No one's ever too lost

It was a typical kafunda… somewhere at the back of some building; mini bar, old benches - empty sachets, leaves and crumpled pieces of paper scattered all over the floor. The air thick with the smell of a combination of ethanol, food, tobacco, gum and so many other things…  not very pleasant if you asked me. We visited weekly. 

On the other side of the building, business went on as usual; your typical trading center, a major one at that – the hustle and bustle - people walking up and down, cars going back and forth, voices, buzzes, slums, bangs, music, name it. 

We’d sit in what was supposed to be a circle; sing and share. 

On one of those days we arrived and P was hammered. Well, most of the time most of them were quite high but P was really in a state. I can’t quite describe it. It was the kind of state you find a man and something cuts into your heart; you’re angry and extremely sad all at the same time. You stand there looking at this face laughing and saying all sorts of nothings, and you think to yourself, “But why? Why?”

P loved to be a part of the weekly gatherings. In fact he always ensured to invite whoever cared to listen to him. Even that day, he was so excited to see us…but he was really out of it. We sat as usual, went on like always and at some point we hear a huge thud – P had fallen off his seat and was on the floor (backward and head first). He was that drunk. He lay there; people gathered and helped him up and after making sure he was ok, we went on. His head swelled by the way. 

Yes, we went on but my mind lingered over the incident. I looked around me saw people’s sons and daughters. These were people from what we call good and normal average families, they had been to school, some were lawyers, some had families (children), some had had prominent and purposeful lives before this doing business, working for great organisations etc… but here they were, united by leaves, sachets and bottles – brought together by pain, hurt and all sorts of internal and personal struggles. 

One evening, I met P. We chatted and I asked him to consider joining the program (Teen Challenge). He said he wanted to. We made an appointment to meet the next day. He didn’t show up. Later I learned he had been hit by a car that night we talked. He made it through and life went back to the other usual. To cut this long story short…

Last year, at the end of December, P joined the program. Someone that had been through what he was going through and who had in the past done the program too had found P in the ghetto and reached out to him. 

I never get used to looking back at what was and comparing it to what is when it comes to people like P. The same way I can’t find the words to describe that drunken state is the same way I can’t find the words to describe to you what P looks like now, the things and words that come out of him, the dreams he shares, his signature laugh, the person he truly is…the person that had been masked and robbed. It’s beautiful!

There are many P’s all around us; in our families, our workplaces, our communities, our neighbourhoods…even we ourselves. Anchored 6:19 (YouTube channel) brings you individuals who are willing to share their story so that another P out there can find hope, so that a family that has a P can be encouraged and hopefully find some tips on how to reach out to their loved one, so that an individual is forewarned and not go down the same path or make the same mistakes. 

I hope you can find some time to visit the Anchored 6:19 YouTube Channel and get to subscribe and share, not necessarily for the numbers but for the sake of a life – may be yours but more importantly that of someone out there who is an inch away from hitting the floor with a P like thud into absolute despair.  

Here is the link to this week’s story. 

https://youtu.be/ZzEbEQJZamQ 

Bless you!