Years ago, Mostafa was a waiter at one of Alexandria’s famous restaurants. He had his whole future ahead of him. His early days smoking hashish, which is relatively cheap in Egypt, made him just feel good.
Check your restaurant bill carefully - it may tell you your waiter is a drug addict. Yes, that’s true, or at least that’s what a former drug addict told me in an interview.
Mostafa was a waiter at one of Alexandria’s famous restaurants. He had his whole future before him.
“I dreamt of the day I would get some money to be able to start a family,” he told me while reclining on his bed at a rehabilitation center for drug addicts, 130km north of Cairo. There, he now helps addicts to recover - a painful journey he himself had to go through to come clean after 10 years of smoking hashish, taking ecstasy pills and injecting himself with heroin.
His voice is bitter, a reflection of disbelief that he once was one of Egypt’s six million drug addicts. That’s the number from the National Council for Fighting and Treating Addiction (NCFTA) - a humongous figure for some, very low for those who are always suspicious of official figures and statistics.
You might still be wondering how you can identify a drug addict just by looking at your meal bill.
Mostafa’s early days experiencing hash, which is relatively cheap, made him just feel good. After all, hash - as users tell me - doesn’t harm the body as quickly as heroin. He bought it from a local dealer after the end of his shift - not every day, but maybe once a week.
Then, a business opportunity came his way - an offer from a restaurant in the Red Sea resort of Sharm el-Sheikh. With better pay, Mostafa didn’t think twice. Off he went, leaving his family praying to God to help him achieve whatever he wants; a tradition in Egyptian families, usually seeking divine strength to face daily challenges. Pious or devout? Maybe yes, maybe no, but it’s a custom built into almost every Egyptian.
Mostafa’s face trembled when he started recounting his experience in Sharm el-Sheikh, a fascinating spot in the south of Sinai peninsula very near to Ras Mohamed; one of the world’s most beautiful natural protectorates with coral reefs and magnificent underwater world.
A quicker 'high'
With better pay and access to better tips from restaurant guests who are mostly European, he changed from hash to heroin. For him, it was a quick fix, a quick “high”. The road to buy was easy, he cynically recollected: “A short drive to a nearby mountain, and your fix is as easy as 1, 2, 3.”
A “better and quicker fix”, but - here’s the catch - more expensive: Mostafa had to pay the equivalent of almost $100 a day. That exceeded his wages by far. The dream of a family started to diminish, with repetitive complaints from his Dutch girlfriend, who had become pregnant.
Remorsefully, Mostafa remembers the good old days, when he had found the girl of his dreams: He feel deeply in love. He is sweet and tender, when all of a sudden he’s transformed.
The fix turns him into a brutal, hateful entity he refuses to call a human being. All he thinks of in that state is the fix, nothing but another dose to keep him going for awhile. It’s not important who he harms, the FIX comes first.
The GF threatened to leave him if he didn’t stop, if he didn’t seek help and treatment. A police crackdown also made it very difficult for him to buy heroin from the nearby mountain.
But he was adamant: “I won’t stop”. Instead, he would travel hundreds of kilometers to the capital of south Sinai.
At the restaurant, he started to add items to clients’ bills they did not order. At the beginning, it wasn’t noticed. But with the consumption of ever-increasing quantities of heroin daily, customers noticed the fat bills. They objected and he would quarrel with them.
Devastated family
He stopped showing up regularly for his shift. “You’re fired”, the owner of the restaurant told him after a quarrel with an English customer for adding a bottle of whisky to the bill. The customer had had a single glass of wine.
Mostafa returned to his residence to find the GF was not there. Neighbours told him she left, she didn’t even leave a note. She left with a baby yet to be born. “Maybe that was better for that baby; a boy or a girl I don’t know”.
Back to Alexandria, Mostafa returned. His family was shocked at seeing him pale, lonely, with nasty outbursts of anger. For days and nights he wouldn’t sleep in his bed. They were devastated when they found out what their beloved son had become. They tried sending him for treatment. He resisted, but under pressure, he told himself he would go for a little while, in order to sober up and resume his quest for the fix.
He went to that rehabilitation center, counting the days to go out and get another injection. There, he met people who have been clean for years. He felt jealous; he wanted to beat their record.
Now he’s been clean for two years. He wishes he had listened to his girlfriend so long ago. He would have been playing with his child; he doesn’t even know his or her name.
