We often joke that if one were to write a book about truly understanding women, the book would take all the paper in the world and still not be complete—yet Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie has done just that in Dream Count, and in only 399 pages.

Adichie’s storytelling brilliance shines through in her ability to craft the lives of four distinct women, each with her own struggles, vulnerabilities, and triumphs, while simultaneously introducingsecondarycharacterswhoaregivencompletearcsandrichbackgroundsoftheirown; Chiamaka (Chia), A Nigerian travel writer residing in the U.S., who, during the pandemic, reflects on her past relationships and personal choices.

Zikora, Chia's best friend, a successful lawyer facing personal betrayals that challenge her perceptions of success and support. Omelogor, Chia's outspoken cousin, a financial executive in Nigeria, who begins to question her self-awareness and life decisions. And Kadiatou, Chia's housekeeper, proudly raising her daughter in America, who encounters unforeseen hardships threatening her achievements and whose character is based on the true life story of Nafisatou Diallo.

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Dream Count, which was published on March 4, 2025, marking her return to long-form fiction after over a decade, unfurls an intricate vine of human experiences, exposing the cracks beneath the polished facades of wealth and success and perhaps, what we perceive as poverty.

One of the most striking aspects of Dream Count is its raw and unfiltered portrayal of the Nigerian elite. It sheds light on the realities of truly monied Nigerians, exposing not only the decadence but also the emotional and societal decay that often accompanies extreme privilege.

The novel does not shy away from revealing the rot within the banking system—both in Nigeria and globally— nor does it fail to remind us that even the rich cry, despite their illusions of control.

A central theme in the book is the stark contrast between perception and reality. Dream Count forces us to question whether anyone truly has their life together or if we are all simply playing our roles convincingly. It lays bare almost every form of vulnerability women endure— emotional, financial, social, and physical—showing how some women can make choices for themselves while others have choices made for them.

For male readers, the novel offers an uncomfortable yet necessary reckoning. At different points, we have all been Darnell, or Kwame, or the Englishman—flawed, sometimes selfish, sometimes blind to the consequences of our actions. Adichie does not vilify men but rather unravels their complexities, portraying them as neither monoliths nor caricatures, but as products of their experiences, privileges, and shortcomings.

A particularly powerful narrative is that of Kadiatou, whose story transcends fiction and touches on painful real-world issues. Her experience highlights the dehumanization of poverty, the commodification of women, and the enduring pervasiveness of sexual violence. In retelling the true-life case of Nafisatou Diallo, Dream Count attempts to restore dignity and humanization to a victim whose voice was drowned by the noise of mainstream media. Adichie’s decision to revisit this story is a form of justice—not in the court of law, but in the court of public opinion.

Beyond individual narratives, Dream Count is also a tribute to cultural diversity. Adichie resists the tendency in Nigerian literature to focus solely on the Hausa, Igbo, and Yoruba experiences, instead offering a broader and more inclusive representation. The inclusion of a gay character (Jide), not through a Westernized lens but in a way that feels deeply Nigerian, is a bold and commendable choice especially considering the nature of the topic in the Nigerian cultural context and gives a little peek into what life may be like for men like Jide.

The novel’s global reach is also noteworthy. The references to cities in the world, create a vivid sense of place, making it deeply relatable to readers familiar with those cities. Omelogor’s lament about America—its self-righteousness, its isolationist mindset—stands as one of the most poignant critiques of the country’s perceived sanctimony.

Yet, Dream Count is not without its questions. At 399 pages, one must wonder whether it can fully capture the attention of a global audience increasingly plagued by diminishing attention spans. But perhaps that is part of its charm—its refusal to conform to brevity, its insistence on telling these stories with the depth they deserve.

At its core, Dream Count delivers a powerful message: no two women are the same, and their desires, fears, and aspirations are as unique as their experiences. Likewise, it reminds us that men are not a monolith either. Through characters like Darnell, the Englishman, Luuk, Amadou, and Chuka, Adichie showcases the intricate layers of masculinity.

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But ultimately, Dream Count is about the fundamental human longing for intimacy—not just companionship, but the desire to be truly seen, understood, and known by another. And most heartbreakingly, it is about the quiet, often unspoken realization that this dream is rarely fulfilled.

With Dream Count, you are not simply waiting for an ending; you are eagerly anticipating what comes next, all the while dreading the climax that you know will leave you breathless.

About the writer

Solomon Ter is a Radio Host and Producer, Traveler and content maker, an avid reader, a Lawyer-in-Training with extensive experience in human rights and advocacy. Currently based in Washington DC and Accra Ghana. Instagram: @solomonter_ Facebook: Solomon Ter