Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s long-awaited return to fiction, “Dream Count,” marks a homecoming in more ways than one. The novel, her first in over a decade, reminds us why Adichie is regarded as one of the most vital voices in contemporary literature. It is a rich, multifaceted work that showcases her signature blend of wisdom, empathy, and piercing social commentary. With a plot that spans both Nigeria and Washington, D.C., Adichie paints a layered portrait of four women navigating love, loss, ambition, and the often harsh realities of life across continents. At its heart, “Dream Count” asks difficult questions about justice, identity, and the varied ways women can be exploited and empowered in a globalized world.
The novel opens with the perspective of Chiamaka, or Chia, a Nigerian-born woman who has spent her adult life in the United States. As the pandemic lockdown sets in, Chia finds herself alone and reflecting on her past relationships, cataloging them in what she calls her “dream count.” This tally of romantic encounters serves as a narrative framework, connecting the disparate lives of the other women in the story. Chia’s yearning for an all-encompassing love resonates throughout the novel, though it is clear early on that the dream of love she chases is elusive and perhaps even illusory.
Chia’s reflections quickly introduce us to Zikora, a friend and high-powered lawyer in Washington, DC Ambitious and driven, Zikora is desperate to become a mother. Her story revolves around her fertility struggles and the pressures she feels to balance her career with her personal desires. Unlike Chia, Zikora’s dreams are less focused on love and more on family, but both women share a sense of unfulfilled longing and the painful realization that life doesn’t always cooperate with their carefully laid plans.
The third woman whose story Adichie weaves into the narrative is Omelogor, Chia’s cousin, who remains in Nigeria. A successful banker with a brazen, no-nonsense attitude, Omelogor is initially portrayed as self-assured and financially independent. However, when she moves to the United States, she experiences a crisis of confidence, feeling out of place and disrespected in her new environment.
Her sharp instincts, which served her so well in Nigeria, do not seem to translate in America, where she is met with condescension and alienation. Through Omelogor, Adichie examines the difficulties of cultural assimilation and the ways in which power dynamics shift for women of color when they cross borders.
READ ALSO: The tough life of teachers serving in rural areas
It is in the introduction of Kadiatou, however, that the novel takes a darker and more urgent turn. Kadiatou, a Guinean-born housekeeper who works for Chia, also has a job as a maid in an upscale hotel. Far from her village and family in Guinea, Kadiatou has finally found a measure of stability in America. But her life is violently upended when she is sexually assaulted by a high-profile guest at the hotel. The scene of the assault is rendered in stark, brief flashes, capturing the horror of the moment without resorting to melodrama. In its aftermath, Kadiatou’s story becomes a public spectacle. Reporters descend on her apartment, her personal history is laid bare for public scrutiny, and she becomes the subject of an international trial.
Kadiatou’s experience in the novel is loosely inspired by the real-life case of Nafissatou Diallo, a New York hotel housekeeper who, in 2011, accused Dominique Strauss-Kahn, the then-head of the International Monetary Fund, of sexual assault. Adichie acknowledges this influence in the novel’s endnote, explaining how Diallo’s story captivated and enraged her. She describes “Dream Count” as her way of giving voice to women like Diallo, whose trauma is often overshadowed by the power and privilege of their assailants. “Imaginative retellings matter,” Adichie writes, asserting that literature can serve as a form of witness and testimony to stories that might otherwise be forgotten or misrepresented.
As Kadiatou’s story unfolds, the novel’s political undercurrents rise to the surface. Adichie has never shied away from examining the intersections of gender, race, and power, and in “Dream Count,” these themes come into sharp focus. Chia, whose dream career as a travel writer is stymied by American editors who prefer to print reductive stereotypes of Africa, faces her own challenges in navigating a world that is often dismissive of her talent. Omelogor, who once felt empowered by her ability to play the corrupt game of Nigerian bankers, now finds herself dismissed in America, her boldness seen as arrogance rather than strength. Through these characters, Adichie critiques the ways in which women, particularly African women, are pigeonholed and constrained by both their societies and the global systems in which they operate.
Despite its focus on the lives of relatively privileged women like Chia, Zikora, and Omelogor, “Dream Count” never loses sight of the vast inequalities that separate them from Kadiatou. Though Chia and her friends support Kadiatou, there is an implicit understanding that their experiences are worlds apart. At times, this disconnect feels jarring, as if Kadiatou’s harrowing story doesn’t fully mesh with the personal dramas of the other women. Zikora, especially, fades from the narrative in the latter half of the novel, her character arc feeling incomplete compared to the others.
Yet these minor structural weaknesses do little to undermine the power of Adichie’s storytelling. “Dream Count” succeeds in large part because it is suffused with empathy, and because Adichie’s voice remains as clear and resonant as ever. Each of the women in the novel is drawn with compassion and complexity, and their stories, while distinct, come together in a way that feels organic and true. The novel’s ability to balance personal and political stakes, while keeping the emotional lives of its characters at the forefront, is a testament to Adichie’s skill as a writer.
Ultimately, “Dream Count” is a triumph not just because of its timely themes or its elegant prose, but because it reminds us of the transformative power of literature. By giving voice to women whose stories are often sidelined or ignored, Adichie has crafted a novel that is both a reminder and a witness, a testament to the importance of storytelling in all its forms.
Kamomonti teaches English and Literature in Gatundu North Sub County
By Kamomonti wa Kiambati
You can also follow our social media pages on Twitter: Education News KE and Facebook: Education News Newspaper for timely updates.
>>> Click here to stay up-to-date with trending regional stories
>>> Click here to read more informed opinions on the country’s education landscape
>>> Click here to stay ahead with the latest national news.
