Lipstick inferno

MY STORY

In my country (Zambia), the Ministry of Education blacklists the names of those who have once sought and worked as teachers outside the country, ostensibly to curb the “brain drain” that once posed a threat to the nation’s human resource spectrum. On one hand, this regulation has achieved its purpose, while on the other, the bulk of graduates offloaded every year from various colleges and universities remain unemployed for years—in some cases, forever. The government’s employing capacity is far below the hordes of trained educators, to a point where such a person is assured of roaming the streets for years long after their graduation.

Years back, I found myself in the same pool of people: years of education and extensive training would now be languishing. Twiddling thumbs would be the order of my life for years to come, without prospects in sight.

After serious consideration, I decided to take the risk of selling my services outside my country, which would in turn, if successful, result in being barred from being employed by government schools. I trekked to neighbouring Botswana anyway, and within a month, I landed myself a four-year contract that felt like the salvation of my life at the time. Back home, I left a wife and our only baby then; I sent most of my earnings home so my young family would live a decent life in my absence.

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Yearning for a simple life

On 29 May 2021, I was arrested for involvement in a conspiracy to traffic dangerous drugs, and I have now been on remand for nearly four years.

When I was 16, I met my ex-husband, and through him I was introduced to drugs. At that time, I still resisted using them, but because I was deeply in love, I thought that I had to take drugs with him in order to fit into his life. At 18, I became pregnant. We were doing well then — we both quit drugs to welcome our first child, the fruit of our love.

After the baby was born and until he turned one, because of life’s pressures we got involved in drug trafficking again. My ex-husband was the one selling the drugs, while I stayed at home to take care of our son.

In 2002, my ex-husband went to prison for drug offences. I had nothing left, so I went back to my family and told them I had been using drugs. My family are Christians. My mother was very good to me — she arranged for me to go into Barnabas Rehabilitation Centre, and she took care of my son.

A year later, my ex-husband was released from prison, and I left the rehab centre. Soon after, I became pregnant again and gave birth to our daughter in 2024. The government assigned us a public housing flat. We thought we would be happy as a family of four, but it turned out my ex-husband had other women outside, and he shattered my world many times.

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On the road of no return

I have never had the habit of taking drugs. I became involved in this serious crime because I was in debt and wanted to make quick money.

My parents divorced when I was six years old and since then, my father and I have depended on each other for support.

Two years after their divorce, my father was diagnosed with schizophrenia. At that time, we were living with my aunt. Later, my father’s condition worsened, and we needed to vacate my aunt’s home due to a house renovation.

I suffered bullying during at school and that made me very insecure and doubt whether I was suited for living in society. I even stopped attending school on and off for about six months. Eventually, I was sent to a government residential institution for six years, until I turned 18 and moved with my father into public housing.

After I graduated from secondary school, I worked several part-time jobs for two years. When I became unemployed I had to rely on social welfare for a year. During that time, my father’s condition fluctuated, and he was hospitalized several times. Although his condition is manageable now, he still needs regular medical follow-ups.

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No Brotherhood off-screen

I have been to prison seven times, and each time has felt harder than the last. The physical and mental torment is difficult to describe. I carry deep guilt toward my family, especially my parents, and I regret my choices. I want to go home, but I can’t, and that leaves me anxious and restless. People outside rarely understand what prison life is like—the hardship, sorrow, self-blame, and suffering can only be known by those who have lived it.

This is how I ended up here: because of a difficult family background, problems at school, and the friends I kept, I came into contact with drugs and eventually went to prison—what I think of as the “suffering of incarceration.”

My first imprisonment happened after a relapse. I was controlled by a group of so-called friends who sold drugs. I even helped them traffic drugs, but before I received any payment, I was arrested.

When I was young, I joined the triads partly because of how media glorified them. Movies made members look stylish, powerful, and protected—like joining meant no one could bully you. They also portrayed “brotherhood” and loyalty as if members would help each other no matter what.

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Loneliness 18,000 kilometers from home

To everyone who reads my story, I want to share what happened when I was arrested for drug trafficking in Hong Kong.

I’m from Peru. I had my own food business, and one day a man approached me with bad intentions, offering me the chance to traffic drugs. He convinced me because I had a lot of debt with the bank at the time, so I agreed. They insisted and convinced me to smuggle drugs inside my body. And I don’t know how long I’ll be away from my family.

I ask you from the bottom of my heart not to do it, no matter how many debts or other things you have to pay. Report them immediately.

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Fifteen minutes a month

I want to share a bit about my family background. I lived with my parents, my girlfriend, and my daughter. I have two older sisters and an older brother who has already moved out; they are all married.

After finishing Form 5, I worked as a warehouse clerk. In August 2018, when my daughter was born, I first came into contact with drugs through coworkers. I was arrested in November 2018, which led to my first conviction.

I was released in April 2021. After that, I cut off contact with those old coworkers and returned to warehouse work, though I still lost jobs more than once. In September 2022, someone I met in prison tried to recruit me to sell drugs, and I refused.

But in January 2023, because of financial pressure and my father needing eye surgery, I gave in to greed and agreed to sell drugs.

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The real state of my life

I am 37 years old and was born in Hong Kong, with a post-secondary level of education. I am the eldest daughter in my family. Due to my parents’ work commitments, I have lived with my grandparents since infancy, so my relationship with them is particularly close.

In 2009, I entered the real estate industry until 2019 when the pandemic broke out. At the time I had just separated from my husband, with whom I have an 11-year-old son. I became a single mother.

Soon after I came to know a man who proved a very bad influence in my life. We both worked in real estate together but lost our jobs due to COVID-19; I worked part-time as a waitress while he struggled with depression, alcoholism, and gambling. He exhausted both his savings and mine and became physically abusive — neighbors called police several times. I feared him greatly.

Because the apartment was rented in my name, I could not escape being implicated. That was when I realised that he had lied about working at night — he had in fact been trafficking drugs.

In June 2023, he was arrested for drug use and spent a week in hospital. This was the first time I learned of his drug habit. After his release, I believed him when he promised to quit. However, every day I went to work and returned home late at night, often finding that he was not at home. We quarrelled over this and he claimed he was going out at night to work, asked me not to scold him, and promised he would definitely quit drugs. I believed him at the time because I thought he feared going to prison and was determined to change.

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Happily never after

I am 19 years old and I was born and have lived in France my whole life. I was 18 when I arrived in Hong Kong with 12 kg of ketamine in my luggage. My lawyer told me I am facing 10–15 years of imprisonment. When I heard this, it was the most unreal thing that has ever happened to me. All I could do was accept my circumstances and build my relationship with God while waiting to return to society.

Before doing this “job,” I had a regular life: a girlfriend, work, and I even got an apartment with my friend in 2025.

How it all began was very casual. A mutual friend came up to me, mentioned that a job was available, and asked if I was interested. However, they didn’t know any specifics about what the “job” was. I spontaneously agreed and asked for some sort of contract or contact so I could reach them. Soon after, they told me they would give me a number.

When I finally spoke with that person, they told me what I was supposed to do and reassured me that it was “safe,” explaining that it was impossible to be arrested because everything had been tested and planned thoroughly, and that they had “connections” at the airports who were paid so the bag could not be stopped or searched.

It sounded like a living fairy tale. Unfortunately, it turned out to be the furthest thing from what I had hoped for.

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Caught in the wheels of crime

I am 23 years old and currently in a correctional institution. I am charged with trafficking 59 kilograms quantity of methamphetamine. A duty lawyer told me that my sentence could be between 33 to 36 years, and even with remission, I would still have to serve at least 16 years before being released.

On May 23, 2023, a man I had met previously met in Hong Kong called me and asked me to come back with a part-time job offer. The job would pay me HK$5,000, including some money owed to me. At the time, I was in in Mainland China taking care of my mother, who had returned there for medical treatment, and I was planning to return to Hong Kong where I had been living to look after my younger brother. So I agreed.

On the evening of May 27 I returned to the city and received a call from this male acquaintance, who told me that another contact would reach out with instructions. I had met this contact a few years ago and had had a meal with him once. Sometimes he contacted me to help pick up things—usually mobile phones or cosmetics. This time, I thought it would be similar and did not ask many questions.

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A mother’s abounding love

I’m not the only child in my family, but my brother is 15 years younger than me. We don’t have the same father. When I was a baby, my parents broke up. My grandma raised me, and I went back to my mother’s side in secondary school. After my brother was born, I started smoking and spending time with friends outside school, so I couldn’t study well.

Most of the time I didn’t like staying at home. My friends were like me. We stayed out late, smoked, took drugs, and didn’t go home.

I remember one time, when my mother was pregnant with my brother, she called the police and reported me missing. After a few days I was caught. Because it had happened so many times, the police said I couldn’t return home. That was my first time in “children’s jail,” and it wasn’t as horrible as people imagine.

I wasn’t really scared. I could call my family, write letters, and learn things there. But I missed my family—especially my mother. She is wonderful, and I love her very much. When she visited, she brought a lawyer and McDonald’s. I cried. She said she was sorry I ended up there, and I felt the warmth and guilt.

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The tiger awaits

From as far back as I can remember, talking with my family—my parents, my mother, my older sister, and my older brother—became harder and harder. I felt like no one at home wanted to spend time with me or truly care about me. Because of that, I desperately looked for close friends at school.

But I didn’t like studying and my grades were poor, so the well-behaved classmates didn’t want to be friends with me. I felt like I was being pushed out on purpose. Inside, it hurt a lot. Feeling isolated, I naturally ended up hanging out with the so‑called “black sheep,” blending into their circle of eating, drinking, and just passing time.

Around then, I also started being exposed to drugs and other illegal ways of making quick money. When I watched my friends and drinking buddies take drugs in front of me, I was curious, but I still didn’t have the courage to try that “free” and “high” feeling myself.

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Chasing the dragon – Part 3

CONTINUED FROM PART 2
NO GLAMOUR IN TRIADS

The triads are not as glamorous as movies portray; movies only glorify them. There is a saying “out of ten bad boys, nine are truly wicked.” The triads exploit you. When you’re young, a big group of people follows a boss to eat and drink. A single look or bump can spark a fight; they boss people around, thinking it’s cool, but in reality, it’s just the many bullying the few.

There is no such thing as a free lunch in this world. These bosses exploit the ignorance and mindset of young people, taking advantage of human weakness. They will never provide free food, drink, entertainment, or drugs long term. At first, they lure you into drug use so you get addicted. When you can no longer escape, you have to pay the price. You don’t think carefully about the consequences for the money to buy drugs, accepting them happily. They will tell you to do drugs or commit robberies — anything to make money. Some get lucky and don’t get caught by the police despite committing many crimes, but many get arrested the first time. For a reward of tens of thousands or only a few thousand, you suffer more than a decade in prison. Not everyone is that lucky.

I want to share a true story here.

There was a 30-year-old young gangster who fell deep into drug addiction. His triad boss asked him to go to Europe to smuggle a batch of ivory powder into Hong Kong. The payment was HK$30,000. The young gangster thought he could go to France and the Netherlands with his girlfriend for free, since his boss covered the airfare and hotel stay, plus a daily allowance of 150 euros. Having worked for the boss for nearly 10 years, he believed he wouldn’t be cheated, so he accepted the job.

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Chasing the dragon – Part 2

CONTINUED FROM Part 1
The Diamond Hill murders

In October 2022, I was admitted to Lai Chi Kok Reception Centre. At first, I didn’t have any special feelings because prison life for me just meant no drugs, no women, and no internet. I was already used to the rest of it. But on June 2, 2023, a tragedy happened. A murder took place at Diamond Hill Hollywood Plaza. A mentally ill man randomly killed two young women. On June 3, when I read the newspaper, I noticed the second victim looked very familiar. The newspaper obscured the victim’s face with a grid, so I couldn’t see it clearly, but I still felt it looked familiar, like my daughter. I looked closer at the victim’s name; at that time, the paper only printed the surname. I was relieved and thought it couldn’t be possible — I must be overthinking. I even discussed the case with other inmates, saying how brave the second victim was. Despite being unarmed, she tried to save her friend four times and ultimately lost her life to the attacker.

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Chasing the dragon – Part 1

I am 46 years old this year. I was remanded in custody in October 2022 for burglary.

Growing up

I was born in 1976, and my family lived in an old housing estate on the eastern part of the Kwun Tong District in Kowloon. I have three older sisters and one older brother; I am the youngest. Because both of my parents worked when I was little, they didn’t have time to take care of me, so I stayed at my grandmother’s house. However, my grandmother was very strict, and I was often physically punished or left without food, which made me want to rebel from a young age.

My family could be described as a triad family. My uncle was a triad boss, my brother-in-law was a triad leader, and both my brother and cousin were also members of the triads. From a young age, I was surrounded by triad members, and both my uncle and brother-in-law also sold drugs.

During school holidays when I didn’t have to go to class, I would return to my parents’ home, where I was very happy because many people would take me to the park downstairs, and I could eat snacks and drink soda at the local convenience store for free. This was because the area was full of triads, and the people who took me out to play were the so-called “bad boys” from the neighborhood. So all the food was free. I clearly remember seeing my uncle at home using a matchbox to smoke something off a piece of silver paper (later, I learned it was heroin — the “chasing the dragon” method).

I thought it was very strange back then, wondering what my uncle was doing, and he looked very comfortable and seemed to be enjoying himself. When I moved back to live with my parents in Form 1, I was very happy because I finally escaped hardship and could live well. Maybe my mother felt guilty for not spending much time with me when I was young, so she spoiled and indulged me, never scolding or punishing me even when I made mistakes. This made me even more out of control. I skipped school all the time and was eventually expelled. Not only did I stop going to school, but I also spent every day hanging around basketball courts and arcade centers, where I met a group of delinquent friends. By age 14, I even joined a triad. I idled my time away daily, eating, drinking, partying, chasing girls, and getting into fights.

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From blind trust to hard truth

I am 52 years old. On December 15, 2022, because of a drug case involving my flat, I was imprisoned in Lo Wu Correctional Institution. To others, my case may seem impossible or even laughable, but in truth, I was simply extremely foolish. My boyfriend had used my unit for drug trafficking, and through negligence and blind trust, I ended up facing arrest.

Here in prison, most people call me “Ah Bo” or “Grandma” because they know I want to be a grandmother, so younger inmates sometimes address me that way. I come from a humble family with six siblings, being the youngest. When I was six, my father left due to an affair. My mother was heartbroken, drank heavily, and often threatened suicide — sometimes saying she would take me with her. This happened several times a week. My eldest brother cared for me, becoming both brother and father in my life.

At fifteen, my father was hospitalised for heart problems. The family forgave him and took him home to recuperate. The next year, I left school to work as a sales assistant. Later I married, had a son, and stopped working during pregnancy. My mother‑in‑law helped care for my son, so when he turned one, I returned to work as a promoter.

When my son was five, my husband became a compulsive gambler and violent. At seven, I divorced him and took my son with me. Money was tight, but a kind social worker helped me apply for social assistance, which I cancelled a year later after I started temp jobs.

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