It has been over a decade since I lost my drug virginity to weed. I had never fantasized about it, nor did it happen by chance; I simply heard about someone else’s experience and decided I would have my day too. I am penning this experience down to kick start positive conversations about drug abuse, with an aim to reduce stigma and promote healing.
It was in my second year; since admission, I had never spent a weekend on campus. I always went home every Friday evening and returned in the evening on Sunday.
But this weekend I decided to choose pleasure over family. We were having a gig on campus, and I was determined to attend. The Mr. and Miss Maseno Pageant took place once a year, and our faithful organizers, Equator Bottlers, working together with the Student’s Entertainment Director from what I heard always put up a good show. They always sponsored A-list artists to perform, and ticket costs were less than a dollar. Even better, the organizers offered a bottle of Coca-Cola in return; no wonder there were lots of new faces.
I missed last year’s event, I guess as a freshman, partying was not appealing. But this year, the excitement was on another level. The idea of losing my drug virginity was electrifying.
It all began a week ago. After classes, Jane and I would go and hang out at Victor’s (both were my classmates and friends) place. He owned a woofer and laptop, and he was our best chance of entertainment, which didn’t go far from watching movies, eating chips, listening to music, and a little gossip here and there while we wasted the day away.
He had missed class, so we went to check on him. It was alarming to find him in bed fast asleep on a Wednesday when it was blazing hot as hades outside. The room was dark, I opened the curtains and pulled the sheets. He cringed, flipped, then stretched as he struggled to open his eyes.
“Are you serious, sleeping in this heat? Have you been texting all night?” asked Jane.
“I had a weird night, didn’t sleep a wink,” he replied, rubbing his eyes.
You had to cross the river before you could tell the crocodile that his breath stings, so for the sake of our friendship, I kept my mouth shut. But we were curious about his weird night.
“We were binging on dope with Habas last night, and when I got to bed, men, I found myself locking the door the whole night,” he said.
“I would lock the door, and once I got in bed, my brain would snap that I hadn’t locked it, so I had to do it over and over again. I just could not bring myself to a stop. It was crazy!” Victor was perplexed.
Victor was a mild doper and gifted storyteller, we always enjoyed his drug escapade stories. No wonder we listened intently, despite his bad breath. He went on to explain how last semester Boaz, a freshman and first-time dope user, had a Kodak moment. Dude was offered weed; in a moment of weakness, trying to please the daughters of Pharao, he went overboard and blew out a full stick. Unaware that he was as high as a kite, he went to make himself a cup of coffee.
He proceeded to boil some water in a kettle, as he was pouring it into a cup, he just couldn’t stop. He was nuts! The guy was burning and screaming, but he could not stop pouring the tea.
“I always knew weed from Emabungo—a remote village in Luanda town, Western Kenya—was out of the ordinary. Some say it’s spiked with petrol and other paraphernalia, I had to see its effects to believe,” Vincent resolved.
“Boaz is now scalded for life, I haven’t seen him since, I bet he will never try weed again,” he added.
Huh, it’s funny, when stupidity rears through the door, common sense goes out through the window. This story should have scared us from using drugs, instead, we were amused, and we made up our minds to try out dope. We wanted to create our own memories of this experience. I even consoled myself that after trying it out, at least I would be able to know the tell-tell signs of drug use when I have kids of my own.
So we set a date—during the Mr&Mrs Maseno, place - at Jane’s, she stayed with her sister off campus, and she was supposed to be out of town during that weekend. This would give us the privacy we craved in case we had an embarrassing situation after the fact. And Victor would be our supplier, we wanted the ‘Emabungo stuff’ that way we’ll have a fulfilling experience.
Fast forward----here we are - Mr.&Mrs Maseno. At the graduation square, the stage was being mounted, vendors busy damping their orders, and the music was loud and energizing.
Our weed vendor did not disappoint either, he brought the finest and most organic weed from Emabungo. Of course, it was laced with petrol and guaranteed to reward the smoker with the energy of a bull, or send you to a mental institution depending on the quantity smoked.
We arrived at Jane’s, it was quiet and dark, the curtains closed because we wanted to keep noisy neighbors away from our illicit activity.
Of the two, I was the most excited, I could not wait, didn’t think of the repercussions, and most probably the dumbest. As a matter of fact, the Boaz of the group. Remember Boaz? Sadly, I didn't, and I was about to suffer for it.
I rushed for the first roll, and lit it up. Boooy, I felt like a cool kid, the ones I had only encountered in films, the bad boys, who are down with some mental health problem, probably from a previous trauma event. Lost bad boys seeking to see the light, to understand their purpose in life. And so was I, lost, testing my destiny, churning my own path, and ready to face whatever comes my way.
Unfortunately, the first puff tasted like a failed marriage. It had a sharp irritating effect. I could feel the smoke chocking my throat, the acidity of the petrol combined with the smell of sour sweat left a disgusting taste in my mouth. I lost my cool, instead of smiling, I coughed my lungs out, and couldn’t prevent tears from filling my eyes while I breathed heavily for fresh air.
The other two laughed, “Do not rush it, take lighter puffs as you build up the pace, that way you won’t get drunk too soon,” they encouraged me.
Their encouragements worked, courageously, I bounced back. Even though the smell and dry taste of the weed were sickening, against their advice, I took deeper puffs, and I learnt that I should let the smoke stay longer inside me, for the best experience. However, the more I smoked, the more I felt frustrated, I wasn’t getting high like I expected and kept wondering if I was doing it wrong.
Within a half an hour, without any action, we abandoned the idea of getting high and decided we would experiment on the edible weed next time. We proceeded to where the live action was to enjoy the music and mingle with friends.
Nobody told me how long it takes to get stoned! All I remember is, once I got to the graduation square, I grabbed a seat. Immediately I sat, I looked to the sky, and I saw it toppling over, it was like everything was falling upside down. I was so frightened, that I grabbed Jane, closed my eyes and started screaming.
“Uuuuuwi, tunaanguka (we are falling),” I screamed.
When I opened my eyes, everything was back to normal, and everyone was staring at me, confused at my allegations.
I was still frightened, and breathing heavily. I didn’t understand what had happened, I had just seen everything toppling over, and now it was all back to normal. Jane, on the other hand, was embarrassed; I felt like she wanted to stay away from me as much as possible.
“It’s the weed, you are starting to feel its effect,” she said, facing away from me. At that point I didn’t know where Vincent was, immediately we got the event he disappeared. He probably left with his friends, or he is chasing skirts and pencil trousers.
I felt a strong urge to explain myself, but I was stuck at the first words - You see.
As if not worse enough, I found the situation amusing - that I kept on repeating the words you see. I began to laugh, and the laughter was uncontrolled. It felt like it came from the stomach, snaked through my guts, and burst out of the mouth. It was intense, I could feel my ribs almost caving in.
Jane was extremely embarrassed, but I held on to her like my life depended on it. I could not control my laughter, and at the same time I could not speak. All I knew was that my mind was alert, I knew everything happening around me, but I had no control myself and someone else – Jane – made decisions for me.
Jane kept explaining to everyone that I was a first-time weed user. People would make fun of me, make derogatory statements, and I could not do anything about it. Due to being stoned, I was defenseless. As the night worn out, so did I, and eventually I realized that I had embarrassed myself, and out of the three, I was the only one who smoked the weed.
The next day, I woke up fatigued and hungry. I was also feeling sick, I guess I was having a hangover. And as I reflected the events of the previous night, I was glad I had smoked weed. Stupidity and peer pressure made me realize there is no glory to using drugs. I could never take back the day, but until now I am confident that I would never try out another roll, and a decade later I have never looked back.
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