Cocaine, opioids and alcohol addiction is in the same league as tobacco addiction, says the Center for Addiction and Mental Health, Canada’s largest research and mental health teaching hospital. Members of the opioid family include heroin, morphine, codeine, oxycodone, hydrocodone and fentanyl, according to the Johns Hopkins University medical website.
Unbelievable! Cocaine, heroin, codeine, and morphine sharing the same podium with cigarettes? Surprise dropped my jaws, disbelief wrinkled my forehead. I had thought cocaine and opioids were the GOAT of narcotics. Little did I know the nicotine in tobacco qualifies the cigarette for the big league, too.
How on earth did cocaine and its siblings become comrades-in-harms with cigarettes? It’s because inhaled cigarette smoke delivers nicotine to the brain within 20 seconds!
Home to breakthroughs in psychiatric research and the revolutionary discovery of dopamine receptors, CAMH says: “Nicotine releases a chemical called dopamine in the same regions of the brain as other addictive drugs. It (nicotine) causes mood-altering changes that make the person temporarily feel good. Inhaled smoke delivers nicotine to the brain within 20 seconds, which makes it very addictive—comparable to opioids, alcohol and cocaine.”
According to the foremost Canadian hospital, a simple way of identifying addiction is the cohabitation of 4 Cs in an addict. The 4 Cs are: (1) CRAVING (2) Loss of CONTROL of amount or frequency of use, (3) COMPULSION to use, and (4) Use despite CONSEQUENCES.
Relatedly, addiction explains a chronic condition experienced when a substance or behaviour is withdrawn from the user, e.g. someone addicted to coffee might feel restless if he doesn’t get coffee when the craving arises.
Globally, millions of people battle various forms of addiction such as gambling, masturbation, hard drugs, overeating, kleptomania, shopping and alcoholism.
In general, there are four levels of addiction: physical, emotional, mental and spiritual. A study published in the American Psychological Association says religious faith and spirituality may help people recover from substance abuse. The research, “Religious Denomination Affiliation and Psychological Health: Results From a Substance Abuse Population,” was authored by Thomas G. Plante, Ph.D, et al.
Let’s go back to me. How did I eat my frog? Firstly, I took myself to the mountain of transfiguration through the valley of awareness. That was when I brought myself to the realisation that cigarette was evil for my body. I criminalised cigarette and viewed it as the most despicable consumable product. When I laid it upon my mind to stop, I began to see smokers like me as victims pinned down under the weight of Zuma Rock. I knew it would take more than a mere wish to rescue me from under the yoke.
So, I personally took the matter to God. This is the second stage of the fight. I went on my knees in prayer. I didn’t run to no pastor or imam or babalawo because I knew that God, my Maker, would hear my supplication quicker and clearer than He would hear it from any third party cassocked, turbaned or ‘lawani-ed’ as a saintly servant of God brandishing scented scriptures. Did He not say, “Ask and it shall be given. Seek and ye shall find. Knock and it shall be opened?” No mortal intercessor can convey the needs of the child better to the Father in filial terms than the child, except the child be illegitimate. I’m a legitimate child of God. Christ finished the work of intercession on the Cross and flung open the door to the Father for all.
At the second stage, I stumbled many times. Before leaving home in the morning, I would pray to God to guide me against smoking but would find myself still heading to Muhammed’s kiosk up the street. That’s when I would remember there was something I needed to discuss with Sola Tomoloju aka Sholay or Lai Ibidunni aka Layo Osha or Ayo Akinola aka Lado or Fela aka Orunmila or egbon Kole Ebisemiju aka Katuzi or the late Kayode Tomoju aka Sir Kay. All these great men lived opposite the mallam’s kiosk. Did they smoke? They belched smoke like a locomotive train.
I knew I shouldn’t go there. I knew I couldn’t escape smoking once I got there. I would say to myself, “Tunde, pádà. Turn back. There’s no way you won’t smoke there.” But I would warm myself strictly, “Listen, you mustn’t stay more than two minutes there o. Just brace up yourself. Do everything pá pà pá and leave,” – I would find myself helplessly propelled by an unseen force towards Muhammed’s kiosk. Little did I realise that the conversation within me was a raging battle inside my conscience between good and evil. It wasn’t the devil. It was a battle of choice, of free will.
As the war within me raged and I approached Muhammed’s kiosk, I would meet one of my fellow smokers, especially Sir Kay, who was fun to be with. “Professor, you look good,” he would say, adding, “Collect two Consulate and Tom Tom from Muhammed, I’ll pay.” While contemplating telling him to pay and that I would come and smoke later, Sir Kay would bring up a political topic, “Dis our political class ehn, dem don finish us.” My resolve would evaporate. I would light the cigarette, take a puff, and tears would well in my eyes. I would flick the ash of the cigarette as it burned without smoking it, holding the conversation and blinking away my tears.
Seidu was another mallam in my area whose kiosk hangared a hodgepodge of stuff comprising mosquito coil, chewing stick, paracetamol, aboliki, kuli kuli, sugar, Maggi, tin tomato, milk, pencil, kola, soap, blade and, of course, cigarettes. Every kiosk-owning mallam in Lagos sold cigarettes.
Muhammed and Seidu were Fulani from the Niger Republic. Their credit facilities were better than any known Nigerian bank. Even though you owe, you would be given fresh commodities if you pay for the new ones you’re buying. At the end of the day, they would whisper to you gently, “Me, I dey go market next week,” informing you of your debt and the need to pay. I wonder if those folks ever made a profit. I never really owed, though. Whenever I said, “I’II stop smoking,” I’m sure they would say in their minds, “You, major shareholder, stop smoking? Abi I dey craze? You no go ever stop in Insha Allah!”
Separately, both would openly say, “E good make you stop. Me, I wan stop too. Siga no good at all,” and other fellow smokers would join in the conversation, expressing their views on the goodness and badness of smoking. This was when nobody cared where anybody came from. It was when the Fulani were the yardstick for trust and frugality. This was long before Muhammadu ibn Buhari came and put a knife into what held us together… things fall apart as madmen and specialists took the reins.
Later, I changed my tactic by changing my route; I refused to pass by Muhammed or Seidu’s kiosks. But, at times, I would have succeeded in evading all cigarette-selling mallams all day only for me to want to chill out with a bottle or two in the evening and I would inexplicably find a cigarette between my fingers. “Ha, Tunde!” I would sigh, feeling myself a letdown.
For many, smoking and drinking are Siamese twins. Separating the two is akin to using a sword without its handle. Smoking is the scabbard, alcohol is the sword, both work hand in glove, like the two hands of the grandfather clock; when you see one, know the other is coming behind, counting – tick-tock – telling smoke-weakened lungs, kidneys and liver, “Your cock has a few more corn to eat before its final crow. The body is willing but the organs are weak. RIP, soon.”
I succeeded in separating alcohol from smoking. Though I still drink rarely, I no longer rum like a pirate. I stopped ‘beering’, I now seldomly wine red wine, whisk whiskey, swish vodka if brandy isn’t available and down some scotch to scorch the cold in me – all in line with the advice of Apostle Paul in Timothy 5:23, which says, “No longer drink only water, but use a little wine for your stomach’s sake and your frequent infirmities (KJV).
Something happened when I visited Israel on a pilgrimage many years ago. We visited many religious sites. Some of them bore the inscription, “Silence” or “No noise, please.” Our guides would tell us the solemnity attached to the place of visit but as soon as Nigerian pilgrims got in, they would begin to shout, casting and binding to Hades all manner of imaginary spirits, speaking in a million tongues.
These were the same people who would stuff their pockets with boiled eggs, fruits, etc after mealtimes even when they knew there would still be an overabundance of food when they returned for their next meal.
I had stopped smoking then. But I always bypassed them on my way to the bar whenever they gathered in the hotel lobbies, praying for long periods, disturbing other hoteliers. Some of them would eye me from afar as I nursed my $6 beer, and I would mind my beer, saying in my mind, “I don’t serve a Pharisee God.”
