Photo Feature

During my work at the drug rehabilitation center, something kept pushing me to go back and be with them again. Whenever I am there, I don't feel like coming back. I felt like a part of them. A few gave me their land phone number, so I could call their families, and some asked for my number so they can contact me after they leave.

I met doctors, lawyers, engineers, students, husbands, dads, brothers, and made friends with them during the course of my project. Many were abused, some had to resort to stealing to buy drugs. One man told me he always felt bad when he saw his cousin brother driving a Nissan Petrol but he couldn't afford a car. He sold drugs to earn money, but couldn't save enough.

One told me not to take his picture, I asked why, he replied, "I will be getting married soon, if they know, I won't be able to marry." Another said, "Everyone has to see, has to know -- or else how would I get cured?”

One day, someone came up to me and asked me if I wanted to see something. When we went to his room, he took out a ghugu from the wardrobe and told me he likes tending to birds. He got the bird from the garden after it had fallen from the tree. A few days later, he told me the bird has died. I asked how it happened.

He said, "Birds cannot be caged, it wanted to fly, and the wings got caught into the sharp net steel. The bird bled and died. When I had found the bird, it was small and didn't know how to eat. If it knew how, it could have lived."