OLDER DUTCH DRUG ADDICTS OFFERED A PLACE TO CALL HOME

ROTTERDAM, Netherlands (Reuters) - "Look at this bathroom - it's
fantastic! There's even a special low seat in the shower for when I
grow really old," Carmel exclaims before turning toward the window to
prepare her heroin.

Carmel, silver-haired and fragile at 53, took her first pills and
amphetamines at 17. She became trapped in a drug spiral and began a
life on the streets that lasted for years.

Now she sits on a neatly-made single bed and injects her drugs while
talking of her past, a handful of postcards of chubby angels and
flowers pinned on the wall above her head.

Carmel is one of the seven residents in Rotterdam's first home for
older drug addicts, which opened its doors in the Dutch port city in September.

Known for tolerance of drug use, the liberal Netherlands faces a new
hurdle as an increasing number of hard drug addicts survive to a
pensionable age. While selling hard drugs such as heroin and cocaine
is unlawful and dealers are prosecuted, addicts are treated as
patients with a chronic health problem.

Hard drug users are growing older and their habit takes its toll. They
often face in their 40s the same problems people normally experience
only in their early 70s.

"They are forgetful, neglect themselves, suffer from insomnia, live in
isolation. They need a place where they can settle down and take their
drugs quietly," says Trudy de Bruin, administrator of the Boumanhuis
home for older addicts.

Their health improves and their use of drugs stabilizes when they no
longer need to go to the streets for a fix, de Bruin says.

The home is officially approved and partly funded by the Rotterdam
municipality and health authority.

Residents, whose average age is 53, receive medical care and a daily
dose of the heroin substitute methadone.

Screened for good behaviour before being admitted, they are not
pressured to kick their habit. Drug use is accepted - the staff even
provide hard drugs on request - although house rules stipulate it is
allowed only in private rooms.

"We concluded a few years ago that drying out isn't always the best
solution. Drug use has been part of these people's lives for 20 to 25
years and they don't harm anybody," de Bruin says.

Tenants pay rent and, if they want drugs, they have to pay for
them.

If they need more money than their monthly allowance, they do
temporary work, mostly cleaning. In the home, they do the shopping,
cleaning and cooking.

Senior junkies opt to live in the Boumanhuis so they no longer have to
cope alone in the outside world. They value the presence of a social
worker 24 hours a day. Counsellors are on call. Security and the
possibility of using drugs without being persecuted is also crucial.

"My life used to be like a roller-coaster," Carmel says. "In here, I'm
doing better. I'm no longer alone. There's always somebody around and
knowing that really helps."

Life in the home appears calm and quiet, with tenants back in their
rooms in the evening long before the 11 p.m. deadline.

"In the house, we lead quiet, ordinary lives, verging on boring
sometimes," de Bruin explains. "People often just want to sit in their
room, watch television, read a newspaper . . . They discover it's cozy
to have a home."

Carmel spends most of her days reading, watching TV, drawing, writing
or knitting. In her room, she proudly shows off a turquoise dress she
has made.

"I need to go on for a few more inches. It should not be too
revealing; there are five men in the house," she says, smiling.

A man cleans the sink of the already spotless kitchen while a
gray-haired addict, 48, plays computer games.

"The Boumanhuis saved my life," Carmel observes.