A White Christmas? The Hidden Dangers of Drug Use in Cape Town's Party Scene

Cape Town is becoming synonymous with Columbia; in fact, it’s a common phrase you might have heard before.

We have better infrastructure and undoubtedly, Cape Town is a world-class destination, but the normalisation and glamorisation of drug culture is a stark reality that cannot be ignored. When I arrived in Cape Town 16 years ago, I enjoyed the party scene as many young 18-year-olds do. I had never done cocaine before then and was offered my first line. I started indulging in this class-A drug recreationally, and it hadn’t taken hold of my life yet. Most commonly referred to as “snow”, the drug goes by many nicknames, a line often being referred to as a “bump” or “rail”. I was shocked to learn how commonplace it was in Cape Town.

My ex-fiancé and I would visit friends’ houses in Clifton and Fresnaye, and coke would be offered as if it were a cup of tea or coffee. “Would you like a drink or a line?” they asked as we entered through the door. At another home we visited, the host cut up straws and placed them in holders in every bathroom. One home that we went to had the cocaine in a bowl, but most often, the lines would be cut on a plate. Cocaine makes a person feel sociable and sometimes aroused. Generally, it makes people talk and not want to stop talking. So we would sit discussing inane rubbish until the early hours of the morning with pupils the size of saucers, shaking. This is rather evident when you view the Instagram stories of any “big party” happening in Cape Town.

As the DJ plays music, very few people are seen dancing, and you notice the crowd engrossed in conversation. An international DJ once famously posted about “snowboarding in Cape Town” with a wink.

One of the many shocking encounters I had with class-A drugs was at a three-year-old’s birthday party hosted by friends in Fresnaye. While the kids played outside under the watchful eyes of nannies, the adults in attendance casually added MDMA to their champagne and shared a line of coke. The naturalness of this scene was genuinely appalling and one of many instances where seemingly respectable adults indulged in class-A drugs while the children were occupied. 

After two years of partying, I was blessed to fall pregnant, and I gave up narcotics and alcohol immediately. I thought my addiction was a thing of the past. However, as my child grew older and I became a single mother, I began socialising again. To my surprise, I was offered a line at every turn, a stark reminder of the constant temptation of addiction. It had been eight years, and I had remained clean, not wanting to go back to the space of being high—the experience of paranoia, my mind racing and distressing, intrusive thoughts. While drunk and dancing at a popular Cape Town nightclub, a friend pushed her fingers into my mouth one night. I felt the familiar taste of cocaine. I was enraged. She had essentially drugged me against my will! She thought it was hysterically funny. “You’re too drunk,” she laughed, “this will sober you up.” Suddenly, I felt hyper-alert, and the woozy feeling of the alcohol disappeared. “Have I relapsed, I wondered?” It was just one time, I told myself. 

The disease of addiction is terrifying because you never really realise when it’s happening. The following month, I visited a friend’s party in Camps Bay, and after seeing everyone walk into a room that had what must have been at least 20-40 grams of coke on the table. I eventually gave in, helping myself and grabbing one of the straws. Just one more time I told myself. Around that time, I met my ex, a habitual cocaine user for more than two decades. He was never without a gram in his pocket. He lived on it. He would offer me a line at every opportunity. The addiction had come back into my life, and this time, it was a relentless force, a dark cloud hovering over my life. Having a line at every social event or night off around the town and weekends when my child was with his dad, became the norm. As I socialised with other women doing coke, the narrative was discussed that it reduces your appetite, and consequentially, we would find ourselves huddled in the bathroom of a restaurant, sharing a line before dinner so we would lose our appetite. Women would tell me they were taking it for “weight loss”. 

From the outside, that might seem harmless, if not beneficial, but the reality was far more grim. I started habitually becoming sick as my immune system started failing me; I was susceptible to catching even the slightest cold or flu. I had prolonged “Columbian flu,” the ever-continuous dripping of nasal fluid from my nose and post-nasal drip. I could often hardly breathe through my nose at night, leading to sleep apnoea, and because I couldn’t feel the effects of the alcohol, the hangovers would be brutal and sometimes near fatal. Waking up with a grey face and unable to walk as I started my day bent over the toilet vomiting, had become a nearly weekly occurrence. I found myself becoming extremely depressed. My relationship with my abusive ex didn’t help either. I would often oblige to take a line at his constant persuasion for the sake of keeping the peace between us or to lift the heavy mood I felt from his physical and psychological abuse.

The addiction had begun impacting my flourishing career too; I was constantly sick. So-called “finance bros” would swear that coke made them better at their jobs, and while I never used drugs at work, I knew of many people who did and would defiantly swear that they were better at their jobs because of it. You see, this is what the class-A drug does; You start to defend it as you sink deeper into denial, and the defence of the drug becomes stronger despite the physical and financial consequences. “I have it under control,” they say. The real question is that if you have it under control, and you say you’re not addicted, then why can’t you quit? 

As the addiction continued to grab hold of my life, things quickly took a nasty turn. I was horrified to find myself waking up to my pillow covered in blood from a nosebleed I had through the night. I felt disgusting. I was an addict, and I knew it. A few weeks later, a friend of mine died from a coke overdose in his sleep. His death shook me to the core, and I started verbally expressing to those around me my desire to quit. “So just quit,” they would say. I tried. Sometimes, I would go a month or two without using it, but eventually, after being continuously offered by friends, I would break. On one occasion, my entire nasal system had nearly collapsed, landing me in hospital for several days on drips as they fought to save my life from almost organ failure.

Eventually, after breaking up with my ex and resigning from my job due to depression and anxiety, my addiction became worse. Profoundly depressed and alone, I drank two bottles of vodka and consumed 2 grams of cocaine. I went into a coke-induced psychosis. I knew I was on the verge of taking my life, and I quickly phoned a friend for help. It was 6am. He was waking up for work. I told him what I had taken and that I wasn’t feeling ok. “Don’t do anything; I’m coming over.” He rushed to my home and sat me down, asking what was going through my mind. “Sweetheart,” he said. “I think we need to check you into a clinic ASAP.” I nodded. He took the day off work to check me in. My friends who do not use drugs (thank the Lord they stayed by my side) phoned my family and ex to inform them. I was checked into a facility. I was in such a state that I couldn’t fill out paperwork and was locked into a Covid ward for my safety and the safety of others as the wheels came off and reality set in. For three days, I cried, screamed, and threw up as nurses routinely checked on me, offering the best care available. 

As I recovered, I started to work on a 12-step program. I went to meetings, I found a psychotherapist, and my journey of recovery began. I had been using drugs for years to escape profound trauma instead of doing what I should have done from the beginning- to seek professional help and intervention. I am currently several years clean, and I still attend meetings because I have come to understand the disease of addiction. I got back into my career and became employed again. Recovery gave me my life back. In that time, three more people that I know- acquaintances, have passed on from a coke overdose. The greatest myth out there is that you can’t overdose on coke. Truth be told, you can. I am lucky to survive. 

Drugs do not discriminate. It doesn’t matter whether you are rich, poor, young or old, or where you live; it’s everywhere. The drug culture in Cape Town persists and thrives, fuelled by the stigma that keeps people silent. The stigma of addiction forces individuals to hide their struggles from friends, families, and loved ones, often until tragedy strikes and intervention is too late. We must break this cycle with open and honest conversations, tearing down the walls of judgment. If you or someone you know is grappling with drug use, I urge you to seek help. Know this: you are not truly in control. Addiction is a disease that will grip and tear apart every facet of your life until you acknowledge its hold. Understanding and acceptance are the first steps to reclaiming your life. Let’s end the stigma, open up, and support one another before it’s too late.

If you are worried about a friend, contact SADAG’s Substance Abuse Helpline on 0800 12 13 14 or SMS 32312.Open 7 days a week.

* The letter writer has chosen to remain anonymous to avoid victimisation and to protect the identity of their child.

** The views expressed do not necessarily reflect the views of IOL or Independent Media.