Month: June 2017


“Happiness comes from the journey of self improvement. Not from any sort of arrival. Because there really is no arrival in life. And self acceptance is just as important as self improvement.”

-Adam LeDolce



met the man of my dreams a few weeks to my 21st year.
He was a middle belt Nigerian.
He was very tall, slim and dark in complexion like a mouth watering brownie.
He ran a thriving fashion business.
He drove a luxury car in my favourite color.
He was a caring friend to his guys, loving son and brother.
He was a skilled lover.

He loved my lingerie collection.
He was comfortable with who I was.
He understood my views about life as a youth with goals.
He was young. A young winner like me.

He liked FKA Twigs’ music on the spot.
He looked stunningly beautiful when he smoked marijuana and cigarettes. I can’t forget the smoke in a glass cup trick.
He indulged my insatiable sweet tooth.

He respected me and our friendship.
His penis spoke back to me during oral conversations.
He loved that I was quirky, open, honest and opinionated
He came under a rainstorm to give me a birthday cake.
He made videos of me to watch when I wasn’t there.

His friends never slut shamed me
He was always honest about his abilities and their limitations.
He asked before he kissed me.
He called me Shakara Mami
He was mature and could flow with my level of self love, body confidence and achievements.
He was a self compassionate optimist without esteem issues.
He encouraged and advised me.

He was a feminist.
He loved his queer friends and isn’t homophobic
He made me love Migos
He liked my Valentino Uomo scent.
He is a relic from my time and space.
He is a good man.
He is my namesake.

He isn’t many things my dream man would have been. Like his state of origin(my younger self preferred a European) or his complexion or size(he is the tallest slim
man I had sex with).
But at the core, he was the dream man of me as a woman not my girlhood.
He is everything above.
The amazing thing is I didn’t fall in love him. I loved him, our time together, how he understood me and life, his business and future. I respected him.
It took me two months when I couldn’t understand why he was my favourite to realise this.
He was the man of my dreams.

Life happens and I rarely miss it because I collect memories. But when I took a step back I saw it all. I’m grateful for those indepth conversations over my erect nipples and your orange burning sticks at 1 am. We made April lit.

I had once been asked if I could date myself. I had said yes then. I met myself in you. I loved it. I still love it.
Life happened to give me the man of my dreams as a birthday gift.
Dear West African boy, I miss you.

Image source: Michal Grosicki


Happy one month birthday to!

Can you see all the hot pink confetti, gold glitter dust, pink and black balloons? I’m certain you can see the breathtaking fireworks. Do not fret I sent your piece of chocolate cake to you already.

I created the blog because I wanted to share and curate my stories and discovery of contemporary African literature. After a host of rejections from magazines and publications because “my work didn’t fit”. I decided to start Amethyst Saw, my quirky creative fiction narrative. A space in the multiverse for my writing to fit in.  I must say the blog is off to a great start.

Thank you for reading my stories and peeking into my growing library. Go on the reading adventure of a lifetime with Amethyst’s flash stories and my collection of contemporary African literature. As so much more is yet to come.

With bubbly love from Amethyst.

Image source: Alejandro Scaff


“Welcome to Midnight Confessions on 90.1 fm”, my seductive feminine voice greeted my night time listeners. Continuing while pushing my peach slippers off my warm feet. “The time is quarter past 11pm. It’s time for you to call in to spill those secrets. Do you want to share your frustrations or talk about a secret admirer? The phone lines are open. You know the numbers to call.” My stubby fingers play a BoysIIMen love ballad. The announcer who read the 10 o’clock news waved good night through the glass window. Just as the chorus ended the first phone line started blinking.

“Hello, you are on to Midnight Confessions. Who am I speaking with?” I ask with a warm tone.
“Hello, Can I be anonymous?” a sad female voice inquires calmly. “Sure!” I quickly state.
“I called to talk about my morning and a regret” the called starts. “Okay. Go ahead.” I encourage her.
“I had to go to the market to get things for my saloon this morning. I decided to take an okada to the market grounds because of the usual Lagos gridlock. However the road ahead looked free of traffic. Yet other okadas, lorries and cars around us were not moving. The vehicles ahead seemed to slow down because the danfo buses won’t properly park on the side of the road. The road was bumpy and wet because of the rain filled potholes. I had been angry about the buses and all. Then the motorcyclist moved the okada forward as the narrow road was clearing up. Looking ahead I saw puff puff all over a broken glass box at the side of the road. Some large flat glass punctured the puff puff. I was angry you know. Who would hit a puff puff hawker? The broken glass box is usually filled with one of Nigeria’s sweetest snack. I expected to see the hawker fighting or arguing with the bus conductor of a danfo parked there. As the bike moved on I saw a man lying down on the floor, beside the punctured puff puff. I felt sad. Who would hit a puff hawker? The bike inched forward and I saw the fallen man shaking in shock, foaming at the mouth. I was shocked, horrified and worried. It must have been a hit and run. The perpetrator had left him for dead. He was dying. I couldn’t do anything about it. I was so sad, people just went past him. There was no traffic warden or LASTMA official around. My heart goes out to him, the puff puff and his loved ones.” She said and let out a guilty sigh.
“Wow! Did you call the state emergency line to report it?” I inquire softly.
“No, I couldn’t and I regret that. Which is why I’m calling to request a one minute silence for him.” Her hopeful voice states.


“Sure. We’ll observe a minute silence for the puff puff hawker.” Were the mournful words I spoke into the mouth piece. The radio station was filled with silence for 62 seconds.

“Thank you” the anonymous caller’s words dropped with gratitude. A beep signalled the call being dropped.


“Well, we started Midnight Confessions with an eulogy. Call in to share your secret with the Night Mistress on 90.1 cm.” my wine coloured lips announce to the airways. I hope the puff puff hawker had survived. They are usually one of the warmest mobile food vendors in Lagos. I always bought puff puff from them on my way to Primary school when younger. I love puff puff. The oily fingers I’d have after eating the tiny dough of sweetness. Its newspaper wrap I’d have a quick glance before tossing in a bin. I am drawn out of my reverie by the blinking phone line.


Okada: a Nigerian name for commercial motorcycles.

Danfo: commercial yellow and black buses.

LASTMA: Lagos State Transport Management Authority.

Image source: