For years I watched the man I married disappear before my eyes.
James was once a loving husband, a devoted father, and a gifted mechanic who dreamed of opening his own garage. But after his friends introduced him to evening drinking, a habit became a chain.

At first it was harmless  “just a couple of bottles after work.”
But weekends turned into daily binges. Soon he was spending more on alcohol than on food for our two children.

The first time he sold something from our home, it was our blender.
Then went the television.
Later, he sold his tool kit the very tools he used to earn a living.
Every time I protested, he promised, “This is the last time. I’ll change.”
But the next weekend, he would come home staggering, pockets empty, eyes red.

As the years went by, his health started to fail.
He developed ulcers and constant chest pains. He looked 20 years older than his age.
Some nights he vomited blood.
Other nights he came home with bruises from bar fights.
The children started avoiding him. I had to hide the little money I saved for school fees under the mattress.

The day that broke me was when he collapsed outside a chang’aa den.
A neighbor called me, and I rushed there with our eldest son. We found James lying in the mud, barely breathing.
The hospital said his liver was beginning to fail. The doctor warned us, “If he keeps drinking like this, you will be planning a funeral soon.” Read more.