Diepsloot, Soweto - Christine Mphuthi describes her 23-year-old son Simon as “respectful”, “hard working” and “a nice boy”– when he’s not high on nyaope.
But over the last two years or so the Diepsloot mother-of-three wakes up each day not knowing if she still has a kettle or curtains, because her only son steals from her to get his fix of the street drug that has spread its malignancy in locations and townships across the country.
“He has his security guard certificate and he used to help me, but now life is painful for me. I am worried about him. In my family in Alex there was another boy who died because of nyaope,” says Mphuthi. She doesn’t mind being named because she wants other parents to be warned about nyaope. She believes Simon didn’t even know he was smoking nyaope the first time he tried it.
Nyaope is a combination of heroin and dagga. It’s also sometimes called whoonga. The heroin used is a crude, brown heroin, less processed and cheaper than the white purer form of heroin. It is usually cut or extended with the likes of talcum powder, milk powder and baking powder.
Anecdotal evidence suggests that nyaope is also cut with rat poison, antiretroviral medicines used in the treatment of HIV and even pool cleaner. Prepared, it looks much like a regular dagga joint or “zol” and is most commonly smoked, though some addicts also sniff the concoction.
Cathy Vos, national co-ordinator of Sanca (South African National Council on Alcoholism and Drug Dependence), says there’s no forensic evidence that shows that ARVs or rat poison are widely used in nyaope preparations, but being a street drug it’s prepared with whatever is locally available.
“It has various street names depending on where you buy it in the country, but the core ingredients are dagga and heroin. We haven’t really seen nyaope with rat poison and ARVs, though we have heard of such cases in KZN. It also doesn’t seem logical for the dealers to want to poison their users or spend too much money on their nyaope mixtures,” says Vos.
Nyaope first reared its head around 2006 in urban townships. It has the makings of a perfect storm: it’s cheap, highly addictive and its withdrawal symptoms are among the worst of any drug, making recovery near impossible. It also pushes up crime rates as addicts turn to crime to fund their habit.
Currently, Vos says, users pay between R5 and R20 for a single nyaope “cigarette”. This makes it accessible to even primary schoolchildren and people in disadvantaged communities. Being highly addictive means a greater pool of first-time users become dependent on the drug. And with the worst withdrawal symptoms for addicts, it’s a struggle to get clean. On top of this, organisations like Sanca are coming under increased pressure while their budgets are not keeping up with rising costs.
Nyaope is in the process of being classified as a banned substance, making it possible for police to arrest those in possession of or those dealing in nyaope. The Department of Justice and Constitutional Development is looking to amend the Drugs and Drug Trafficking Act, 1992 (Act 140 of 1992) to make provision for prosecutions linked to nyaope.
Gauteng Agriculture, Rural and Social Development MEC Nandi Mayathula-Khoza recently convened a summit to address the rapid spread and social implications of nyaope.
“We sadly learn every day of break-ins and robberies as well as aggressive behaviour by culprits who want to service their addiction to this substance. Substance abuse is recognised as one of the greatest health and social problems in South Africa, with wide-ranging consequences,” Mayathula-Khoza said at the summit.
Mokgethi Balepile, centre manager at Sanca Central Rand and Diepsloot, says that up to 90 percent of the addiction cases they have seen over about the past two to three years involve nyaope.
“The problem with nyaope is that even when we send these young boys (most addicts are boys and young men) to rehab, they return to environments where there are no jobs, no opportunities, so they go back to using nyaope because it’s cheap and it’s available everywhere in the townships. They also end up doing crime to get money for nyaope, because they have to have that next smoke,” he says.
“Sometimes you feel hopeless. You see the parents and the family try so hard, but nothing works. It destroys families and it destroys communities, but still we see this problem growing.”
Balepile says organisations like Sanca need better training and resources. They also need holistic programmes that offer addicts and their families support, structure and alternatives to a life of drug dependency.
By the middle of the month, Sanca social worker Melitha Sebudubudu had 17 new nyaope cases in her caseload for the Diepsloot area. She has a budget for 250 for the year. Sebudubudu is the only social worker at the centre.
“There’s a lot of paperwork to try to get people into rehab. Before, the state could afford to have people in rehab for a few months. Now they want to cut that down to six to eight weeks and we know that’s not enough time for nyaope addicts,” says Sebudubudu.
It costs the state about R18 000 to put a single addict through rehabilitation.
Worse news is that Balepile and Sebudubudu are still waiting for rehab success stories to share.
For Ngwako*, rehab didn’t work. The 25-year-old sinks into a sofa in his parents’ Diepsloot lounge. The lounge is usually locked up. His mother refuses to let Ngwako in the lounge alone because her TV will be gone. Even ashtrays, cushions or pictures on the walls are not safe.
He’s high as he speaks, having smoked nyaope about an hour before the interview. His face is drawn and his emotions are hard to read. At any moment he looks ready to lash out, to break down into tears or to nod off to sleep.
“I feel like the lion in Zion when I’m high,” he mumbles.
The words form slowly on his lips. Ngwako has a five-year-old daughter who lives with his girlfriend. He admits to sometimes smoking even when he’s with his child, and says he needs to smoke two or three times a day.
He cracks his knuckles and rubs his eyes when he talks about his relationship with his parents. He uses his hand to indicate “so-so”, then melts back into the couch, closing his eyes, seeking out the remainder of his nyaope high.
People on the ground like Balepile and Sebudubudu can’t afford to give up, though, not even on Ngwako, who they will send to rehab once more.
Back in their offices is another addict, one they hope will be a success story. Max*, 30, squeezes into a couch with his mother Linkie* to chat. He’s been clean for weeks and it’s thanks to his mother and grandmother, who took matters into their own hands. Max had been ordered to enter a rehab programme by the courts, but while the system of paperwork churned along, Linkie decided to send her son back to their home village in Limpopo.
“He couldn’t get nyaope there and his grandmother made sure he stayed,” she says.
Max, who had been using nyaope for over three years, remembers those days of withdrawal.
“I couldn’t sleep for two weeks, and every day I wanted to leave. You feel pains in your body and you itch, and your heart starts jumping. I thought I was going to die,” he says.
Now, though, he says he feels strong. “Never touch that stuff. I’m finished with nyaope. I wish I could ask for forgiveness from the people I stole from,” he says, shaking his head as his gaze drifts to the window.
Max’s court-appointed rehab date has now been finalised. He will go to rehab even though he’s been clean with his family’s intervention. Rehab, Max believes, is the final step in making sure he never returns to nyaope.
“I hope, I really hope so,” Linkie says.
*Names changed
The Star