. From that night, my life took a turn that crushed my dreams, my life, my family and my friends.           

I failed to get my dream course, a bachelor of commerce, accounting option, because I did my last paper, Accounts Paper II, while extremely drunk.

Actually, I would have missed the exam, had it not been for the intervention of my cube-mate, Festus, who ensured that I spent the night before the exam in school. Aware of my predisposition to booze, he had made a frantic search in all the clubs around the school, until he finally found me in a bar a few metres from school.

Those days the Mututho laws had not been enacted, so bars were open all day.

Festus was kind enough to hire a taxi to take us back to school, and it was 2am when I finally lay my head on my pillow.

Five hours of sleep did nothing to reduce my tipsiness, and neither did the 30-minute cold shower. I staggered into the exam room, sat at my desk and waited for the invigilator to distribute the exam paper. I was actually wavering between sleep and wakefulness.  I did not even hear the invigilator giving instructions, and it was the student sitting behind me who woke me up and advised me to go and wash my face. On seeing my state, the kind invigilator further advised that I take a 30-minute power nap before taking the exam. This I did; in fact, I extended it to an hour. It was a fellow candidate who came to wake me up with an hour remaining, and my mind less foggy. I tackled only two 10-mark questions out of the required five. My accounts teacher was confident that I would score a straight A, going by my past records. However, I disappointed him, thanks to my love for the bottle. This, inevitably, made me miss the cluster points for my dream course.

‘GRAND CONSPIRACY’

Nevertheless, I got admitted to Egerton University in Njoro, Nakuru County. In Njoro, several factors, as if in a grand conspiracy, connived to create an ideal environment for my nascent alcoholism. I was taking a BSc in agricultural business management degree course, or Agribus, as we preferred to call it.

The campus’ remoteness from “civilization” ensured  that I was far away from the  prying eyes of my kith and kin, guaranteeing  me “utmost freedom of alcoholic expression” and maximum staggering distance.

I got a loan from the Higher Education Loans Board without my parents’ knowledge, which I used to boost my drinking kitty.

Besides, the stages of the certified public accounts course I had completed before joining university stood me in good stead, since most of the units were repetitions, effectively affording me the luxury of skipping lectures. In fact, I don’t remember attending morning lectures or going to the library during my brief stay at the university.

Meanwhile, my drinking increased to the point where I had more alcoholic hours than credit hours, which inevitably made me miss crucial assignments and term papers. As a rule in all universities, missing a certain number of classes and not doing assignments automatically lead to discontinuation. And that is how I bid my university education goodbye.

In 2001, a year after being kicked out of university, life started getting difficult. Luckily, my parents never lost hope in me and continued helping me.

Over time, I got numerous jobs but I could not hold down any for more than three months because of my drinking. In fact, I have never held down a job long enough to qualify for annual leave.

I once got a job interview with a leading airline for the position of cabin crew. I had all that was required for the job, and all I had to do was show up for the interview. However, a friend whom I had not seen in a while came to my place as I was preparing to go for the interview. He had a quarter bottle of gin, which he asked me to take to steel my nerves. And being the fool that I was, I swallowed his bait, thinking the gin would boost my confidence during the interview. However, I took one swig too many, which we ended up topping up with several quarters. That is how my journey to face the panel ended.

I had great luck getting jobs, which was evenly matched by the frequency of losing them. For some reason, I just couldn’t wait to be sacked but took it upon myself to walk out.

One case, which I remember to date, happened when I was working in a casino in the city centre. I remember staggering to the manager’s office and giving him a management 101 tutorial while on alcoholic auto pilot.

My mother, Edah, has always been a guiding light in my life. In psychology, she is what I have learnt here in rehab is known as an “enabler”. With her love and care, she unwittingly makes me more of an alcoholic.

My being her only son only makes this relationship even worse with regard to my drinking. It’s a Catch-22 situation in which showing love and concern only fanned the embers of alcoholism.

She has taken me to hospital numerous times, she has been given grim prognoses, ranging from pyloric ulcers to pneumonia. She has shouldered the emotional pain that accompanies alcoholics.

I would say it was largely for her sake that I decided to go into rehab. I went there after sleeping at a mama pima’s (chang’aa den)  for three  days, of course without food or a bath. I was brought here by Pastor Patrick Kiema.

The bishop (see below) a man of matchless modesty and refinement, listened to my story with deep interest, then, without even seeking my consent, said  a lengthy prayer after which he asked me whether I was willing to give my life to Christ.

Here in rehabilitation, I am living as a new creature, with the fruits of the Holy Spirit slowly blossoming in me.”

*** 

How I found myself at the rehabilitation centre

Billy Mito was picked from a chang’aa den in Maringo and taken to the Greater Life Concern (GLC) Ministry Rehabilitation Centre by Pastor Patrick Kiema, who works with the the centre’s boss, Bishop Absalomon Ndungo, vividly recalls the day.

“I was “unlocking” the previous day’s alcohol binge when this man came to me and said someone wanted to speak to me. I agreed and staggered out after him. Eventually, we arrived here and I met this stoic, sturdy, dark, bespectacled, balding man with a prominent forehead. That was the bishop himself and he started preaching.

“It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourself be burdened again by a yoke of slavery (Galatians 5:1); that’s our clarion call on the war against drug and alcohol addiction,” the bishop thundered.

“It seemed unreal, and I felt somewhat awkward in this motley group that would make a perfect cast for a prisoner-of-war movie, and to just the thought that they would be my colleagues for the next three months at the rehab centre gave me mental goose bumps. As the Bishop continued with his sermon, which to me sounded like a whole lot of mumbo jumbo, my ever-vigilant mind was already crafting an escape plan, searching for all possible escape routes from this claustrophobia-inducing “lunatic asylum”.

After the meeting, the group of about 30 men and six women strolled towards the dining hall. I stood rooted next to a guy struggling to get to his feet, his face aghast at his own helplessness. Pastor Kiema helped him to his feet. The bishop motioned me to join him in a makeshift office next to the hall. After hesitating briefly, I followed him and sat on a plastic seat facing him.”

Bishop Ndungo, a former alcoholic, runs the centre, which accommodates addicts for free. He says that the centre, established in 1998, has enabled more than 200 alcoholics to rebuild their lives.

The bishop, who lives in Nairobi’s Eastlands, says he saw many lives being ruined by alcohol. Having grown up in Maringo Estate, he felt the need fight alcoholism using his ministry.

“I know the impact alcohol can have on a person. I felt a need to change their lives. I started taking them in one by one. As the number keep swelling, I work extra hard in my workshop to ensure they live comfortably, I treat them like my kids,” he says. 

The bishop focuses on attitude change, and discipline is paramount at the centre. Most inmates stay for about six months, and those whom the bishop is satisfied have changed are released to rejoin society. Those who have not are accommodated for a further six months. Although there have been relapse cases, they are few, the bishop says.

Currently, there are 39 inmates at the centre.