Salute My G, Pizzy
Nash — or Pizzy, as many called you.
They say a loss cuts deepest when someone dies young.
And you, my friend, left us far too soon.
We didn’t see each other much in your final days,
but every call you made still echoes in my mind —
those late-night check-ins, those laughs about our days in Kinoo,
the endless memories we built when life still felt like one long weekend.
I still remember how you stood out,
the way you carried yourself — clean, confident, full of style.
I used to call you Omarion,
because no one in the estate could match that swag.
You even had those cornrows to seal the deal.
We met during holiday classes back in primary school,
and from that day, friendship came easy.
We chased girls together, laughed until we cried,
and even when our paths split in high school,
the bond stayed real — like brothers who didn’t need to talk every day
to know the love was still there.
You loved your football;
I wasn’t much of a player,
but every time we linked up, it was pure laughter.
And oh — that name Milk Boy.
We’d tease you just to see that spark in your eyes,
the way you’d shake your head but still smile after.
You had that kind of heart —
never one to hold a grudge, always quick to laugh again.
You were the first person I ever saw rocking grillz —
real shine, real confidence.
That was you: unapologetic, original, and proud.
When we got older, Mabatini (Kwa Johny) became our joint.
Cold keg, loud stories, music, and memories —
tao and all the other spots where we felt alive.
You were always the connector —
the one who introduced me to new faces,
because you, bro, were a man of the people.
Life didn’t deal you the easiest cards,
but you never let it steal your light.
Even in your roughest moments,
you’d still find something to laugh about,
something to remember, something to hold onto.
Looking back now,
I think those last phone calls were more than just check-ins.
Maybe they were your way of saying goodbye —
without really saying it.
Maybe it was your way of giving me my flowers,
and letting me give you yours.
You had a big heart, bro —
a heart that forgave, that shared, that cared.
You carried your friends like family
and made everyone feel seen.
Rest easy, Nash.
You were more than a friend —
you were my brother, my memory keeper,
my reminder that life is meant to be lived fully,
even if it burns out too soon.
It was an honor knowing you,
an honor calling you my friend.
Salute, my G — till we meet again.