Lockdown's Unraveling Silence

Chiamaka, a Nigerian writer living in Maryland, finds herself adrift during the COVID-19 lockdown. The world outside is eerily still, and her days blur together in a haze of anxiety, loneliness, and self-reflection. She tries to impose order—self-care routines, writing projects, family Zoom calls—but the pandemic's uncertainty seeps into everything. The silence outside is mirrored by a growing silence within, as she struggles to write, to connect, to find meaning. The pandemic becomes a lens, magnifying her yearning to be truly known and her fear that she never will be. The lockdown is not just a public health crisis but a personal reckoning, forcing her to confront the shape of her life, her relationships, and her regrets.

Family Across Screens

Chiamaka's family, scattered across Nigeria, the UK, and the US, gathers virtually, their conversations tinged with worry, bickering, and the surreal new normal. Her parents, back in Enugu, fret about the virus and the state of the world, while her brothers argue and her cousin Omelogor tries to keep spirits up. The calls are both a lifeline and a reminder of what's lost—laughter, warmth, the comfort of physical presence. The pandemic exposes the fragility of their connections and the ways in which distance, both physical and emotional, has always shaped their family. The sense of being "together but apart" becomes a metaphor for the broader dislocation of immigrant life.

Hunger, Loss, and Memory

As the days drag on, Chiamaka is haunted by memories—childhood meals, lost loves, the ache of missed opportunities. She recalls the men she never pursued, the relationships that faltered, and the dreams that slipped away. Food becomes a conduit for nostalgia and comfort, but also for regret. The pandemic's enforced stillness brings old wounds to the surface, and she finds herself Googling exes, replaying what-ifs, and mourning not just people but versions of herself that never came to be. The hunger is not just for food, but for connection, for meaning, for a sense of home.

Love's Unsteady Edges

Chiamaka's relationship with Darnell, a charismatic but emotionally withholding academic, is a study in longing and self-erasure. She bends herself to fit his desires, lies to please him, and endures his silences and criticisms, all in the hope of being truly seen and loved. The relationship is intoxicating but corrosive, exposing her deepest insecurities and the ways in which love can become a form of self-damage. Other relationships—fleeting, passionate, or quietly supportive—are contrasted with Darnell's emotional tyranny, highlighting the spectrum of intimacy and the difficulty of finding a love that is both safe and thrilling.

The Weight of Wanting

Chiamaka's privileged background—her family's wealth, her education, her ability to travel—both empowers and isolates her. She struggles to find her place as a writer, facing rejection and the pressure to produce "relevant" work that fits Western expectations of African narratives. Her travel writing is dismissed as lightweight unless it centers struggle or trauma. The tension between authenticity and performance, between personal desire and external validation, is ever-present. Her ambition is both a source of pride and a burden, complicated by class guilt and the expectations of family and society.

The Maid's Story

Kadiatou, a Guinean immigrant and hotel maid, carries the scars of poverty, family tragedy, and migration. Her life is shaped by the deaths of loved ones, the violence of tradition (female circumcision), and the betrayals of men. She survives by working hard, loving her daughter Binta fiercely, and dreaming of a better future. Her relationship with Amadou, her childhood love, is complicated by distance, secrets, and the realities of immigrant life. When she is sexually assaulted by a powerful hotel guest, her world is upended, and she is thrust into a public battle for justice that exposes the limits of the American dream.

The Price of Truth

Kadiatou's assault case becomes a media spectacle, her character dissected and doubted by lawyers, journalists, and the public. The legal system, ostensibly on her side, turns adversarial, scrutinizing her past, her immigration story, and her very credibility. The prosecutors, fearing a jury won't believe her because of inconsistencies in her asylum application, drop the criminal charges despite evidence supporting her account. The message is clear: for women like Kadiatou, justice is conditional, always at risk of being undermined by the "wrong" kind of history or the "wrong" kind of womanhood. The personal cost of telling the truth is immense, and the system's failures are laid bare.

Mothers, Daughters, and Inheritance

Throughout the novel, the relationships between mothers and daughters are central. Chiamaka, Zikora, Omelogor, and Kadiatou are all shaped by their mothers' expectations, sacrifices, and wounds. The transmission of pain—through silence, tradition, or well-meaning advice—is as powerful as the transmission of love. The women grapple with what they owe their mothers, what they want to pass on to their own children, and how to break cycles of harm. The loss of mothers (through death, distance, or emotional absence) is a recurring source of grief and longing, but also of strength and self-discovery.

The Dream Count Reckoning

As lockdown ends, Chiamaka and her friends reflect on their "dream count"—the tally of lovers, missed chances, and alternate lives. The exercise is both playful and poignant, a way of reckoning with the passage of time and the inevitability of regret. For some, it is a source of comfort, a reminder of richness and possibility; for others, it is a reminder of emptiness and longing. The dream count becomes a metaphor for the stories we tell ourselves about who we are and who we might have been.

The Case Collapses

The criminal case against Kadiatou's assailant is dropped, not because she is disbelieved about the assault, but because her past "lies" make her an unreliable witness in the eyes of the law. The decision is devastating, not just for Kadiatou but for all the women who saw her case as a test of whether the system could deliver justice for the marginalized. The aftermath is a mix of relief (for Kadiatou, who dreaded the ordeal of trial) and rage (for her friends, who see the decision as a betrayal). The case's collapse exposes the gap between legal justice and moral truth, and the ways in which power protects itself.

Aftermaths and New Beginnings

In the wake of the case's dismissal, Kadiatou and Binta begin to rebuild their lives. The absence of a public reckoning is both a loss and a liberation, freeing them from the endless scrutiny and allowing for the possibility of healing. Chiamaka, Omelogor, and Zikora rally around Kadiatou, their friendship a source of solace and solidarity. The women's stories converge in moments of mutual care, laughter, and the quiet heroism of survival. The future is uncertain, but the act of enduring, of continuing to dream and to love, is itself a form of victory.

The Shape of Survival

The novel's women—across continents, classes, and generations—survive by adapting, by finding joy in small things, by supporting one another. Their struggles are not always dramatic, but they are profound: the daily negotiations of work, love, motherhood, and selfhood. The narrative honors the ordinary courage required to keep going, to hope, to forgive, and to begin again. Survival is not just endurance but transformation, the ability to make meaning from pain and to claim agency in a world that often denies it.

The World Remade

The COVID-19 pandemic is both backdrop and catalyst, forcing the characters—and the world—to confront vulnerability, mortality, and interconnectedness. Lockdown strips away distractions, exposing what matters and what doesn't. The world that emerges is altered, scarred but also open to new ways of being. The pandemic's lessons—about care, justice, and the fragility of life—echo through the characters' journeys, shaping their choices and their hopes for the future.

The Power of Telling

Throughout Dream Count, the act of telling—stories, secrets, histories—is a source of power and survival. The women's voices, often silenced or doubted, become instruments of truth and connection. The novel itself is a testament to the importance of narrative: to "write a wrong" by giving dignity and complexity to those who are too often reduced to symbols or statistics. The author's note makes explicit the ethical stakes of storytelling, insisting that art can return humanity to the dehumanized and bear witness to injustice.

The Unfinished Longing

No character achieves perfect fulfillment; longing is a constant, whether for love, justice, or self-knowledge. The women learn to live with incompleteness, to find beauty in the unfinished and the imperfect. The dream count is never complete, the wounds never fully healed, but there is grace in the striving, in the refusal to give up on hope or on each other.

The Circle of Women

At the heart of the novel is the circle of women—Chiamaka, Zikora, Omelogor, Kadiatou—whose lives intersect in moments of crisis and care. Their friendship is a bulwark against the world's cruelties, a space where vulnerability is allowed and support is unconditional. The novel celebrates the power of women's community, the ways in which women hold each other up, challenge each other, and make survival possible.

The Meaning of Justice

The novel interrogates what justice means for women like Kadiatou: not just legal vindication, but the restoration of dignity, the acknowledgment of harm, and the right to tell one's story. The failure of the legal system is not the end of the story; justice is also found in solidarity, in the refusal to be silenced, and in the ongoing struggle for recognition and respect.

The Gist of Living

Dream Count ends not with resolution but with a sense of ongoingness—the work of living, loving, and dreaming continues. The women's stories are unfinished, their longings unquenched, but they persist. The novel's final message is one of radical empathy: to be truly known, to know others, and to keep dreaming, even in the face of disappointment and loss, is the heart of what it means to live.

Characters

Chiamaka

Chiamaka is the novel's central consciousness, a Nigerian writer living in the US, whose introspective, searching voice anchors the narrative. She is intelligent, sensitive, and haunted by the desire to be truly known—by lovers, by family, by herself. Her relationships are marked by both longing and self-doubt, and she often bends herself to fit others' expectations, especially in love. Privileged by class but burdened by the weight of family and cultural expectations, she is both empowered and isolated. Her journey is one of self-reckoning: through the pandemic, heartbreak, and the struggles of her friends, she learns to accept imperfection, to value the circle of women in her life, and to find meaning in survival and storytelling.

Zikora

Zikora is a successful lawyer in Washington, D.C., whose life is upended by an unexpected pregnancy and the abandonment of her partner, Kwame. Raised by a stoic, demanding mother and shaped by the trauma of being an only child in a polygamous family, Zikora is both resilient and brittle. Her relationships with men are marked by disappointment and the pressure of time—her "thieves of time" are lovers who waste her fertile years. Motherhood brings both joy and terror, and her journey is one of learning to accept help, to forgive her mother, and to find strength in vulnerability. Zikora's story is a meditation on the costs of ambition, the pain of unmet expectations, and the possibility of healing through honesty and connection.

Kadiatou

Kadiatou is a Guinean immigrant whose life is a testament to endurance. Marked by loss—her father, her sister, her child—she is shaped by the violence of tradition and the betrayals of men. Her love for her daughter Binta is fierce and protective, and her dream is to build a better life in America. When she is sexually assaulted by a powerful hotel guest, she is thrust into a public battle for justice that exposes the limits of the system and the cruelty of public scrutiny. Kadiatou is dignified, reserved, and deeply moral; her resilience is not loud but steadfast. Her story is one of survival, the search for justice, and the reclamation of self in the face of dehumanization.

Omelogor

Omelogor is Chiamaka's cousin, a successful banker-turned-consultant in Abuja, whose sharp intellect and fierce independence set her apart. She is both admired and feared, a woman who refuses to be defined by marriage or motherhood. Her relationships are marked by "short passion attacks"—intense but brief affairs—and she is skeptical of romantic idealism. Omelogor is also a philanthropist, redistributing stolen money to women in her village through her "Robyn Hood" grants. Her journey is one of grappling with the costs of ambition, the loneliness of being exceptional, and the challenge of finding meaning beyond achievement. She is both a source of strength for her friends and a mirror for their own struggles.

Binta

Binta is Kadiatou's daughter, a bright, Americanized teenager who straddles two worlds. She is both a source of joy and a reminder of what has been lost. Her relationship with her mother is marked by love, misunderstanding, and the generational tensions of immigrant life. Binta's maturity and resilience are tested by her mother's ordeal, and she becomes a quiet pillar of support. Her story is one of adaptation, the negotiation of identity, and the hope for a future unburdened by the past.

Darnell

Darnell is Chiamaka's lover, an academic whose intelligence and charm mask a deep emotional detachment. He is both alluring and cruel, drawing Chiamaka in with his brilliance but keeping her at arm's length. His need for control and his disdain for vulnerability make him a damaging presence in her life. Darnell is a study in the dangers of loving someone who cannot love back, and his relationship with Chiamaka is a crucible for her self-discovery.

Chuka

Chuka is a successful Nigerian engineer, the "good man" who offers Chiamaka the promise of stability, marriage, and family. He is attentive, generous, and passionate, but their relationship is marked by a lack of true connection. Chiamaka's inability to fully love him, despite his virtues, becomes a source of guilt and regret. Chuka represents the tension between what is wanted and what is expected, and the pain of choosing authenticity over security.

Amadou

Amadou is Kadiatou's childhood love, whose promises and failures shape her journey. He brings her to America, but his secrets and legal troubles complicate their life together. Amadou is both a source of comfort and a reminder of the precariousness of immigrant life. His love for Kadiatou is genuine but imperfect, and their relationship is a testament to the complexities of loyalty, forgiveness, and survival.

Hauwa

Hauwa is Omelogor's friend in Abuja, a Northern Nigerian woman whose lightness and humor provide a counterpoint to Omelogor's intensity. She is both a confidante and a foil, challenging Omelogor's certainties and offering a different model of womanhood. Hauwa's story is one of navigating tradition, marriage, and modernity, and her friendship with Omelogor is a source of mutual growth and support.

Zikora's Mother

Zikora's Mother is a formidable presence, shaped by loss, tradition, and the need to survive. Her expectations are high, her love often expressed through criticism, but beneath her sternness is a deep well of care. The evolution of her relationship with Zikora—from distance and misunderstanding to mutual recognition and forgiveness—is one of the novel's most moving arcs. She embodies the complexities of motherhood, the burdens of inheritance, and the possibility of reconciliation.

Plot Devices

Interwoven Narratives

The novel is structured around the interlocking lives of four women—Chiamaka, Zikora, Kadiatou, and Omelogor—whose stories unfold in parallel and intersect at key moments. This polyphonic approach allows for a rich exploration of themes—love, justice, motherhood, ambition—across different contexts and perspectives. The shifting points of view create a sense of community and solidarity, while also highlighting the uniqueness of each woman's journey.

Pandemic as Catalyst

The COVID-19 pandemic is both setting and metaphor, stripping away the distractions of daily life and compelling the characters to confront their desires, regrets, and relationships. The enforced stillness of lockdown becomes a crucible for self-discovery, grief, and transformation. The pandemic's universality underscores the interconnectedness of the characters' struggles and the broader human condition.

The "Dream Count"

The concept of the "dream count"—the tally of lovers, missed chances, and alternate lives—serves as both a narrative device and a thematic anchor. It prompts the characters to reflect on the lives they have lived and the ones they have only imagined, blurring the line between memory and fantasy. The dream count is a way of making sense of longing, regret, and the passage of time.

Legal and Media Drama

Kadiatou's assault and the ensuing legal battle are central plot engines, driving the narrative's tension and exposing the workings of power, prejudice, and the limits of justice. The media spectacle surrounding the case amplifies the stakes, turning private pain into public controversy. The legal process is depicted as both a site of potential vindication and a source of further harm, especially for those already marginalized.

Intergenerational Dialogue

The novel uses the relationships between mothers and daughters to explore the transmission of trauma, tradition, and hope. Flashbacks, family stories, and moments of confrontation and reconciliation provide depth and context, showing how the past shapes the present and how healing is possible across generations.

Metafictional Reflection

The inclusion of an author's note that reflects on the real-life inspiration for the novel (the Dominique Strauss-Kahn case) and the responsibilities of storytelling adds a layer of self-awareness. It invites readers to consider the stakes of narrative, the ethics of representation, and the power of fiction to "write a wrong."

Analysis

At its core, Dream Count is about the power of women's voices—their capacity to tell, to endure, to dream, and to remake the world in the face of disappointment and loss. The pandemic serves as both a literal and metaphorical catalyst, forcing the characters to confront what matters most and to reckon with the unfinished business of their lives. The novel interrogates the meaning of justice, insisting that it is not just a matter of law but of dignity, recognition, and the right to be believed. It is unflinching in its depiction of trauma and the failures of systems, but it is also suffused with hope, humor, and the quiet heroism of everyday survival.

Adichie's narrative is marked by empathy, wit, and a refusal to flatten her characters into symbols. The women of Dream Count are flawed, contradictory, and deeply human; their struggles are both particular and universal. The novel's structure—its interwoven chapters, its use of memory and imagination, its metafictional reflections—mirrors the complexity of its themes. In the end, Dream Count is a celebration of the unfinished, the imperfect, and the ongoing work of living. It is a call to bear witness, to tell the truth, and to keep dreaming, even when the world disappoints. The lesson is clear: to be known, to endure, and to hope is the heart of what it means to be alive.

Last updated: April 29, 2025