Dream Count by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
"Where have all the years gone, and have I made the most of life? But what is the final measure for making the most of life, and how would I know if I have?"- Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
The first Chimamanda Adichie novel I read was Purple Hibiscus, which was a high school graduation gift. Since then, I’ve become somewhat of an Adichie collector, with a trove ranging from Americanah, Dear Ijeawele and now, Dream Count, a nearly 400 page love letter to African women. I finished reading the novel earlier this month- and it’s a hard book to review! I’ve missed Adichie’s writing and the way she weaves her words. I was happy to read her work in novel form again, especially after waiting for 12 years post Americanah. But Dream Count felt like a crammed social commentary-like Adichie had a lot to say and channeled that through these characters.
The book follows four immigrant women living in the US: Nigerian travel writer Chiamaka, her friend Zikora, her cousin Omelogor, and her Guinean housekeeper Kadiatou. The story begins at the height of the COVID-19 pandemic and Chiamaka is experiencing lockdown in her apartment. In the unsettling solitude, she has time take account of her life over the years. Now in her forties, she is single and child-free-not quite the script she is expected to follow as an Igbo woman. The title “Dream Count” is a Chiamaka’s play on “body count” which I appreciated as a subversive twist. There’s a gendered perception that a high body count for women is ignoble, while for men, it shows sexual prowess. Dream Count is a roster of all the dreams the characters have for themselves, loves lost and what is left of their lives.
Chiamaka was the most frustrating and complicated character. From shrinking herself for accommodate reprehensible men and pining for emotional unavailable lovers, Chiamaka does not always make the best choices when it comes to romance. I just couldn’t muster patience for her naiveté and blind optimism, and this is coming from a hopeless romantic.
Chiamaka’s friend Zikora often teases her about her idealism. But her character is a very real portrayal of how fragile romantic relationships can be. Zikora wants a family and stability, but when the father of her child abandons her, she is unanchored. Even though she is a successful attorney, her experience with Kwame (the runaway baby daddy) tanks her self-confidence. But at her lowest point, her mother is by her side, and I loved this tender portrayal that when romantic love fails, familial love is constant. It was heartbreaking to see these successful women fall victim to “thieves of time” as Zikora puts it -but that’s the unfortunate reality of many women navigating romantic relationships.
Even Kadiatou, my favorite character, whose sharp observations about America and quiet strength I admired, does not escape this prison. She has a different upbringing from the other three woman as she is raised in rural Guinea and comes to America to follow her lover, Amadou, who turns out to be…well, a disappointment. But that doesn’t stop Kadiatou from vowing to wait for him till he is released from jail on a drug trafficking charge. Urgh!
But the essence of Dream Count is to invoke empathy for our ‘fellow woman’, even when we don’t agree with or understand some of the choices made. After all, how many of us have exchanged our dignity for badges of approval from a ruthlessly patriarchal society?
Dream Count is also a story about African women navigating race and immigration. When Chiamaka pitches a book about traveling in different cities around the world, a white editor asks her to write a book about black trauma instead-rape in the Congo. It’s the only box the editor can imagine someone like Chiamaka to live in. When her housekeeper Kadiatou is sexually assaulted by a powerful political figure, she is pushed into the global spotlight when she reports what happened- a story inspired by the Nafissatou Diallo and Dominique Strauss-Khan case. I appreciated that Adichie brought attention to this story again, illustrating how Diallo painfully navigated a justice system not built for her as an African immigrant woman. The book also scrutinizes American exceptionalism through the liberal lens of race that often refuses to see beyond or even understand how people outside the US experience race and class. For example, when Omelogor shares about how her uncle was murdered by religious extremists in northern Nigeria, a classmate scolds her for being Islamophobic.
I often read fiction to escape my daily realities and Dream Count did not offer that escape. I didn’t feel empowered or elated when I finished the book, just bleak but also validated. However, I truly loved it! I empathized with Zikora, understood Chiamaka’s hesitation to marry the ‘perfect man’- strait-laced Chuka, loved Kadiatou’s grit, and admired Omelogor’s brazenness and honesty. There was no climax to the plot of the stories, just a continuum of what African women, regardless of class and social strata, endure when navigating the world.
Check out Dream Count from your local library or buy from an independent bookstore.