If you’ve ever walked into a bookstore and felt overwhelmed by the sheer volume of "debut sensations," I get it. Most of them disappear within six months. But Stay With Me by Ayobami Adebayo is different. It’s one of those rare novels that doesn’t just sit on your shelf; it haunts your kitchen table and follows you into your dreams. When it first dropped in 2017, it felt like a lightning bolt. It wasn't just another story about marriage. It was a brutal, beautiful, and deeply Nigerian look at what happens when the weight of expectation crushes a relationship.
Honestly, I picked it up thinking it was a standard romance. I was wrong. Very wrong.
Adebayo sets the stage in 1980s Nigeria, a time of massive political upheaval. But the real war isn't happening in the streets; it’s happening inside the home of Yejide and Akin. They’ve been married since university. They’re modern. They’re in love. They agreed that polygamy wasn't for them. Then, the family steps in. Because Yejide hasn't gotten pregnant, the "sensible" solution according to the meddling in-laws is a second wife. Enter Funmi. From that moment, the book stops being a story about a marriage and becomes a frantic, desperate scramble for motherhood that leads to some truly dark places.
The Myth of the Modern Nigerian Marriage
One thing people often get wrong about Stay With Me by Ayobami Adebayo is assuming it's a critique of "traditional" values from a "Western" perspective. It’s way more nuanced than that. Adebayo isn't just wagging her finger at the characters. She’s showing how the pressure to produce an heir in Yoruba culture can drive even the most rational people to insanity.
Yejide is a powerhouse. She owns a hair salon. She’s independent. Yet, the moment she is faced with the reality of being replaced, she descends into a series of increasingly desperate acts to conceive. We’re talking about drinking "miracle" concoctions and visiting mountain prophets. It’s painful to read because you can feel her skin itching with the need to belong.
Akin, on the other hand, is a fascinating mess. He loves Yejide—truly—but he is trapped by his own secrets. He’s a man who would rather burn the world down than admit his own perceived failings. It makes you realize that in this world, masculinity is just as fragile as the hope for a child.
Why the 1980s Setting Actually Matters
You might wonder why she chose the 1980s. Why not today?
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The backdrop of military coups and social instability mirrors the chaos inside Yejide’s womb. As the government collapses and reforms, Yejide’s sense of self does the same. There’s a specific scene where a riot is happening outside, and it perfectly encapsulates the feeling that the entire world is falling apart while these two people are just trying to figure out how to be parents.
It’s about the fragility of everything. Nothing is certain. Not your government, not your husband’s word, and definitely not your own body.
The Science and the Sorrow (No Spoilers, But...)
Without ruining the twists—and trust me, there are twists that will make you drop the book—Adebayo handles the topic of Sickle Cell Anemia with a level of grace that’s rarely seen in fiction. It’s a reality for many families in West Africa, but here, it’s woven into the narrative as both a biological fact and a spiritual curse. The way the characters interpret illness through the lens of abiku (spirit children who die and are reborn to the same mother) is gut-wrenching.
She captures that specific grief where you don't just lose a child; you lose your mind.
You see, Yejide’s struggle isn't just about biology. It’s about the narrative women are told they must fulfill. If you aren't a mother, who are you? Adebayo pushes this question to the absolute edge.
What Critics Said (And Why They Were Right)
When the book was shortlisted for the Baileys Women’s Prize for Fiction (now the Women's Prize), critics like Michiko Kakutani and Margaret Atwood took notice. They praised the "shimmering" prose. But let’s be real: the prose isn't just shimmering; it’s sharp. It cuts.
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Some readers find the second half of the book a bit "soapy." I’ve heard friends say the plot twists go a little too far. I disagree. Life, especially a life lived under the thumb of overbearing extended family in a country undergoing a revolution, is melodramatic. It is loud. It is "too much." Adebayo captures that intensity perfectly.
The Power of the Dual Narrative
Adebayo uses a split perspective, alternating between Yejide and Akin. This is a masterstroke.
If we only had Yejide’s side, we’d hate Akin. If we only had Akin’s side, we’d think Yejide was losing it. By giving us both, she forces us to sit in the uncomfortable middle. You realize that two people can live through the exact same tragedy and see two completely different horror movies.
Akin’s voice is often defensive, almost clinical. He tries to justify his lies. Yejide’s voice is visceral. It smells like breast milk and desperation. The contrast is what makes the ending—set in 2008—so incredibly moving. You’re seeing the wreckage of a life twenty years later.
Practical Takeaways for Your Next Book Club
If you're bringing Stay With Me by Ayobami Adebayo to your book club, don't just talk about "the plot." Dive into the messy stuff.
- The Role of the Mother-in-Law: Moomi is a character everyone loves to hate, but she’s also a product of her own environment. Ask your group: Is she the villain, or is she just a survivor?
- The "Secret": Discuss whether Akin’s big secret was an act of love or an act of supreme selfishness. This usually starts a fight. A good one.
- The Abiku Myth: Look up the cultural significance of abiku in Yoruba mythology before you meet. It adds ten layers of depth to Yejide’s mourning process.
- The Hair Salon: Why is Yejide’s career as a hairdresser important? Think about the salon as a space for women's secrets.
How to Approach the Reading Experience
Don’t rush this one. Seriously.
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It’s a relatively short book, but the emotional weight is heavy. If you’ve dealt with infertility or loss, take it slow. Adebayo doesn't pull any punches, and her descriptions of "phantom pregnancies" are some of the most vivid in contemporary literature.
Also, pay attention to the food. The way food is used to signal tension or comfort is subtle but brilliant. Pounded yam has never felt so heavy with subtext.
Final Thoughts on a Modern Classic
Stay With Me by Ayobami Adebayo isn't just a "Nigerian novel." It’s a human novel. It deals with the universal terror of being unloved and the lengths we go to to keep a piece of someone else.
By the time you reach the final pages, you’ll likely feel exhausted. But it’s that good kind of exhaustion—the kind that comes from seeing the truth laid bare. It’s a story about the lies we tell to protect others and the truths that eventually set us free, even if they leave us with nothing.
Next Steps for Readers:
- Check out Adebayo’s second novel: A Spell of Good Things. It’s broader in scope, focusing on class disparity in Nigeria, and confirms her status as a literary powerhouse.
- Listen to the Audiobook: Narrated by Adjoa Andoh and Segun Akande, the audio version captures the cadence of the dialogue in a way that brings the characters to life.
- Research the 1983 Nigerian Coup: Understanding the political climate of the era will help you grasp why Akin and Yejide feel so isolated in their personal struggles.