It costs around R50 for a hit of nyaope. A little packet of marijuana costs R40. You can buy either drug just about anywhere.

Pride has a wide, beaming smile and a way of speaking that radiates intellect, humanity, and humour. I liked how eager he always was to assist whenever I arrived with trolleys from the shops—not just focused on the R5 I handed him, but genuinely pleasant as we chatted about everyday things.

When I first met him, he told me he had just passed Grade 12 and wanted to study further. He had big dreams and a bright future ahead. But about a year ago, I noticed something had changed. His smile remained wide, but his eyes had sunken. Something in him had dimmed.

So, I asked him what was wrong. He shrugged and said, “Nothing much.” Yet, I could tell he was avoiding eye contact. He was still polite, still sweet, but he was no longer the Pride I had met three years ago.

I wondered: was he on drugs or just stressed?

He sighed and told me that many people assumed so. But no, he insisted, he wasn’t. My heart sank. I knew the signs. I wasn’t a doctor, but I had seen this before. Pride was hooked.

Soon, he began avoiding me altogether. Then, he disappeared from the parking lot for months. When he finally returned, he kept his distance. I made a point to tell him he shouldn’t surrender to whatever addiction was consuming him—that he should fight. His response was a half-hearted, “You’re right, sester…”

A week later, as he packed my groceries, I caught the unmistakable scent of marijuana, mixed with the staleness of old sweat and something bitter. My heart sank again. Beyond my words of encouragement and concern, what else could I offer him?

Pride is one among millions—young, unemployed, unable to further their studies, and disillusioned. Many like him have fallen into the tight grip of substances like nyaope and tik, highly addictive drugs that steal their futures before they even begin.

The Devastation of Nyaope and Tik Addiction

Nyaope, a deadly mixture of low-grade heroin, dagga, and other toxic substances, is a scourge in many South African communities. Cheap yet dangerously addictive, it drags young people into a cycle of dependency, making them desperate for their next fix. Users experience severe withdrawal symptoms, which often lead them to commit crimes just to afford another hit.

Tik, a form of methamphetamine, is equally destructive. It delivers a quick, euphoric high, but prolonged use leads to paranoia, aggression, and profound physical and mental health issues. Users become skeletal shadows of their former selves, locked in an endless chase for the fleeting rush the drug provides.

For many like Pride, these substances become both a refuge and a prison. They numb the pain of disappointment but take away everything else—ambition, relationships, dignity, and hope. The social and economic barriers that make it difficult for young people to find opportunities only drive them deeper into this abyss.

A Future Stolen Too Soon

I often wonder what could have been for Pride. If his circumstances had been different—if he had found an opportunity to study, a stable job, or a guiding mentor—perhaps his life would have taken a different path.

Instead, he is now just another statistic, another young person lost to addiction, another bright future dimmed by substances designed to destroy.

And beyond my words of encouragement, my sadness, and my concern, I am left asking myself the same painful question:

What else could I have done?