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Many, many years ago before you or I or our fathers were born, there lived an emperor who loved clothes more than anything else in the land, including, the health of his people and this emperor practically ate, breathed and slept clothes!

He had clothes for different hours of the day, clothes for different functions in short clothes for all occasions you or I could ever think of. His love of clothes was well known in the land and even beyond.

It was to this land that one day two rogues arrived and spread the word that they were not only the weavers of the finest cloth, but that clothes made from this cloth were unique in that only people who were not stupid and were suited to their jobs could see them.

Needless to say, in no time at all word had reached the emperor who summoned these two wondrous weavers to be brought to him so as to find out more In no time at all these cunning men had convinced the emperor as to their abilities and were dispatched with all manner of gold and silver thread and a lot of gold to purchase whatever else they needed.

Ensconced in several rooms in the finest hotel in town they set about weaving the finest cloth especially for their beloved emperor. As was to be expected the whole town was abuzz with the project and as anticipation peaked the clothes crazed emperor could not hold himself in check any longer. He had to see how his cloth was coming along.

However there was one snag. What if he could not see the cloth? That would not only prove that he was stupid, but that he was also not fit to hold office. 'Of course I am not stupid', he consoled himself but as befitting my position it would not seem fitting if I rushed of to peek at the unfinished product. Better to send a trusted lieutenant. Thus he directed one of his most trusted ministers to go check on the progress of this almost magical material.

Presenting himself promptly at the suite of rooms occupied by the two 'weavers' the minister asked to be allowed to appraise how the project was going. But of course chorused the cunning men and led the minister into a room in whose center stood a huge loom. "Look at the bright colours," the first one exclaimed pointing.

"Feel the silky softness" urged the other. The minister felt his heart begin to pound for all he could see were these two fine fellows pointing and caressing thin air. He could see no cloth. Could it be that he was stupid and not fit to hold office. Quickly gathering his wits about him, he let forth a barrage of enthusiastic praise over the material before rushing off to appraise the emperor of the 'wonderful material'. There was no way he was going to admit that he could not see it and thus publicly declare himself stupid and unfit for office.

After this, a string of other ministers and officials also inspected the ongoing work before bringing back their glowing reports to the emperor who soon could not hold back his eagerness any longer. He had to see this wonderful work for himself.

Thus surrounding himself with 'a high powered delegation' he too made his pilgrimage to the suite of rooms occupied by the master 'weavers'. Having heard the babble preceding this motley group, the two masters of deception were ready and put up a wonderful exhibition for the emperor praising the material to the high heavens. It was like a show for all the preceding officials combined.

But lo and behold, horror of horrors the emperor could not see anything, yet all around him all his ministers and officials were letting out ecstatic exclamations. He was stupid; he was not fit to be emperor. "Isn't it beautiful your majesty?" gushed one of the swindlers. Every head swiveled to take in the emperor as a pregnant silence descended.

"Marvelous, brilliant colours" he quickly exclaimed. Getting into the spirit of things he reached out stroking the thin air where the cloth should have been and looking straight at all the assembled group announced, "a special suit should be made from this for next weeks procession." Everybody murmured in agreement, with the two con men agreeing it would be ready. They however needed some more gold coins to purchase a special thread. "Give them whatever they need," the finance minister was instructed and with that the emperor turned on his heel and swept out with his followers.

All too soon the day of the procession came about to find the emperors mind still seething with doubts. Why was it that he seemed to be the only person who could not see this wondrous material? Was he stupid and unfit for office? It had to be true - all those other people could not be wrong. Clenching his teeth firmly he decided he would go along with the flow, just be part of the crowd and never admit that he could not see anything. Relieved he set off to robe in the new clothes and then head the procession

Soon he had been 'dressed up' to a chorus of approval from his gathered ministers and courtiers and they set off at the head of the procession. As the lengthy entourage wound its way through the twisting lanes of the city the huge crowds shouted their approval. Nobody could see the clothes but since everyone else seemed to be able to none wanted to look foolish by admitting to this.

Suddenly above all the shouting, clapping and whistling a clear, piping child's voice was heard protesting "but the emperor isn't wearing any clothes! The emperor is naked!" As the chant was taken up realisation dawned. It had taken the innocence of a child who was not yet concerned with appearances for appearances sake to bring everyone to their senses.

Alcoholism is a disease, which is shrouded in myth and misconceptions with an almost overwhelming dose of stigma and shame. Centuries of conditioning from the church has led to an aversion to drunkenness. It has been described as a condition of lack of morals, will power and as a sin. These are people of unsound mind, physically unfit, depraved and social outcasts. To Kenyans the word alcoholism does not exist. From the centuries old thought patterns embedded in their collective psyche the idea that ‘drunkenness’ can be a disease defies logic.

Aspersion, disgust, anger and disdainful amusement are some of the most common reactions Kenyans have for drunks. Anyone looking to drum up support for the fact that a disease called alcoholism exists will be hard pressed to get any support from Kenyans on that front.

Into this country came our 'weavers' bearing different titles, this time round known as brewers, vintners and distillers. They spread the word around that they had a marvelous product that was guaranteed to make you sexy, improve your boring social life, make you witty, happy, sophisticated, relaxed, courageous and confident. This product would help you make friends easily and use of this product was a surefire badge of success, one that would announce to all and sundry that 'umefika' (you have made it.)

As word of this product 'pombe' (alcohol) spread everybody began partaking of it to experience the wonderful benefits espoused by the manufacturers. When some Kenyans however urged caution citing some of the less savoury side-effects they had seen this product causing including domestic and other violence, family breakups, an increase in HIV/AIDs, poor health, school unrest, rape, crime, school dropouts, unplanned pregnancies and even deaths these were quickly shouted down. The product was only bad when consumed by 'irresponsible' drinkers or by 'abusers', drunkards, and as there was no other voice to contradict these fellows and their wondrous product, Kenyans continued suffering quietly.

Are Kenyans going to continue pretending they can see the beautiful effects of this wondrous product while they suffer without letup? Who is going to shout out the truth and so finally, mercifully bring us to our senses? When are we going to stop listening to what the manufacturers say about their product and start listening to the truth? When are we going to open our eyes and see ‘the emperor has no clothes?’

When I was mulling over the idea of creating awareness over the disease of alcoholism one of the major obstacles I perceived was 'going public' - do I stand up and admit publicly that I was an alcoholic? Though this is one of the most effective ways of addressing the issue of stigma and shame surrounding this disease, in a catch 22 situation this self-same stigma prevents alcoholics speaking out openly.

My parents were and still are public figures, how would this affect them? What about my children how would they answer questions or taunts from their schoolmates? 'Baba yako ni mlevi!' ('Your father is a drunk!') How would this affect them psychologically, socially and academically? What about my wife, how would this admission change her life? Lastly there was me. Would I mange walking around with people pointing and whispering? How many doors were going to slam in my face with this admission of alcoholism? Would I be able to get a job, a friend? My life might come to a stand still.

But what finally swayed me and tilted the argument in favour of going public was when I remembered the beginning of my own road to recovery. Even after realisng that I needed help where to go, who to even ask what do I do, was a problem. Nobody knew and were in fact more interested in knowing why I wanted to go. Whispers, innuendo and furtive glances were the norm.

By telling my story openly and holding nothing back I would be removing one brick from the awesome and imposing wall of stigma and shame that surrounds between an alcoholic and recovery. This wall is so daunting that it constantly prevents alcoholics and their families from seeking treatment and help which is available.

My story might encourage other alcoholics to come forward with their stories and thus knock down their own bricks from 'the wall'. As we told our stories even those living with alcoholics would come forward with their stories. They would tell us how it used to be and how it is now. They would say, "now I understand! Now I know!!"

Every time somebody says, "now I know, now I understand, now we can move forward," another brick from ‘the wall’ is blasted loose. Everytime we hear another story, that story becomes ours, ours to pass on and with every passing of these stories more bricks from 'the wall' thud to the ground. So let us tell our stories, to family gatherings, to school students, to University students, in the newspapers, on radio and on television. Let these stories be heard in churches and mosques, let them be heard in barazas. These stories will break down ‘the wall’ of stigma and shame surrounding alcoholism.

These stories will bring hope to suffering alcoholics and their families, show them that they are not alone, most of all the stories will bring hope. Thousands of alcoholic's die without ever knowing why they drank the way they did. Thousands of families lose loved ones without ever knowing help was available.

Kenyans will begin to realise that an alcoholic is not a hopeless person, beyond salvage, who can no longer be a productive member of society, but just someone with a disease which though cannot be cured, can be managed. Families will realise that they did not cause it, they can't cure it but can change how they live. They can move on with their lives. Children will get fathers and mothers back. Wives will get husbands back and husbands their wives.

We must tell these stories. We have gathered statistics and facts for years, yet alcohol still drowns us. More and more hectoliters are consumed every year, while more and more alcoholics die from ignorance, confusion and shame. But these stories will turn the tide. These stories will show the pain, confusion, anger and suffering - these stories will bring us to our senses. These are our voices of innocence.

That is why I told my story. That is why I continue telling my story. That is why I pass on stories of others I have heard. Because they become my story and as I tell these stories they become your story. For these stories shout out the truth, a truth that has no vested interest, the only truth - "the emperor has no clothes!"

David Ogot snr is a freelance journalist/producer with personal experience in alcoholism. He can be reached at goinghomedotcom@yahoo.com or info@goinghomekenya.org

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