Just a sip

I blacked out the first time I took a sip. I was at a friend’s party that night when I had to be in bed to wake up early for school the next morning. In all my life, I had never seen a party as big as that. People everywhere, hot girls in all manner of hot dresses. My friends and I sat around a long table occupied with girls on every side I turned. Most were strangers probably not from my neighborhood. I was expecting food, plenty food but what I saw on every corner of the table we sat around shocked me. There was club, bitters, Guinness, ginseng, star, Don Garcia, Smirnoff, local gin and those I had not seen before. As if at the sound of whistle, everybody began drinking. I liked what they did: crazy dance, screaming, twerking. My friends were basically having fun. So I decided to take a sip of the chilled Guinness that happened to sit right in front of me. It tasted bitter but it sent a shiver all around my throat that I kept drinking till I finished a bottle. Until that day, I didn’t know I could ever drink. I hated the people who drank and misbehaved like my father did. He bullied us, especially my mom, stole money, hid bottles, and crawled on the ground in our compound house till the children in our neighborhood gave him a name. Whether or not I was burning coals of fire on my head I didn’t know, but the rest of my days transformed me life into someone no less than my father. I kept drinking day and night. Anytime I recovered from intoxicating however, a shock in me made me regret. I realized that among my friends, I was the only one who got drunk with the least alcohol. One tot and I will be dizzy, with two, I will be tipsy, three and I will be well gone and out of it. Alcohol took away my shyness and paralyzing anxiety. It gave me a happy feeling that freed me to do anything. I yelled in the streets, danced at parties, talk back at my parents and talked to strangers. It made me fearless and I loved it.

At least that was what I thought. That alcohol made me the “real” me.

Considering the person it made me, barely unable to do anything without drinking, I still thought it was good for me. I finally stopped school because Sunday evenings were days that I got drank the most. I would crawl on the veranda leading to our room door Monday morning. It didn’t end there but continue throughout the week. My single mom could no longer cater for a life like that so she let me be. She thought I would learn from the lesson of my father’s death, but I didn’t. I rather began drinking secretly. I sneaked to drink, hid the bottles, stole money and lied. The funny thing was, even though I would hide while drinking, the effects were always visible. At age nineteen, I got a job as a construction worker with a couple of my friends. Now that I had money more frequently, alcohol became a part of me. I spent every cedi drinking and still do. I feel ashamed when the children in the neighborhood call me names and make fun of me when I walk almost legless in the neighborhood. I really want to stop but the more I try, the more I get tempted to take only a bottle, two and I’m out of it.