Dying to Survive by Rachael Keogh

the first thing that hit me was the heat. Even though the sun was going down the air was heavy and sweet. I hadn’t once thought of drugs, and for the first time in ages I began to feel excited at the possibility of starting afresh. Maybe this plan might actually work, I thought, even if the whole thing wasn’t exactly my idea.
    We were greeted at the airport not by Donal but by our tour guides. It was just as well, as the security police didn’t seem one bit friendly. They were everywhere, watching everything, dressed in military uniform, looking at us suspiciously, wondering why we were here—in those days, Cuba wasn’t yet a holiday destination, so three white faces looked distinctly out of place. I felt jet-lagged and I was relieved to finally get to our hotel and to have a comfortable bed to sleep in. Something wasn’t right, though. I could feel it in my bones. My ma and Laurence were acting really strange, leaving their suitcases behind in the taxi and only taking mine out.
    Then I noticed the nurses. It wasn’t a hotel at all. It was some sort of a hospital. I was quickly ushered to my room. What the hell is going on? I thought to myself as I took in my surroundings. There was an oxygen mask hanging over my bed and a television hanging from the wall. Then my mother and my uncle sat down in front of me. ‘I suppose you’re wondering what’s going on?’ said Laurence. I knew exactly what was going on. They had lied to me again. I couldn’t look at them.
    ‘Rachael, we didn’t know what else to do,’ he continued. ‘You’re completely out of control. We tried bringing you to Trinity Court and that didn’t work. What were we supposed to do? This is a detox centre and they will help you to come off the drugs. You only have to stay here for one week and that’s it.’ They sat there, waiting for me to respond. But I couldn’t. My mind was blank and I was no longer in my own body.
    ‘Myself and Laurence will be staying at a hotel just up the road,’ my mother assured me. ‘If you need anything, just ask the nurse.’ She kissed me on the forehead and they were gone.
    I couldn’t believe that they had left me on my own in this foreign place—I was bewildered, tired and couldn’t credit that my mother and Laurence had dumped me here.
    The week came and went, as I spent my days watching HBO and feeling numb. The nurses gave me my daily dose of medication and spoke to me in a language that I couldn’t understand. My mother and Laurence came to visit, telling me about the fancy hotel that they were staying in and trying to humour me in different ways. ‘Rachael, I really can’t believe how well you’re taking all this,’ said my mother as she pottered around my room. But I wasn’t taking it well at all. I was gritting my teeth and bearing it, wishing the week away.
    ‘We can’t go on like this, you know,’ my mother continued. ‘We know what you are doing, Rachael,’ she said, before rapidly changing the subject. ‘Anyway, next week, we are flying to Holguín. We’ll stay in a really nice hotel and we’ll have a great time,’ she reassured me. I couldn’t see myself enjoying a holiday after this, but I nodded my head, pretending to share her enthusiasm.
    One week later and I was relieved my detox was over. My drug habit wasn’t that severe, so with the medication I was given I didn’t feel a thing. If nothing else, I had my family off my back and I could look forward to going to Holguín, free from the horrible tension that had lingered between us up until now.
    It was as though I had stepped into a time-warp in Holguín. Another world, where time stood still, oblivious to the world outside and to any life beyond its own. A world rich in history, with a mix of Spanish and African culture pulsating through its streets and a mish-mash of colours decorating its old colonial buildings. The Cuban people appeared to be impoverished, but seemed content with their lot, staring at us in