The Story That Forced Me To Feel Everything I'd Been Avoiding.

 It’s Been a While….....Let Me Dust My Seat.

Photo credit: Naomi's Lens 

It’s been a while since I dropped a book review on this space.

Life has been life-ing, dragging me up and down like generator wire😭... but finally.....FINALLY!!! a book grabbed me by the neck and said, “Sit down. You must talk about me.”

That book is Dream Count.

Honestly, I’ve been eyeing this book for a long time, but between not having a hard copy and my spirit refusing to cooperate with PDFs recently, I just left it on my mental wishlist.

Then one day I borrowed a copy from a friend… and in about 4 to 6 days I swallowed nearly 400 pages! inhaling the emotions, the tension, the regrets, the memories....everything. 

This book dragged me back into reviewer mode by force. It took one look at my quiet blog and said, “My dear, stand up. I have things you must say.”

And here I am, saying them. Because Dream Count is not just a story.. it’s a mirror. A painful, beautiful, unsettling mirror. One that reflects the things we forget, the things we hide, the things we fear, and the things we hope we never have to face.

About the book 

It is a story of four Nigerian women whose lives twist and fold around one another, layered with memories, mistakes, friendships, and traumas that echo loudly in the silence of loneliness. The book moves in four distinct but interconnected narratives.. Chiamaka’s, Zikora’s, Kadiatou’s, and Omelogor’s... each one peeling back something raw and deeply human.

And because each woman touched me differently, let me walk you through the experience the way I felt it: gently at first, then emotionally, then with frustration, then compassion, then admiration.

This is a story you don’t just read.

You feel it.

You question yourself inside it.

You remember your own life through it.

Let's start😌

CHIAMAKA ... my soft, confused, relatable queen, “the woman who wants to be known”

Chiamaka’s voice pulled me in from the very first page. She is the kind of narrator that feels familiar even before you really know her, She starts the book with one confession: “I have always longed to be known, truly known.”

She is anxious, emotional, thoughtful, constantly overthinking everything from her past to her choices to her loneliness. She’s living in Maryland during lockdown, and her entire existence feels like it’s suspended in a strange bubble where she has too much time to think and too little capacity to hide from herself.

And one thing about Chiamaka?

She will reflect, she will analyze, she will dig up a memory from five years ago, dust it, stretch it, lay it down, and interrogate it like it owes her money.

There’s something comforting about her openness. She admits the things most of us only think silently: that she regrets some of the love she walked away from, that she sometimes wishes she had chosen differently, that she feels unknown, unseen, drifting, that loneliness can be louder than any noise.

But also ... and I say this with love😂...Chiamaka stressed me, in the same way real humans stress the people who love them. When I came across Darnell, I paused. I shook my head. I even put the book down once and whispered to the air, “This man again?” 

Because why do the most unnecessary men take up permanent residence in the soft corners of memory? Why do the good ones fade while the chaotic ones have boldness?

Then comes Chuka, the man who wanted her, loved her, offered her something stable and warm... and instead of holding onto him, she let him slip away with that quiet, self-sabotaging fear we all pretend we don’t have.

Chiamaka is basically that bittersweet thought we sometimes have about life.“What if the person I should’ve chosen… is the one I’m remembering too late?”

And that is why she feels real.

Not perfect. Not admirable at every turn.But painfully, beautifully real. I didn’t just read her. I wanted to hug her and shake her at the same time.

ZIKORA.....strong, tired, trying, surviving

Zikora lives inside her own kind of quiet storm.

On the outside, she is a capable lawyer, a devoted single mother, a reliable friend, the kind of woman people depend on without even asking whether she has the strength to be depended on...

But inside?

She is exhausted in a way she can’t explain.

Carrying burdens she didn’t ask for.

Balancing responsibilities that feel heavier every week.

Feeling like life is happening to her more than she is living it.

Zikora is the kind of woman who holds everyone up while crumbling softly beneath the weight of her own fears. She’s doing her best to raise her son, manage her feelings, navigate her frustrations, and maintain the image of strength that everyone expects from her.

Reading her story was like looking at the thousands of Nigerian women who live strong because they have no choice.... women whose softness has been replaced with quiet endurance, women who survive because giving up is not an option, women who mother while battling unseen loneliness. I admired her deeply.

I also ached for her.

Her life is proof that being strong doesn’t mean you’re not breaking inside. It just means you’ve learned to breathe through the cracks.

KADIATOU....the ache that stayed with me.

The moment Kadiatou’s story began, the tone of the book shifted. I felt it. My heart felt it.

Her chapter is not loud. It does not scream. It does not beg. It is quiet.... a quiet that breaks you more deeply than noise ever could.

Kadiatou is a young woman living through one of the cruelest, most devastating experiences a woman can face. She is raped, violated, dismissed, doubted, and emotionally abandoned by a system that treats trauma like a nuisance....😪

Her suffering is not written for shock value.

It is written with care.

With dignity.

With tenderness.

With truth.

And the thing about Kadiatou’s story is this: it forces you to remember that rape is not just an event.... it is an earthquake. It shakes everything. It rearranges a person’s sense of safety, their trust, their mind, their memories. But somehow, somehow, society still treats rape victims like they’re inconveniences instead of human beings whose lives have been shattered.

We live in a world where women are told to “be careful,” instead of telling men not to harm them.

A world where victims are interrogated more than offenders.

Where a woman’s pain is dissected, analyzed, doubted, and sometimes mocked.

Where people say, “Why didn’t she report?” without understanding that reporting often means walking into another round of trauma .... answering cold questions, reliving the moment again and again, and facing systems designed to break you down instead of build you up.

Kadiatou’s case reminded me that too many women suffer twice: first from the assault, then from the world’s reaction to it.

And it shouldn’t be like that.

It should NEVER be like that.

Rape needs to be treated with seriousness, compassion, urgency.

Victims deserve protection, not judgment. Healing, not silence.

Support, not suspicion.

Because what happened to Kadiatou ....the disbelief, the isolation, the slow erosion of her sense of worth ....is not fiction. It's the reality of countless women whose stories are swallowed because society is more comfortable questioning them than confronting the truth.

Her story echoes the reality of so many women whose pain disappears into the cracks of society ....women who are told they should stay silent, women blamed for their own violation, women who have to relive their trauma through immigration interviews, police procedures, and the coldness of bureaucracy.

As I read her narrative, my chest tightened.

The sadness was physical. I kept thinking of the girls who never reported. The women who were told to “just move on.”

The victims who became statistics without justice.

Her story forced me to step outside the comfort of reading and into the uncomfortable reality of what it means to survive something you never deserved. And yet, beneath all the pain, she has a softness.... a dignity, a strength..... that makes you want to wrap your arms around her and apologise on behalf of a world that failed her....🥹

Her chapters are the emotional center of the novel....

I paused.

I breathed.

I kept reading.

Kadiatou is unforgettable.

Her pain lingers long after you close the book.Her resilience stays in the room with you.

OMELOGOR.... the one who built walls as tall as her ambition.

Eheiii!!!, Omelogor.

This woman walked into the book with presence!!😂

Sharp, wealthy, beautiful, confident ....the kind of woman you admire from afar because you know she doesn’t allow people close unless they’ve earned it....

She is the friend with sharp edges and soft secrets.

The friend who dresses well, speaks well, moves with intentional independence.

The friend whose life looks perfect from the outside, but on the inside she is carrying fears she refuses to name.

Omelogor is the definition of emotional self-protection.

She has built her life like a fortress .... money, career, stability, everything arranged to keep her from needing anyone too much.

But that doesn’t stop her from longing.

Even if she refuses to admit it.

Her story is not as emotionally heavy as Kadiatou’s, but it is quietly heartbreaking in its own way ... a reminder that independence can sometimes be a shield, not a preference. She is bold, yes. Proud, yes. Direct, absolutely😂. But beneath all that, she is human, deeply human.

Reading her narrative felt like watching someone in slow motion, someone who wants love but fears the vulnerability it demands.

Omelogor is the kind of friend you love, admire, and silently wish would allow herself to be held.

Now that I've taken you through the four women....

So what is Dream Count really about?

It is about loneliness.

Regret.

Love.

Motherhood.

Trauma.

Friendship.

Desire.

Healing.

Survival.

And the strange silence the pandemic forced into all our lives....

These women are not connected by dramatic plot twists or intense action.... they are connected by emotion, by the invisible threads that hold women together, by the small and big pains that define our lives.

Each narrative stands alone, yet each one feels like an echo of the others....

The book is not rushing anywhere....

It is slow, steady, reflective, almost like sitting with a friend in a quiet room while she tells you the story of her life. And that is what makes it powerful.

It is intimate.

Tender.

Honest!!

What this book left me with...

When I finished the last page, I didn’t close the book immediately.

I sat there.

Quiet.

Letting everything settle....

Chiamaka’s longing.

Zikora’s exhaustion.

Omelogor’s guardedness.

Kadiatou’s pain.

 I felt all of it.

It reminded me that women carry so much memories, hurts, expectations, heartbreaks, secrets, responsibilities, fears.... all tucked into our daily routines as if they’re just small things...🥺

It reminded me that friendship can be both an anchor and a mirror. An anchor because your friends hold you steady when life is trying to scatter you, and a mirror because they quietly reflect the parts of yourself you’ve been avoiding. Sometimes they show you your strength. Sometimes they show you your flaws. But they keep you grounded in a way love or family sometimes can’t.

It reminded me that love is not always enough...sometimes two people can care deeply about each other and still not have the tools, timing, or emotional readiness to make things work.

It reminded me that trauma is real and heavy, and healing is not a straight line.

It reminded me that survival sometimes looks like waking up and choosing to keep breathing.

And above all, it reminded me that every woman has a story, even the ones who look perfectly fine on the outside.

My final thoughts...

Dream Count is not a fast book.

It is not a story for someone looking for thrill and action.

It is a deeply reflective, emotional, character-driven experience.

The writing is gentle and precise.

The emotions are real.

The characters stay with you.

The themes are universal.

The storytelling is soft but haunting.

My Rating.

I would rate it 4.7 out of 5 .... beautifully written, emotionally layered, and unforgettable in the way only honest stories can be.

Recommendations.

If you love books that make you reflect, books that sit with you long after you finish them, books about the quiet struggles of womanhood, this is for you!