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Melinda Ferguson Oliver Christensen is 19 years old. At 17 he was hardened crack addict, a dealer and a thief. He was caught selling drugs at school. Faced with a heavy jail sentence, he found his way out of a mire of darkness. This is his story:
I always wanted to do forbidden things. In standard four I smoked my first joint. After that I started taking beers and alcohol to school. I was 11 years old; getting pissed and smoking cigarettes. Dope started off as a happy drug – you smoke, you laugh. Then I started smoking alone and stopped laughing. I tried Mandrax. It became a mission to find something better than the last experience. In standard six I started getting into more trouble, sniffing glue and bunking. In standard eight I was expelled for possession of dagga. My parents didn’t want to believe I had a problem. They thought it was just a stage I was going through. I then attended a private school and carried on messing around; staying out all night, getting out of it. It was then that the rave scene really hit Jo’burg. I was 15 when I was sent to a rehabilitation centre for chronic dagga and alcohol abuse. I came out six weeks later, worse than ever. I had been exposed to 15 crack addicts and, being so young, I took on what other people told me. I made a friend there and when we came out we said: “We’ve got to try this stuff!”
I started dealing drugs at school to pay for my crack habit. Crack is a drug that once you experience the rush, you forfeit big in your life. You don’t think of anything or anybody, just the rock and where the money will come from. I stole anything that was moveable. Crack becomes your God, the reason why you wake up in the morning. I went into Hillbrow to smoke crack. It was a Thursday afternoon. I came out seven days later. I’d run my bill with a Nigerian to R6E000. I came out of a hotel, it was a Wednesday night. I hadn’t eaten in a week. It was the middle of winter. I had a pair of jeans on, no shoes, no shirt, running around the middle of Hillbrow, 17 years old. The high of crack is followed by such a downer, such an anxiety, that killing myself came to my mind plenty times. My mom nearly had a nervous breakdown; I caused a lot of conflict between my parents. I knew what I was doing, but the power of the drug exceeds any ability to feel remorse. Finally I was caught dealing at school and sent to Krugersdorp Place of Safety and refused bail. The judge was lenient with me. I was facing a heavy jail sentence. Instead I was sent to a rehab in the Karoo. Noupoort wasn’t a comfortable place. It’s in the middle of the desert. I found myself digging 2m-by-2m pits with a pick. It’s called attitude adjustments. I was in a pit from morning to evening. I had time to think about my life and what I’d done. It wasn’t an easy race to run. It was really painful without the drugs. I bawled my eyes out a lot. My only option was to climb out or die. Giving up my old way of life had to be an active decision on my part.
I’ve been clean for a year-and-a-half now. Drugs don’t discriminate. I haven’t come from a poor family. I haven’t been abused. You can be wealthy, in the slum and poor, educated, uneducated. Drugs will take you.