The first time I had close encounters with drug addicts was when I was in Afghanistan. I had just arrived in Kabul, the capital, and I dropped off my luggage at the hotel and wanted to go around the city to see how Afghans live. When I opened the guide, I found that the famous Twin Swords Mosque was not far away, so I put on my coat and walked to it.
【Kabul City Double Sword Mosque】
When I was about to arrive, I suddenly noticed that hundreds of people had gathered on the river beach in front of the mosque, looking left and right, I didn't know what they were doing, I thought it was a small market.
I continued to look at them, and I remembered the people who dug the clam on the beach in Qingdao when I was a child, but digging the clam requires tools, even if it is bare hands, you need a bucket. But they seemed to have nothing but rags.
I continued to walk, and then I noticed that the group of people were all covered with clothes and scarves, as if they were confessing something. But what can they repent?Is it a confession that you didn't study well when you were a child, or a confession that you didn't work hard to make money when you grew up. I racked my brains, but I still couldn't think of an answer.
From another point of view, I still can't see the end, they are always surrounded by outsiders, so that outsiders can see their behavior.
Seeing two lonely people in the distance, I hurried over, they had tin foil in their hands, and then used a knife to cut the object, until this time, I was still not sure what they were doing, after all, it was broad daylight, after all, it was in plain sight.
Finally someone noticed my gaze, and they turned their heads to look at me, as if asking, as if reprimanding. When I was hesitating to leave, the person squatting next to me frightened me, only to see him take out the needle, take off his pants, and stab himself in the ass.
I left on my own without waiting for them to drive away, and I didn't know where their lives would go, or if they knew the consequences of drugs. Ten years have passed in the blink of an eye, and they may have long disappeared from this world, but when I sorted out the information, I still remembered this group of people, although there was no communication, although they just passed by, but they had a deep impact on me. For a long time, the word drug was distant in my mind, but at this moment, it suddenly materialized. When I came back, I checked a lot of information, and I also saw the joy of Afghan farmers when they saw the opium poppy harvest**. This joy is not fake, but it comes at a price, and the price is the fresh but short life on the riverbank. I think they should have families too, but I don't know what their stories are, and I guess that despair and pain should be in the stories. May these ** become history and never appear in the news again.