Published by Rev. Dr. Jean Claude MUREKEYIMANA, August 2024
Recently, I attended the wedding of a friend and a well-known, successful businessman. It was a lavish celebration. Laughter echoed through the halls, music filled the air, and the tables were overflowing with drinks of every kind: soft drinks for some, but for most, the real attraction was the alcohol—whiskey, beer, wine… name it, it was there.
People were enjoying themselves. Really enjoying. Glasses clinking, toasts flying, the atmosphere bubbling with excitement. But as I sat there taking it all in, something struck me—something that pulled me from celebration into contemplation.
What is it about alcohol that pulls people in so deeply?
The Man with the Empty Bottle
I watched as guests consumed drink after drink, some already visibly drunk yet still craving more. I saw a man, visibly disabled—not from birth, but clearly marked by the consequences of life, possibly alcohol itself. He sat with a small beer bottle in hand, sipping slowly.
A big bottle of whiskey was brought out, and suddenly, the crowd surged forward, offering empty plastic bottles and old containers, eager for a share.
Even this man, despite his condition, reached out. He received a portion and beamed with joy—the kind of joy that might mask pain, or perhaps defiance. He looked at his empty beer bottle before setting it aside, shook his head slowly, and reached for the whiskey.
And in that moment, I felt something. A quiet voice inside whispered, maybe he remembered how he got here. Maybe he chose to say, "Disability is not inability."
Whether or not I read too much into it, the moment stuck with me.
The Marks We Carry
All around me, I saw reminders: broken teeth, bruised faces, weary expressions—markers of long battles with alcohol. Yet there they were, drinking like there was no tomorrow. In the middle of a joyous wedding, many were too drunk to dance, too lost to engage, too far gone to remember the celebration itself.
And I remembered my own story. My own relationship with alcohol. The days when I was in love with the bottle; when it gave me courage, comfort, an illusion of power and presence.
But now, on the other side of that life, I find myself asking:
- Why do we love alcohol so much?
- Is it culture?
- Peer pressure?
- Lack of information?
- Emotional pain?
- A coping mechanism?
- Or simply addiction masked as enjoyment?
A Moment of Recognition
At some point during the event, a drunk guest who once knew me in my drinking days staggered over. He had heard that I'd changed, that I'd found a new path.
"I heard you're a priest now," he said, slurring slightly. "Please, my elder, bless me."
He still remembered my past position in government and gave me a nod of respect, even in his intoxicated state.
I looked at him with a mix of sorrow and compassion. "God bless you," I said softly.
And I meant it.
Because behind the fun, the parties, and the bottles, there are stories. Stories of pain, of survival, of loss, of resilience—and sometimes, of denial.
Final Thought
Alcohol isn't just a drink. For many, it's a mirror—a reflection of something deeper within. Some see celebration; others see escape. Some see a social tradition; others see chains.
But maybe, just maybe, it's time we start asking the harder questions.
Not just, "Why do we drink?"
But, "What are we really thirsty for?"
This story is an invitation—to introspection, compassion, and honest conversation about our relationship with alcohol and what it reveals about our deeper needs.