Three Friends, Three Oaths, One Grave
Faruq, Afeez, and Auwal had been friends since primary school in Ilorin, Kwara State.
They grew up together, ate from the same plates, wore the same torn uniforms, and defended each other like brothers. When they later got admission into a boarding school, nothing changed. Same hostel. Same bunk beds. Same jokes. Same dreams.
But they were very different boys.
Afeez was the strongest. Broad shoulders, fearless eyes. When trouble came, he stood in front.
Faruq was calm and gentle. He hated violence. He believed words could fix anything.
Auwal was the most dangerous of them all—not because he could fight, but because he loved trouble. He could provoke a fight, light the fire, then hide when the flames rose.
Ironically, Auwal couldn’t stand violence. The moment blood showed, he shook. Yet, he was always the one causing it.
Still, they protected each other.
If Auwal insulted seniors, Afeez fought them.
If Afeez got reported, Faruq begged teachers to forgive him.
If Faruq was bullied, both of them stood up for him.
They were brothers.
Until power entered the conversation.
In their senior years, whispers started moving through the hostel at night—about cult groups, protection, respect, fear. Seniors promised influence, money, and immunity. They said, “Nobody will touch you again.”
Afeez joined first. Strength needed direction, they told him.
Auwal followed, hungry for relevance.
Faruq resisted… until fear convinced him.
But they didn’t join the same group.
That was the mistake.
Suddenly, greetings became suspicious. Laughter became forced. Jokes turned into threats. The hostel that once felt like home became a battlefield.
They stopped sleeping at the same time.
Stopped eating together.
Stopped trusting each other.
One night, insults were exchanged. Old secrets were mentioned. Pride took over. Oaths replaced memories.
When they finally fought, it wasn’t like the childhood fights they used to laugh about.
There were no apologies this time.
No teachers to intervene.
No second chances.
By morning, three boys who entered school together were carried out as bodies.
Different cults.
Different loyalties.
Same ending.
Years later, their names were carved on the same cold stone.
No cult brother came to cry.
No power followed them to the grave.
No respect stood at attention.
Just three graves side by side.
People say if you stand there long enough, you can almost hear the sarcasm in the silence:
“Congratulations.”
“You were feared.”
“You were powerful.”
“You won.”
Won what?
Faruq, who hated violence, died violently.
Auwal, who caused trouble but couldn’t face it, faced it permanently.
Afeez, the strongest, learned too late that strength without sense is just faster death.
The boarding school moved on.
New students arrived.
New friendships formed.
And somewhere in the hostel, another boy is hearing the same whispers at night that power is better than friendship.
History clears its throat… and waits.
Final Message
Not every brotherhood is worth dying for.
Some only want to bury you in matching uniforms.
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