If I Ever Get Killed, Arrest My Friend Who Had DND On

Let’s set the scene.

It’s 11:47 p.m. I’m walking home alone because my Move driver cancelled after calling to ask if I could “just walk to the main road.” Sir, if I wanted to walk to the main road, I wouldn’t have ordered a ride. There is a man who has been “coincidentally” walking the same route as me for the last four hundred metres.

My phone is on 9%. So I start texting.

First, my mother. She doesn’t respond. She’s probably asleep, or deep in prayer, the ringing phone is just the devil trying to interrupt her. Besides, she gave me life; she doesn’t owe me a follow-up.

Next, the group chat. A bunch of gym rats who, in my mind, should still be awake because they’re probably meal-prepping at midnight. Read receipts and not a single reply.

And then, finally, out of options and desperate… her. The DND friend.

Nothing, not even a buzz. Her phone is probably lying face-down on a table somewhere, peacefully sitting on Do Not Disturb, while she’s sleeping like a baby, completely unaware that she’s about to become an accomplice in my very dramatic death.

You know her. Maybe you are her. If so, hi… and I already don’t like you.

She turned on Do Not Disturb five years ago during a “digital detox” and, much like a cult, never really left. She talks about her Do Not Disturb settings with so much pride. Deep down, I want to throw her out the window, but I stay calm because that’s her very expensive iPhone she bought with her own money. And before you people start, no, just because a woman has an iPhone doesn’t make her an ashawo. Some of these ladies are working six jobs and still asking us to buy them ice cream just to keep us confused.

Anyways, she’ll then casually say, completely unbothered, “I don’t really check my phone after 9 p.m. It’s a boundary thing.” A BOUNDARY. As if my message saying, “I think I’m being followed. Please track my location,” is interrupting her healing journey instead of potentially being my last text.

And just like boiling a frog, for those who have eaten it, it starts small. So small that you might even miss the signs. You need a second opinion on a text before you send it. She doesn’t respond for six hours. You send it anyway. It goes badly.

Annoying, but survivable.

Then it escalates. You’re locked out of your house late at night after a date that ended with nothing more than a hug, and you need her spare key. Her phone might as well be sitting inside a box at the bottom of the ocean.

Now, I know what you’re going to say because she has already said it to me several times: repeated calls within three minutes can break through Do Not Disturb. Great feature. Do you know who does not have the presence of mind to remember that, then call exactly twice within exactly three minutes while being followed by a man in a windbreaker? Me. I am busy! I am Googling “Is walking fast the same as running, cardio-wise?” while also trying not to die. And also, and I cannot stress this enough, she has never actually turned this setting on. Mxioum!

As I calm down and stop my dramatic venting, I want to be clear: I am not saying we should abolish Do Not Disturb. I understand the need for a peaceful dinner, a full eight hours of sleep, a movie watched without someone interrupting every five minutes, or whatever else you are doing at your boyfriend’s house with your bra off. Boundaries are healthy. Fine. I accept that.

I am simply saying: if you are going to disappear into a self-imposed communication blackout every single night like some kind of off-duty superhero, at least give me a warning. A simple, “Hey, I’m on DND because of this reason,” would be enough. Will I believe you? Probably not. Will I still judge you? Absolutely. But at least, if I am ever found in a ditch somewhere, everyone will know whose fault it was. Not the man in the windbreaker, not my own poor life choices regarding walking alone at midnight, but you.

And the rest will be on you, your DND, and the guilt of knowing you got Kigali's favorite Substacker killed.