The Education That Could Have Saved Him

Part 1: The Dark Rise of Synthetic Highs in Africa

Picture this:

Same night. Same music. Same invitation that tasted like freedom.
But in this version, he’s not just rolling into the party with vibes, he’s rolling in with knowledge.

He knows the difference between the earthy, skunky scent of real cannabis and the chemical sting of Colos.
He knows that real weed doesn’t leave shiny crystals that look like sugar sprinkles, that’s chemical residue.
He knows that weed burns smooth and slow, not harsh and sharp like it’s trying to stab your lungs.

So when the blunt comes his way? He passes it. Politely. Casually. Like he’s done this before. Because in this reality… he has.

Sometimes, it’s not even him

Maybe it’s not even him. Maybe it’s the friend, the one who’s been to a workshop, read a guide, listened to an awareness campaign that actually made sense.

She sees it in the way the smoke curls. Smells it in the first pull.
“It’s not safe,” she whispers, pulling him aside.
They leave. Laugh about it later over suya and cold drinks.

No panic. No seizure. No near-death trip. Just a story about how they dodged it.

Now Imagine a different city

Now imagine a city where the government actually pays attention.
Where there’s a task force that knows Colos isn’t just “the kids being reckless”, it’s chemical warfare on the young.

In this city:

• Dealers get caught before they hit the block.
• Synthetic labs get raided, not ignored.
• Public health campaigns run on billboards, radio, and social media, the kind you can’t scroll past.
• Schools teach what weed is… and what it’s not.

Here, Colos is a whisper, not a roar. But that’s not the city we’re in.
Not yet.

Right now, most people don’t know the difference.
Right now, government raids are more for show than safety.
Right now, too many nights are ending like his did, in hospital beds, in panic attacks that never fully fade, in silence.

And that’s why this conversation matters.
Because if education, prevention, and enforcement come together…
We could rewrite this story.

The Fight We Can’t Afford to Lose

And maybe, just maybe we stop treating drug talk like Voldemort.
Like it’s the thing we can’t name.

Because here’s the thing: silence doesn’t keep kids safe.
It just keeps them curious… and uninformed.

We need to talk about Colos the way we talk about malaria.
Clear. Open. No shame.

We need to make it normal to say, “Yo, that’s not safe,” without it turning into a lecture or a fight.

And yes, it’s uncomfortable.
It’s awkward to admit we don’t have all the answers.
It’s exhausting to face a problem that feels bigger than us.

So, what does fighting Colos look like in real life?

It looks like music artists sliding real facts into their lyrics, not just the usual “say no to drugs” line, but the gritty truth about synthetic highs and how they mess you up.
It looks like influencers breaking down myths in a 30-second video their audience actually wants to share.
It looks like health professionals showing up on Instagram Live, not just at medical conferences.
It looks like governments partnering with community leaders, instead of just blaming “bad parenting” or “youth gone astray.”

But you know what’s worse?
Standing over a hospital bed, wishing you’d said something sooner.

And let’s not sugarcoat it: there’s a long game here.
The dealers won’t disappear overnight.
The synthetic labs won’t magically shut down.

But the more people know, the harder it becomes for Colos to thrive in the shadows.

One by one, the “I’ll pass” moments start stacking up.
One by one, the people who would have ended up in a hospital end up walking away instead.

And little by little, the roar becomes a whisper.

Until then…

The fight is in our hands.
It’s in the way we talk to each other.
The way we share the warning signs.
The way we refuse to let another night end the way his did.

Because the truth?
We can’t un-invent Colos.
But we can outsmart it.

And if we do it right, one day, “Have you heard of Colos?” will be a history lesson, not a headline.

Colos feeds on silence. Break it. Share this. Talk about it in your circles, your schools, your group chats. Because every conversation is a shield, every share a lifeline. Let’s turn this roar into a whisper together.