this was a such a promising novel: the use of Pidgin English in dialect and in thought process could be creative and direct (p.144 it is looking like she just glum a ceiling fan on a hat and put it on her head) and also poetic and true in a way that is only achieved when English is your second language (p.61 your mind is so full of worry, it is pouring all over your face). The initial story was compelling and felt reminiscent of Adichie but then things take a weirdly soft turn when her supposed saviour (who has been channelling to both Adunni and the readers that he's taking her to the faceless and unwieldy Lagos to sell her to "Big Madam" and prostitution) is actually selling her into domestic service, the mildest form of human trafficking there is. Sure she'll be beaten by her boss daily, but compared to what we think was going to happen, this is a gift. And the gifts keep coming in magical waves: a co-servant actively helping her find a scholarship, a compassionate ex-pat who happens to live down the street, a convenient vacation for the mean boss lady when language lessons are needed. A really good book just collapses into it's YA candy fluff. And here's how I know the book was edited or influenced by YA: the requisite litany of approved positions on the current 'pet issues' to ward off any criticisms about not properly condoning sexism, systemic racism, colonialism, climate change, capitalism, and religion. To be honest, I'm surprised Adunni didn't suddenly realise she was gay (although, with the own voice movement, such a declaration is only allowed to come from actual gay writers)