PAKISTANI DRUG ADDICTS FIND HOPE THROUGH NEEDLE-EXCHANGE CENTER

LAHORE, Pakistan - In Angoori, a village in the hills above Islamabad, 30
recovering addicts live in the Nai Zindagi (New Life) drop-in and
needle-exchange center, crafting wood and metal art objects for sale. For
many, it is the first time they have breathed fresh air or known life
beyond the grimy, drug-infested streets of Lahore or Karachi.

Muzamil Hussain, a cheerful man of 37, spent three decades as a homeless
beggar and laborer, turning to drugs for solace. Injured in an accident and
never treated, he contracted gangrene and his legs were amputated. Now,
after several years of treatment at Nai Zindagi, he said he has finally
found a family and a purpose.

"I never got love from anyone, and I thought I was no good," he said as he
padded about the Angoori workshop on his knees, making coffee. "I miss the
streets, but I know I was in a bad society there. Now I hope it is not too
late to make some use of my life."

But Hussain is still a rarity in Pakistan, where most street drug users
live by their wits and many die of their addiction, bouncing in and out of
jail but never getting serious help. In Lahore, hundreds doze in a public
park where the Nai Zindagi drop-in center opened in August.

Each day, about 75 addicts stop by the shelter. Most are interested only in
a shower, a nap and a new syringe. Some hurry out to meet their suppliers
and hit the foil or the needle; others stay until closing time, swapping
street stories and vowing to stay clear of drugs for good.

"I lost everything because of drugs - my wife, my children, my house. I
weep for them, but I cannot stop," said Nasir Tirmazi, 32, a longtime
heroin addict who recently switched to injectable painkillers. Four days
earlier he had vowed to quit, but ever since he has been shaky and unable
to sleep. The chances of his remaining drug-free, said Nai Zindagi
counselors, are slim.

But Tirmazi and other Nai Zindagi clients have one advantage over their
friends on the streets. They have access to medical treatment and advice
about the importance of using condoms, not sharing needles and maintaining
personal hygiene.

Sometimes, the advice comes too late. One day recently, three Nai Zindagi
employees carried in a severely emaciated teenager on their backs. He was
too weak to walk and his feet were grossly swollen, probably from injecting
drugs into his femoral artery.

As he slumped in a chair, the other addicts crowded around, clucking in
sympathy. It was almost closing time, and a dozen grimy men lined up for
their new syringes. Some had saved their old needles, but others admitted
they had given theirs away.

One man drew a filthy needle from his pocket, and a worker at the center
gently took it from him. He plunged it into a bottle of red dye, filled it
up and then squirted it out. The needle was still full of blood-red
droplets. Each one, the doctor explained, could kill.