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Every Story Matters
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In Isiolo, where the days drag on under a punishing sun and forgotten lives slip through the cracks, Nura’s story took a turn no one saw coming. For years, people watched him fade. He wasn’t always like this, but somewhere along the way, drugs took hold and never let go. His voice got quieter. His clothes stayed the same for weeks.
His eyes grew vacant, his speech turned to whispers, and soon, the shadows became his constant companions. Nobody paid much attention. After all, in Isiolo, men lose themselves to drugs all the time. But no one expected Nura’s descent to end with him turning on his own flesh in a moment of nightmarish delusion.
When the news broke that Nura had mutilated himself in a drug-fueled psychotic episode, it felt like fiction. But the blood was real. Locked away alone, tormented by visions and paranoia, he believed his own body was cursed, that the only escape from his unseen tormentors was to destroy what made him a man. By the time help arrived, he was barely alive, his body wrecked and his future destroyed. The streets whispered his name, but in hushed, horrified tones. Nura had crossed a line no one thought possible, and Isiolo was forced to look at a reality it had long ignored.
For years, Nura’s life had been a slow-motion disaster. What started as casual use of local substances spiraled into full-blown dependency. In a place where cheap drugs are easier to find than clean water, his story isn’t unique. But it’s what happened to his mind that made this case impossible to ignore. Regular use of strong narcotics and unregulated medications twisted his sense of reality until he lived in a constant state of fear.
Hallucinations stalked him through the streets. He whispered to figures no one else could see. He became convinced that something evil had taken over his body, and in his distorted reality, only extreme measures could save him.
While friends and family noticed his strange behavior, help was always just out of reach. Isiolo’s healthcare system, stretched thin and underfunded, couldn’t keep up. Visits to clinics resulted in little more than a few pills and a pat on the back. What Nura needed was deep, consistent mental health intervention. A lifeline that never came. And so, day by day, the demons in his mind grew louder until they finally commanded him to do the unthinkable.
Medical teams worked frantically to save Nura’s life. He was passed from Merti Sub-County Hospital to Isiolo Level 4 Hospital before finally being sent to Meru Referral Hospital, where specialists took over. They stopped the bleeding. They stitched what they could. But the truth is grim. What Nura lost can never be returned. He now sits in a private rehabilitation center in Camp Garba, a hollow figure of the man he once was, staring blankly out at the horizon as the days crawl by.
Psychologists working with him are already preparing for the next stage of the nightmare. The initial shock has kept him subdued, but they know what comes next. When the haze lifts and reality rushes in, Nura will have to face the irreversible truth of what he did to himself. His mutilation wasn’t just physical. It cut deep into his identity, his sense of self and his future. Experts are terrified that without constant, aggressive psychological support, his mind may not survive the realization. What happens to a man when he’s already been broken in every way imaginable?
What’s most terrifying is that Nura isn’t an isolated case. According to staff at his rehabilitation center, this is the second instance in the region where a man has mutilated himself after slipping into drug-induced psychosis. This isn’t some freak occurrence. It’s a warning shot. Isiolo is quietly spiraling into chaos under the weight of an unchecked drug epidemic. Every corner of the county is drowning in cheap highs and dangerous substances, feeding a mental health crisis nobody seems willing to confront until it’s too late.
Yes, officials talk. Yes, crackdowns are announced, speeches are made, and promises fill the air. President Ruto’s recent declarations of war on drug lords might sound bold, but the bodies keep piling up. The addicts are still slipping through the cracks. The dealers never really go away. And the mental health support needed to stop these tragedies? It barely exists. Isiolo isn’t just battling drugs. It’s battling its own apathy.
If Nura’s story doesn’t shake the system awake, nothing will. Right now, somewhere in the county, another man is inching closer to the edge. Maybe he’s already hearing the voices. Maybe the hallucinations have started. Maybe, as you read this, he’s picking up something sharp, convinced he’s cutting away his demons. And no one is coming to stop him.
Isiolo doesn’t need another headline. It needs a revolution in mental health care. It needs leaders who don’t just send police to chase dealers but invest in saving the minds already on the verge of collapse. Because right now, this isn’t just about drugs. This is about survival in a place that has forgotten how to care for its own.
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