BEN HARVEY: Hard-edge rehab centre Shalom House is proof drug addiction afflicts everybody in society

Most people cross the road if they see a man like Brent Smith walking towards them.

You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, but when the cover has a tattoo of an AK-47 on its head, you can surely be forgiven for not wanting to read further.

In Shalom House, Australia’s toughest rehab centre, you can’t cross the road to avoid someone you find intimidating because that person is sitting on the couch next to you.

Such was the case on my fifth night in one of Shalom’s Swan Valley properties.

Smith wants to be a good man, but for most of his life, he has failed in his attempts.

Addicted to meth and GHB, this 40-year-old has seen, and done, things that would make your toes curl.

The AK-47 tattoo is a homage to a run-in with the law in the US.

“I attempted to purchase some firearms in America,” is how Smith diplomatically describes his crime to me as we sit in front of the television after another hard day’s work at Shalom.

We are watching the nature documentary Blue Planet and the bald gun-runner is chatting with Stefan, an alcoholic and benzo-addicted primary school teacher from Tasmania, about how astonishing the footage of bottle-nosed dolphins is.

“I don’t understand how they can be right there when the animals do these things,” says Matt, who used to sell cars before his meth addiction consumed his life.

Prior to entering Shalom, Matt had been tied to a chair and tortured by a mate and fellow ice user who was in a drug psychosis.

“They must be extremely patient camera operators,” the quietly spoken thirty-something observes.

It’s a bizarre, real-time confluence of different lives and proof that drug addiction, like an appreciation for David Attenborough, bridges social and demographic divides.

Matt had joined us after he finished ensuring the household’s daily chores had been completed by the 15-odd residents sharing the four-bedroom home.

Keeping a house that crammed clean and orderly would test anyone but it is especially difficult in Shalom because for many it’s a new experience.

On the third day of my week-long immersion in Shalom I had watched a 25-year-old meth addict beam with pride because he had successfully loaded a washing machine.

Getting hooked on drugs since he was 12 meant he had bypassed that learning curve.

I was discussing that challenge with Matt when the call came from the kitchen. “Dinner’s ready.”

Residents of Shalom eat well. It’s common for addicts fresh off the street to put on 10kg in their first month. Their emaciated frames fill out quickly when afforded three squares a day.

Preparation of meals is a foreign concept for many when they come to Shalom House. They learn fast — novices are paired with more experienced cooks for each evening meal and each two-person team takes pride in outclassing the previous night’s service.

The dinner of chicken and spicy vegetables I had on my second night was restaurant-quality. It took a few conversations to work out why. The man in the kitchen that night was a professional chef.

Long before Matt Fahie was tantalising the taste buds of heroin addicts, he was preparing dishes for Australia’s A-list.

The now 55-year-old was one of the country’s most celebrated chefs, heading kitchens in different states and in New Zealand.

In his early 20s, Fahie was executive chef at the newly opened Karri Valley Resort near Pemberton. You may have eaten at his Margaret River restaurant Flametree. If you holidayed in Queensland and ventured to Gold Coast institution Beachcombers, there’s a chance Fahie was running the grill.

He was cutting his teeth just as Australia’s culinary senses were maturing and the future looked bright for him.

Then, one day in 1996 when he was working in Margaret River, the then 27-year-old received a phone call for help.

“Something had happened on the coast further south,” Fahie explains to me as we sit on our beds, which are so close our knees are almost touching.

Over the next few hours Fahie helped dig up nine bodies, including those of four children, from the rock and sand that had buried people sitting under a cliff at Gracetown.

The experience ruined Fahie and he sought peace in the bottom of a wine bottle. He never found it but kept looking. His determination eventually saw him walk into Shalom House, seeking help.

Today, Fahie cooks for recovering addicts who have either never had, or can’t remember, decent home-cooked food. He takes as much pride in his food here as he did in any restaurant.