I walked a long, rocky road from alcoholism to my new life

If Chrispus Kimaru knew that the sweet-tasting muratina, an alcoholic drink popular in Central Kenya, would leave him with the bitter taste of regret decades later, perhaps he would have thought twice about taking his first sip in 1999, when he was only 16.

“It was at a party at home in Karatina, and everyone looked happy, so I wanted to experience that. I took a sip from my older brother’s cup without his knowledge and loved the taste so much that I swore I would drink again as soon as I turned 18. I imagined that at this time, I would be free to drink alcohol.”

He did not know that bondage, not freedom, awaited him. Hardly a year later, after his first sip, in 2000, he had his first proper drink with his friends to usher in the new year. In their drunken stupor, they crashed a wedding. Chrispus woke up covered in his own vomit.

For Chrispus, even though the first hangover was terrible, being drunk made him feel like a “real man” and boosted his self-esteem.

When his parents heard about his behaviour, they confronted him, but he denied everything.

In retrospect, Chrispus, now 38, traces back his constant chase for highness to the feeling of adequacy it gave him.

“I felt better about myself. Like I was enough.”

Faced bullying

You see, Chrispus spent most of his time in primary and secondary school fighting a deep sense of inadequacy.

“I was a bright boy in primary school, so I was heartbroken when I did not score high enough marks to earn a spot in one of my dream schools.”

He was invited to join an unremarkable secondary school in Kiambu, and his self-esteem dipped even further.

As a small-bodied boy, he was a prime target for bullying, which dented his self-worth. And like many of his classmates, he pegged his value on his grades, so whenever he performed below the standards he’d set for himself, he would question his worth.

“The bullying I meant that I could not focus well on my studies. I tailed my class even though I was a bright boy academically. My parents could not understand why this was happening and concluded that I was just lazy.”

The bullying eventually stopped when his parents transferred him, and his grades improved dramatically. So much so that he got good enough grades to be admitted to a public university. But still, a sense of inadequacy tortured his soul, and he felt disappointed in the course he had been admitted to.

“I was invited to study Geography and was disappointed because my dream had been to study law or journalism. My father always bought the newspaper, and I knew what I wanted to do from the time I was a little boy, so I was crushed. I felt like a failure.”

His deep sense of inadequacy eventually led him to the bottom of the abyss of despair alcoholism. And he has paid dearly as he battled his way back to the top.

“Drinking alcohol became my solution of avoiding thinking about my grades. Especially when I saw my classmates who I thought were not my academic equals joyfully pursuing diploma courses while I waited to start a course I had no interest in whatsoever. What was I going to do with a degree in Geography?”

Alcohol became his refuge.

“After dad received tea bonus money, he gave us Sh1200 to buy clothes, but my brother and I spent only Sh200 and drank the rest. In our ‘high spirits’, we stepped on mama mbogas’ tomatoes in the village, and they reported us to our parents.”

His dad was so infuriated that he vowed never to give him any coin while their quarrels began to mushroom and escalate by the day.

In 2002, at the onset of joining Moi University, Chrispus got the Higher Education Loans Board (HELB) money. Whereas he did not see the course as befitting, he boasted of now having his own drinking money. He later changed his course to B.Ed (English and Literature).

Chrispus’ low self-esteem meant he was too shy to date, and instead, he fell into the habit of paying for sex.

“When I was a third-year student at the university, I would travel to Eldoret or Nairobi regularly just so that I could sleep with prostitutes for as little as Sh200 or 300.”

 (Not) born again

Chrispus was coming from one of his drinking sprees one day when he heard music coming from a hall.

“Deep down, I must have known that I needed saving, and I vaguely remember kneeling and someone laying their hands on me.”

It was only a day later when one of the Christian Union (CU) classmates referred to him as “Brother Chrispus” that the significance of what he had done dawned     on him.  He chose to stick to the path of Christianity and regularly attended the CU meetings. He switched off the drinking tap for seven months and even started a movies business with friends.

One day, a renowned musician visited the university and Chrispus and his friends were tasked with selling tickets, and they accumulated an excellent profit. Chrispus immediately chose to spend his money on alcohol, and just like that, he relapsed.

“I had money and could afford my normal cheap liquor.”

This relapse set him firmly on the path of alcoholism, and it would take a lot for him to turn back the vicious tides of addiction.

In 2006 after finishing his teaching practice, Chrispus went back to Nairobi, where he lived with his eldest sister Kate and would use money meant for food on alcohol.

“Many a day Kate would find me very drunk. We started having serious confrontations, and I left her house immediately. I got a teaching job in Kikuyu in 2007.”

Before reporting, the school sent him some advance cash to help him settle in.

“I paid for a house in Kikuyu just near the school then left to Nairobi where I drank first before passing by Sabina Joy, a hub for prostitutes. I was robbed and did not have any money left. I called the school manager and made up a story that made me look innocent, and he sent me some cash.”

When he eventually started teaching, Chrispus would miss so many days of work that the principal would venture out to look for him.

Soon enough, Chrispus resigned from the school, citing that the school was interfering with his drinking but days later applied to another school in Nairobi where he was getting an Sh15,000 salary.

A higher salary only meant more money to spare for drinking.

 Chrispus later applied for a customer care representative job at a Kenyan company and quit his teaching job in 2008.

“I was making Sh50,000 a month, so I relocated to Pipeline, Nairobi and in the first months, I would drink moderately because the company had a strict policy against drinking.”

He had more money to fund his drinking habit, even skipping work to do so. The warning letters he got from his bosses did not deter him.

“I was told to read the employment contract, and when I explained that I had a drinking problem, they offered to help through counselling. They outsourced a counsellor for me, but after the sessions, I would pass by the local pub on my way home.”

One night, Chrispus failed to report to work and was fired.

After losing his plum job in 2010, Chrispus started selling off his belongings to get money to drink.

“The only thing I wanted to do was die while high.”

He admits that he had been considering suicide most of his adult life.

When he got his benefits from his employer, he celebrated by getting high and sleeping with a prostitute who robbed him of the last Sh11,000 he had on him.

A college friend introduced him to online writing, even giving him a laptop to start him off. He did this from 2011 to 2012 before hitting rock bottom.

“But he caught me trying to sell off his laptop one day and took it from me. I was desperate to do anything that would get me the next high.”

Desperate to help, his friend called his parents, who came to see him the next day.

“They found me in a chang’aa den looking all frail, very drunk, smelly and even vomiting blood.”

His parents took him back home, and since Chrispus was already conversant with online writing and needed a source of income, he convinced his parents to ask his friend to give him the laptop.

He remained sober for three weeks and diligently did online writing, but soon, he could comfortably support his drinking habit and went right back into it.

As he battled alcoholism, his mother prayed for him diligently, even giving him examples of people who had been alcoholics and recovered.

Family man

In 2013, he got a job with the Teachers Service Commission (TSC), but his financial breakthrough became his breaking point. He was back to the same old cycle of alcoholism, warning letters and heavy debt. Only this time, he had a girlfriend to think about and a child on the way.

“I met her during the TSC interviews, and we hit it off. Maybe because I felt like at least I had a source of income, I was confident in approaching her.”

He added a new vice to his list when he became a pathological liar. He used to lie to charm his way into people’s pockets, and he sunk deeper and deeper into debt and alcoholism. Not even the birth of his son brought him back to his senses. He went as far as stealing money from the mother of his child.

One day, in 2014, he “drank” all the rent money and decided to end it all.

“I asked myself how life could be so cruel to me, about why I could not catch a break despite being a bright boy in school. And I asked myself: why me? I wanted to get high one last time before I exited the world, so I stole my girlfriend’s TV to get the cash I needed.”

He wrote goodbye messages to people he deemed close, then went to the agrovet and bought the pesticide he wanted.

“Since I wanted to die while high, I went to a local pub first.”

After a few drinks, Chrispus left to the washroom, where he drank the pesticide.

“I blacked out, I could not see clearly, my throat and stomach were in crazy pain, and I was vomiting blood.”

Doctors diagnosed him with gastritis and told him that his liver was scarred. That explained why he regularly vomited blood when he went on heavy drinking sprees. He resolved to quit alcohol.

He felt judged and stigmatised when word got out that he had attempted suicide.

After a disciplinary hearing, TSC allowed him to continue teaching at a different school in Naro Moru, but he went back to his old habits.

Having his house locked up and being interdicted again for failing to attend his duties, Chrispus drank even more and lived in streets, lodgings and with his brother before resolving to go back to Nairobi.

He moved in with his sister, but she kicked him out a month later.

At this time, Chrispus health was so poor that he would vomit blood every time he drank, but this would not dissuade him because of the withdrawal effects.

By 2017, his health had deteriorated so much that he knew sooner or later he would die.

Redemption

On Wednesday, February 8,2017, Chrispus, who had stayed for two days without food and had no money, experienced an excruciating stomach ache. His withdrawal symptoms were relentless.

“I cried to God to heal my already hurting stomach, which I later learnt was gastritis. For once, I did not want to die.”

Chrispus crawled to his neighbour and requested food, and when he summoned enough energy, he went to a nearby Catholic church and said a prayer.

“Although I had nightmares and would shiver, I was determined to keep praying and avoiding alcohol.”

After a month, Chrispus started going to the Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) meetings held at various churches in Nairobi.

Additionally, he contacted his sister Kate, who agreed to live with him once again.

After a few months of sobriety, Chrispus called his son’s mother and asked to see him. She agreed.

Today, he is co-parents with her, in an arrangement he says works out quite well.  Chrispus is now married to a woman he regards as his greatest motivation and the love of his life.  They have a daughter.

Chrispus is a Search Engine Optimization (SEO) writer, and is celebrating five years of sobriety.

For Chrispus, the first step to healing is accepting that you have a problem. It’s never too late.

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