I pray that you too will see the light

Aggrey Ombok talks about how he became addicted to alcohol and drugs, how his addiction robbed him of his wife and son, and how he was finally able to overcome his addiction and get his life back on track. Courtesy. PHOTO| COURTESY

What you need to know:

  • It was this desperate desire to belong to something bigger than myself and a yearning to be recognised, that motivated me to follow Jeff through winding paths, sugarcane plantations and finally into a homestead nicknamed Beijing.

  • A few days later, another schoolmate, Dave, asked me to accompany him into the school sugarcane plantation. Far into the farm, away from prying eyes, he pulled out what looked like a tightly rolled wad of brown sugar packaging paper and lit up.

  • One night, after a particularly heavy drug-fueled episode, I recorded the song “Tunapepea,”, “we’re flying.” The song was well-received in clubs and radio stations, but my focus then was more on the partying, the fame, and the groupies that flocked around us than the business aspect, so I never made a music career out of that hit

“Aggrey, I want you to take me somewhere,” whispered my friend Jeff one Friday evening as we walked to the dormitory after games.

That meant we were going to sneak out of school later that night. I was aware of the consequences that lay ahead should I get caught, but I was too excited at the prospect of finally becoming part of the ‘elite’ group of cocky, undisciplined, city boys in our school, known as the ‘Soul Brothers’, to care. Jeff was one of them, and since he was inviting me, it meant the others had accepted me.

I felt privileged to be one of the “notorious boys”, as the principal called them. These boys were the envy of other students especially due to their polished city English twang, perfumes, oversize trousers, in vogue back then, and confidence with the girls we met from other schools.

It was this desperate desire to belong to something bigger than myself and a yearning to be recognised, that motivated me to follow Jeff through winding paths, sugarcane plantations and finally into a homestead nicknamed Beijing - the owner was a widow who lived with several daughters and sisters-in-law.

Seated in the living room were several ‘Soul Brothers’, each with a glass of clear liquid before him. One was smoking, blowing clouds of smoke into the air as laughter and rude jokes flowed around the room.

A woman they referred to as “Mama” brought me a glass into which she poured a clear liquid from an old Tree Top bottle.

It was extremely bitter - the fiery sensation mercilessly scorched the back of my throat as it went down, but the warm feeling I experienced as it settled in my belly was strangely welcome. After a while, one of the boys passed me a cigarette.

I took a puff, spluttered and coughed, braved the sarcastic laughter from the “crew” and resolved to keep on trying until I knew how to do it properly. That night went well.

MY WORLD BEGINS TO CHANGE

A few days later, another schoolmate, Dave, asked me to accompany him into the school sugarcane plantation. Far into the farm, away from prying eyes, he pulled out what looked like a tightly rolled wad of brown sugar packaging paper and lit up.

The smoke was less harsh than that of cigarettes, but after a few puffs, the sights, sounds, patterns and colours of the world around me began to change.

Objects would swim in and out of focus, and even Dave’s voice took on an odd, distorted, outer-worldly quality when he spoke. Up to date, I don’t recall how I made it back to the dorm.

For the next few hours, I was on a “flight” to a faraway land which had never existed for me before. I alternately saw angels and demons, imagined I was dying and being reborn, saw rainbows, flying ghosts, mermaids and cartoon characters all around me and thought for one scary moment as I lay in my bed, too intoxicated to talk or move, that I would actually die. My induction into the ‘Soul Brothers’ was now complete.

Only 15, I had officially been introduced to alcohol, cigarettes and now bhang.

My long walk to hell had just begun.

Born and raised in a devout Catholic home, I was that active but studious child that preferred reading to playing with my friends. The books gave me an active imagination and a desire to experience the exotic new worlds described in them.

Growing up, I witnessed the contrast between my parents. My fun-loving dad with his massive vinyl record collection featuring The Bee Gees, Donna Summer, Charlie Pride, Jim Reeves, and his fauvorite, Franco’s TPOK Jazz, was the consummate showman who loved his beer, song and dance. My prayerful mum would lead us in Bible study and prayer after evening meals, and she would often choose me to read from the scriptures.

The tug of war between the two “governments” struggling for dominion in our home played out in my mind, finally culminating in my choosing the ‘Soul Brothers’ and becoming an alcohol and drug addict at 15.

My school grades nosedived after that, and it is actually a miracle that I completed my secondary school education. I kept my vice well hidden from my teachers until my luck finally ran out.

One day, as I staggered back to school from the changaa den I had blacked out in after drinking more than I could handle, I stumbled into my Chemistry teacher, also a drunkard, who promptly reported me to the principal. I was in Form Four.

I was suspended indefinitely, and had no choice but to sit my Kenya Certificate of Secondary Examinations as an outsider, commuting from home to school daily. By then, I was so addicted to alcohol, that I could not resist having a quick drink before sitting for my English Grammar paper, my favourite subject. Only God knows how I passed that exam.

DOWN HILL

Life at home in Kisii after secondary school rapidly became intolerable. I no longer had a steady flow of the pocket money I was used to, and so I turned to petty theft to finance my addiction.

I would steal my mother’s hens, eggs and even maize from the store in exchange for a glass of changaa. Fed up with my appalling behaviour, she sent me to live with my father in Nairobi West, in the outskirts of the city centre.

Dad was a top-ranking civil servant then, and would give me money to spend on a daily basis. He would leave early in the morning and return late at night, so he had no idea how I spent my time. My life became a series of long alcohol and drug holidays, occasionally broken to sleep, take breakfast, lunch or supper, or shower and change before the next adventure.

I quickly made friends with fellow addicts in the area, who introduced to me to miraa during the long nights of watching football in bars. By now, my descent into full-blown addiction was in earnest. I was a college-going junkie. Sharing space with my books was miraa, bhang and cigarettes.

After college, I was lucky to get a couple of jobs, all of them coincidentally at the Jomo Kenyatta International Airport, where my passion for a fast-paced life, women and partying went up a notch. My workmates were all drinkers, so every night was party time. I would become violent when intoxicated, and was often arrested for drunk and disorderly behaviour.

I would be remorseful for a few days and then go back to my normal behaviour.

It was at around this time that I met Sandra, a lovely long-legged lakeside beauty who blew me away at first sight. A demure secondary school student, I wasted no time in making my intentions plain to her, and we became an item.

It was to be the start of a six-year affair that was filled with as much drama as it had its tender moments of love. Meanwhile, I was having problems at work due to my alcohol and drug addiction.

I decided to quit my freight forwarding clerk’s job to go back to college. Just for fun, I hooked up with Steve, a drinking buddy, and together we formed a music group, The Mud Hut Family.

One night, after a particularly heavy drug-fueled episode, I recorded the song “Tunapepea,”, “we’re flying.” The song was well-received in clubs and radio stations, but my focus then was more on the partying, the fame, and the groupies that flocked around us than the business aspect, so I never made a music career out of that hit.

It was around then that Sandra and I were blessed with a baby boy. I loved Sandra with a mad passion then, totally unsure of a life without her. Meanwhile, my random affairs and wild nights with “my boys” continued. Sandra and I broke up a couple of times, reconciled, tried new partners and just when I thought we would finally settle down, she told me we were finished.

I provoked her into a nasty public fight which only worsened things.

My long-suffering mother, always warning me against my crazy lifestyle, had just arrived for a visit and was shocked by the incident. She took me back to Kisii the next day, hoping to undo the bad influence of the city’s fast-paced party scene on my life. I slowed down and sobered up for a while.

Back in Nairobi nine months later, I found Sandra a different girl, distant and totally immune to my charm. My temporary rehab was over.

Devastated, I contemplated suicide but shied off because I wanted to see my son grow up. Jobs, previously easy to get, now became an impossible target as I struggled to make a decent picture out of my now shattered life. My brother and drinking companion moved out to make a home with his girlfriend.

My sister flew to the US for further studies, while dad retired and returned to Kisii, leaving me in Nairobi West with my rugby-crazy younger brother. Our stay was peppered with quarrels and fights. Disillusioned with the world, I grew dreadlocks, smoked more weed and got more violent. Ever hopeful, mum still encouraged me to give up the drugs and return to school, but I only saw the darkness of defeat.

And then it happened. Barack Obama swept into public prominence with the “Yes We Can” campaign and I was stunned. I silently promised myself to shave my dreadlocks and return to school if that black man won the US polls.

He did so in magnificent style. I shaved my dreads but kept using drugs.

IN WITH THE NEW

Two months later, a particularly nasty spat with my brother convinced me to move out of our comfortable middle class home.

My new home was Mitumba Village, next to Wilson Airport, a slum with scarce water supply, grinding poverty, flying toilets and plenty of drugs. Yet it was in this place that I found God, sanity, peace of mind, kind neighbours and a new start in my life.

One night, as I knelt on the muddy floor of my shack with a leaky roof, the floodgates of pain, despair, depression, regret, fear and bitterness came crashing down, and I wept as I prayed to God for deliverance from a wasted life.

He heard me. Amazingly enough, when I woke up the next day, my craving for drugs and alcohol was gone. I got a job as a teacher in one of the slum schools, started going to church and four months later, headed to Kisii for a Media Studies degree course, graduating in 2014 from Kisii University.

I’m ashamed of my past, especially what I put Sandra and our son through, as well as her patient, understanding family and my loving family, who supported me through every tortuous inch of the long walk back to freedom.

Though I’ve formally reconciled with Sandra’s family, I understand her reluctance to see me – I put her through terrible pain and emotional torture. My prayer is that she will find happiness like I have as I move out of the dark past into a brand new future.

For now, my great love for my son, parents, siblings, writing and preaching, make me a very happy person, a man at peace.