‘I don’t smoke nyaope anymore. I now smoke crack cocaine’

The tent smells of urine, feet and the occasional whiff of BB tobacco rolled in newspaper. But there is something else in the air: despair, resignation and defeat. And the base, violent instincts lurk not far below the surface. As we start to leave this shelter for nyaope addicts in Centurion, a short man looks at me.

“Next time you come here you should wear jeans instead of a dress. We’re men.”

He is Kleinboy Aphane, a 32-year-old former convict who was released from prison last year after serving 12 years for possession of an unlicensed firearm. And almost as soon as he has uttered those words, he is contrite.

Kleinboy Aphane can be seen at the Lyttleton Sport Grounds homeless shelter where he has been staying since the beginning of the nationwide lockdown, 21 July 2020, Pretoria. Picture: Jacques Nelles

“I want to apologise for the remark that I made to you. It’s just that I am also a rapist. If I had a gun right now, I probably would have used it to take you and rape you. That is what I used to do.

“When I held a big firearm, I felt powerful. I no longer want to live that life. But please, understand that we are all men here and we haven’t been with a woman in a long time.”

It’s a chilling admission from a man whose life has been upended by drugs and who lives hour to hour and has nothing to lose. Yet, he and the others here haven’t entirely lost their humanity. They want to be better, they want to kick their destructive habits.

Unlike some who are dressed in tattered clothes and ripped shoes, agape from the toes, Aphane is dressed in a white button-up shirt, black pants and mismatching Converse All Star sneakers. He has scars across his face and around his eyes and two big round scars on his arms from when he injected a bad mix of nyaope.

His front teeth were knocked out, apparently during fights in prison. He says that although he was involved in crimes like robberies, heists and murder, he was in custody for four years during his trial and only received an eight-year sentence, as he was 18-years-old at the time.

Some of the homeless men at the Lyttleton Sports Grounds shelter can be seen working in a tent set up to house them, 21 July 2020, Pretoria. Picture: Jacques Nelles

He and the other nyaope users from Pretoria have, for the past four months, been living in a shelter at the Lyttelton Sports Ground in Centurion. Since lockdown began in March, meals have been served three times a day, along with regular doses of methadone to relieve severe pain and prevent withdrawal symptoms in those addicted to opiates. But, it’s a hard road back. And most know they won’t make it. They talk to us in sad, resigned tones.

“We get a meal, have methadone and then lie down and do nothing. What is that? At least if we had jobs to help us forget about nyaope…

“We walk to town to get it. It’s just an hour to get there and another hour to come back. We used to live on the streets so we’re used to walking.”

They show us the small needles with orange lids they use to inject the methadone. Among them, almost trying to hide quietly, is Koketso Mokwena, a nyaope user who had vowed to use the lockdown to kick the habit. Unlike others who were taken off the streets by law enforcement, Mokwena reported to a shelter himself, planning to return home to Hammanskraal after getting clean.

When The Citizen first met him in March, the vocal 22-year-old was excited about beginning his recovery. During the initial 21-day lockdown, he was often seen encouraging other users to join him for methadone treatment. That optimism seems to have gone now.

“I don’t smoke nyaope anymore. I now smoke crack cocaine,” he says.

It’s not clear if this is to be considered a victory, or an admission of failure.

“I see no progress in my life and it’s stressing me. I want to go to rehab now. They’ve arranged for social workers to come sometime this week to help me to go there.”

The social workers arrive sooner than expected and his eyes light up with excitement for the first time all day.

“I first need to go to home affairs to do my ID. Once I get my ID, then they will give me a date when I can go to rehab.”

Some of the homeless men at the Lyttleton Sports Grounds shelter can be seen sweeping the floor of a tent set up to house them, 21 July 2020, Pretoria. Picture: Jacques Nelles

Phillip Msiza is the closest the men have to a leader. Msiza, 38, had been using nyaope for 10 years and is one of the many users who beat the habit at the start of the lockdown.

“I drink methadone but I want to get off of that, too, so I don’t depend on it. I now take very small dosages. I am a leader of this place and should lead by example. I told myself to act like an older brother to the people here, because if there is no light in front of their eyes, they will obviously not be encouraged.”

Msiza grips a green book with the department of health and the South African coat of arms printed on the cover. He shows the doctor’s writing from 10 June this year, summarising his mental condition. For seven years he had mild hallucinations, believed he had been kidnapped, and he could hear God speaking to him. Now, he feels confident and proud and his mental state has improved.

“I have to carry on doing this [recovery] thing. I can use my Christianity to make others feel human,” he adds.

– rorisangk@citizen.co.za

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