Every Week, I Kill My Friends
R.I.P
It’s safe to say introductions are no longer necessary, but it never hurts to say, “Hello, once again
Pause.
I can explain.
In our country today, there is barely any room for joy. And if you are not careful, your heart becomes prime real estate for anger and resentment, which can show up as unnecessary anger toward your loved ones.
I am going to do away with lies. These days, I have a lot of anger and resentment marinating in my bones, and on some days, I don’t know what to do with them, which leads to venom for people who don’t deserve it.
In my quest to find productive ways to channel my anger, I decided to start a short story collection. And let me tell you something: it’s been fun, more fun than I ever imagined. But hold your horses, I have only written three book-worthy stories so far, and I am aiming for ten to twelve short stories.
There are a lot of things to get mad at my friends for, from missed birthday texts and calls to general nonchalance about some important things, but I try not to hold it against them because I barely have the strength to stay mad at them for a sustained period.
Since I started writing my short story collection, the friends who recently grated on my nerves show up as complex characters in my stories. And in those stories, they suffer the ignominy of ever knowing me. I bestowed upon them my trauma—everything wrong about me has become theirs. My shame now belongs to them. My loneliness now keeps them company. My misery latches onto them like threads on clothes. My feelings of abandonment now follow them everywhere. But most importantly, I have killed them off or made them suffer in ways that would make the devil proud.
I am going to make my friends perform autopsies on conversations long buried. I am going to make them question their sanity in places where they might risk being committed.
I pity the friends who are yet to cross me but plan to. I killed a friend of mine on a train—their death was brutal, bullet wounds to the stomach and thigh, signed off by a slashed throat. I made another friend commit suicide by sticking a gun in their mouth and blowing their brains away.
The possibilities are endless, and I fear for whoever suffers the misfortune of being called my friend.
May the lord and the entire universe be with all my friends.
On the bright side, these stories might not get published. Or maybe I will become one of those authors whose works get published after their death, like George Orwell and Anne Frank. But as I said, the possibilities are endless, and these collections might be published. And if they do, many of my friends will die.
I feel sorry for them.
Please, do not ask me to see what I have written if you are not going to give immediate feedback. Hell, don’t ask me about anything at all.
I am pretty sure I have broken my record for the shortest newsletter ever. Apologies, they will only get shorter for the time being.
Also, if any of you fine people have a friend or acquaintance who currently lives in or has previously lived in Jos, please introduce us to each other. It’s very important.
Also, if you have ever stayed in a dingy hotel in Northern Nigeria, please text me.
Lastly—this is for research. If you have ever traded words you wish you could take back with your significant other or any other person you loved, please, send those words here
Thank you very much for your time and cooperation. I owe you one.
A Tale of Multiple Nezo(s) is powered by my continuous descent/ascent into uncertainty and motions of human experience. From time to time, I have to stroke your ego and tell you that the world is incomplete without you, to appeal to your generosity. Today is one of those days. Feel free to buy me a coffee
This song is dedicated to everyone who hates their job. Think of your happy place while listening to this song.
The last thing I read - The Cheater’s Guide to Love by Junot Diaz
Nezo.
Nigerian by birth,
Indian by hemp,
Canadian by loud.
Signed - Nezo, St. Patron of women with vowels in their names, especially the ones with 0-2 boyfriends.




First off, if I promise to give you immediate feedback would you let me read your work?
Secondly Nezo, you just might be in luck because I’m currently living in Jos and I’ll be here for the next 3 years. If I can’t help you out seeing as I’ve only been here for 6 months, I know someone who will be more than willing
I have only one thing to say, dearest friend, you will publish the book o. Or I will give you one more trauma to live with. 💜✨