There is a cartoon strip of two women enjoying a cuppa on a stoep – each with a cigarette dangling from their lips – that I saw a few years ago. The dialogue from one of the women reads: ‘We used to discuss our problems over coffee and a cigarette. Now coffee and a cigarette are our problems!’ Writes Gasant Abarder in a new #SliceofGasant.
Abarder, who recently launched his book, Hack with a Grenade, is among the country’s most influential media voices. Catch his weekly column here, exclusive to Cape {town} Etc.
It is both brilliant and tragic because it is so true. Minus the coffee bit, of course. So, true in fact that I have been a slave to a 30-year nicotine addiction and I don’t know how to stop.
I have tried various things but after stopping for lengthy spells I always come back to this filthy habit. I would stop for a year at a time (my longest period I had stopped) and then slowly but surely get into the habit again. It starts with something simple like seeing a friend who is a smoker.
If we’re invited to a braai and the host is a smoker, I can squeeze in at least two smokes. It’s social, right? No, Gasant, it’s stupid! It then becomes a little pop psychology game with myself: I won’t buy a packet but bum a ciggie every now and then from a colleague. When they get gatvol (and smokers are polite this way because they won’t complain publicly) I start buying packets – promising that pack will be the last. But it never is.
It is expensive too; more than R50 per packet. The money saved from quitting can feed other wholesome addictions like getting more footy drip.
And it stinks. For a non-smoker in the presence of a smoker, it is like having an ashtray tied to your face and parked right under your nose. Your clothing reeks, the bed sheets have a nauseating pong and it literally emits from your pores.
I have tried quite a few things to stop. I’ve gone cold turkey and it is painful. I’ve tried medication with violent side effects like vomiting, bed sweats and horrific nightmares. I tried nicotine chewing gum but it’s not effective. Then those devices that heat a special cigarette instead of burning them. But they smell like baby poo and are even more expensive.
And recently, I’ve tried disposal vapes that are far more socially acceptable. The problem is I don’t know what is in those vapes and the jury is still out on just how dangerous they are. The vapes are so socially acceptable that I know of cases where 12-year-olds and younger are caught vaping at school. You get them in energy drink, fruit and an assortment of other pleasant flavours.
Because I don’t know what damage they do I toke on them non-stop. It can’t be worse than a cigarette, right? The truth is they still contain nicotine. So, inevitably, I go back to the tried and trusted cigarettes, hoping the shopkeeper gives me the pack with the warning label that reads: ‘Pregnant? Breastfeeding? Your smoke can harm your baby.’ The flawed logic being that this particular warning doesn’t apply to me.
What the government won’t tell you is that smoking not only kills but is as addictive as heroin, cocaine and tik. Possibly more addictive. But it adds a generous few billion rands to the fiscus so they’re happy to turn the other cheek and list it as a ‘sin tax’.
Instead of a meaningful war against smoking, the focus is the conflict between those tobacco companies that pay taxes and those that don’t. The latter are the ones that rose to prominence during COVID when buying entjies were banned. They cost as little as R20 a packet and are quite vile. If I’m not mistaken, there is one particular packet with a little graphic on it that looks like the coronavirus!
The funny thing is I recently had a medical after experiencing vertigo. The nurse suspiciously asked me how old I was because after checking my pulse, blood pressure and blood sugar levels she declared that I had both the vitals and the fitness levels of a teen. I play two hours of non-stop five-a-side football a week without a heaving chest.
What is funnier is that during Ramadan I’m not allowed to smoke and go 12 hours of fasting without lighting up. Which means I can stop. But after breaking fast I light up anyway – unprovoked.
There are three cigarettes left in my packet. Will these be my last? I hope so. I won’t throw them away because I can’t. I will try my best to quit this time for good. I can’t promise anything. What I will say is: ‘Hi, I’m Gasant, and I’m addict. I’m a slave to smoking and nicotine.’
If you’re thinking of trying a cigarette for the first time, don’t! It’s an awful affliction I pray I can beat.
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