How people in recovery are pulling together amidst a drug crisis in Sheshatshiu
Stephen Penashue's office at the Mary May Healing Centre in Sheshatshiu is barely larger than a supply closet, but the 31-year-old support worker takes pride in the fact he has an outsize impact from within those four walls.
Looking down from a portrait hanging on his wall is his grandmother — the woman who rescued him from the system when he was an orphaned teen.
These days, she's looking down proudly.
"I'm stable. I'm OK. I'm able to be here, be a community member, and be a leader in my own way," Stephen tells us as the cameras roll.
We came to Sheshatshiu to shoot scenes for a documentary about the massive influx of cocaine changing the province's drug trade. What we found were stories like Stephen's — people with firsthand experience battling addictions, working tirelessly to pull others toward sobriety, sometimes at the risk of their own mental health and well-being.
We found a town where recovering addicts are not written off for past transgressions, but relied upon to lead the fight to save lives.
Stephen's story
When people reach the point of wanting treatment for alcohol or drug abuse, they go to his little office. Stephen connects them with a program and helps fill out the voluminous paperwork required for admission.
Two years ago, he was on the other side of the table, lost and in need of help.
"I've been in and out of recovery for a while. I lost my grandmother when I was 25 and since then it's been a spiral for me," he says.
He was living in St. John's in 2023 when the benders got to be too much.
"I just had enough of it. I didn't want to do it anymore, because I was sad. It was depressing," he said.
Stephen went home, and turned to Apenam's House — a residential treatment program in North West River, run by people with firsthand experience dealing with their own addictions. He spent eight weeks living with people going through the same experiences, forming bonds that pulled him through the darkest days of his life.
Whenever he felt like he couldn't do it, someone was there to lift him up.
The only downside — the program was located inside a dilapidated building that was soon to be condemned.
When Stephen's group graduated, the program closed.
Afraid to be alone, and worried what would happen to his friends, Stephen opened his house for them to stay there. People came and went, sometimes numbering more than a dozen at a time.
"We even had meetings there, too, in my own basement. That was a cool experience. It felt really good to be home, and then know what when people came over we could just go for a meeting. It was like Apenam's House … I was really happy for how long I kept that going."
Apenam's House eventually became Apenam's Camp, when the group took over the former Labrador Christian Youth Camp on the highway near Sheshatshiu.
With the temperature touching -20 C on a blustery February evening, we were invited to the camp to meet the newest group of participants.
It was Day 1 of the eight-week program, with people coming in raw. And still, we were welcomed inside and offered nothing but warmth. A handful of people even offered to carry our camera gear in and out.
There we met people like Pashanish Penashue — a peer support counsellor with their own history of addiction.
Or Dale Ford — an artist whose struggles overtook his professional and personal life — who started running Narcotics Anonymous meetings in Happy Valley-Goose Bay while facing open hostility from local drug dealers.
Some people walked out on Day 1, but the group tells us that's to be expected. "You can't force anybody to stay, but when they're ready they'll come back," Pashanish tells us.
Building snowshoes, building connections
The next night, Stephen invites us to see something special.
The Mary May Healing Centre has been offering cultural programs, aimed at connecting people with their roots. Stephen has been part of a snowshoe-making workshop.
They cut down birch trees and now they're whittling them into perfect sticks to tie together and form the base of the snowshoes.
It's a labour-intensive process — but one that this group of men is tackling together.
Stephen struggles with a handsaw for a minute, before the instructor comes over to lend a hand.
With the smell of fresh-cut birch filling the room, Stephen looks at us and smiles.
"It's like I was saying earlier. Whenever I feel like I can't do something, someone is there to help me."
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