23/05/2026
*_Chapter Excerpt: _Son of a Priest_
Title: The Lead That Chose a Lifestyle_*
One of my so-called friends introduced me to alcohol.
He never mentioned the consequences that came with it.
Not the hangovers. Not the high blood pressure. Not the way “just a drink” can turn into a path toward diabetes and a body that starts betraying you before you’re thirty.
At home, I didn’t see a different model.
My father worked as a contractor. When he came home late, he had to mentally prepare for the rituals of church. His body was home, but his mind was already in service.
My mother worked as a domestic worker. She gave unconditional love, patience, and attention to the children of her employer all day. She played with them, fed them, cleaned them, checked their schoolwork, checked their teeth for hygiene. When she got home, she had to do it all again—cook dinner, manage the house, and sometimes put me, the firstborn, in charge of preparing the meal.
There was no time left for affection.
No time to sit with us, check our schoolwork, look at our teeth, or ask how our day was.
Both my parents were working to survive the system they were born into.
And that is why I came to despise the legacy of apartheid, and everything it left behind.
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I have to ask:
What was I longing for before alcohol was made available to me at an age when I should not have had access to it?
Why is alcohol so easy to get, when products that are far less destructive are tightly controlled?
You need substantial evidence to prove your age for almost everything else. But liquor is on every corner.
How many children in South Africa are drinking right now?
Why isn’t it called an epidemic?
Where is social development when we need it most?
To heal, we need love, guidance, and a place to belong.
But instead of rehabilitation programs, we have shebeens, taverns, and liquor stores on every street.
A war could break out tomorrow, and I wonder—would the South African youth even have the discipline and health to stand up and fight for their country?
Maybe I won’t get answers that satisfy me.
So for now, I leave it in the hands of parents: educate your children about substance abuse. Tell them the cost before someone else sells them the first drink.
I went to shebeens looking for acceptance and healing.
I paid for it with money I didn’t have, and with parts of myself I’m still trying to get back.
Because alcohol isn’t cheap. Not in rands, and not in what it takes from you.
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If not, I’ll leave the rest to God.