Ideas, they say, arise in moments of loneliness or seclusion. People have written volumes of books while incarcerated by their fellow men, who lamented the inspiration gained by their enemies even while incarcerated. In 1963, from a Birmingham jail during the civil rights movement, Dr. Martin Luther King wrote several pivotal letters.

Not that I recommend going to jail as a way to get ideas. There are less punishing places to find inspiration. Places to get away from all the noise and smoke, dust and smells. A place to have quiet moments to think, come up with new ideas, or wait for new ideas to sprout up in your mind like the small, undulating stalks of young corn plants.

“Just find any quiet and secluded place,” they say, “and the ideas will rush to your brain.”

This is not to say that a person still can’t come up with ideas when everyone is on their case and situations around them are exploding, with their parents yelling at each other, their wives asking them to wait another minute for the melon soup to finish / egusi. they cook properly, their children don’t do what they are told, their bosses are irrational, money dries up like raindrops on Harmattan day, and people don’t give them the respect they deserve.

One could still come up with ideas in those horrible situations. The problem, however, is that in such circumstances the ideas would be scrambled, like the patch of damp soil where a hen has used her claws to search for an elusive worm, with which she hopes to feed five hungry chicks.

Therefore, it cannot be argued that being in a quiet place is the best way to imagine new ideas and new ways to achieve a dream, no matter how elusive it may have been in the past.

However, finding a suitable nest for a moment of solitude is becoming very difficult. One may have to think hard, search hard, perhaps drive a distance to locate quiet places suitable for a moment of reflection.

But since I had been thinking about this hike for months, maybe years, I had an idea of ​​where to go to find solitude. What freedom would it be to walk alone! The place I had in mind is a community park in Monroe, Connecticut called Wolfe Park. It is an area full of tall trees that surrounds a lake the size of a soccer field.

When one of my brothers visited me from Nigeria and I took him to the park, he commented that Lake Wolfe Park looked like Lake Nwangele in Onitsha, Nigeria. When we were children, we used to visit Nwangele and from a distance, and for no particular reason except that we were young, restless and uncontrollable, we would throw stones at some toads and frogs who raised their heads above the water. I remembered how fast those frogs were and how they plunged back into the water when the rocks left our palms.

Do not feel left out if you did not know the city of Onitsha or Lake Nwangele. It doesn’t really matter, because people have mistreated Nwangele, used him as a landfill and left him to dry beyond recognition.

Regardless, Wolfe Park has a narrow pedestrian path that takes visitors up steep hills and valleys until they have walked around the lake to return to their original starting point.

Deciding to go for a walk was not an easy decision. The sky looked like it was going to open its doors and pour out buckets and buckets of rain. “Will it rain or not?” I wondered as I looked up at the weeping cloud.

Questions came to my head. Was it possible that what he had not been able to do for months became a reality today? Several times he had used fatigue as an excuse for not walking. Yesterday, fatigue was the reason I was able to walk; today the fatigue is gone.

Waves of emotion flew inside my head. What would be the feelings when walking alone and what ideas would come to mind?

Walking with others is fun, but it compromises when you have to keep up with them or talk to them or listen to them, sharing their eternal burden of issues and problems. Selfishness, like walking alone, has a purpose. I wanted to walk alone in silence and at my own pace, listening only to the sound of my steps and the beat of my heart, the rustle of the leaves in the majestic treetops.

In terms of ideas, lately, my ideas seemed as old as worn out jeans. A new ideas closet was what I was looking for. There are more retentions to walking alone, a hike that would solve many of my worldly desires.

With my mind made up, after work, instead of going home, I drove to Wolfe Park. There were no other cars in the lot. What did that mean? Everyone else except me was afraid of the rain. The cloud was on the verge of tears, but would it rain? I thought about it for a moment. If I hurried and started the hike, I could finish and get back to my car before any downpour. However, if the rain caught up with me … well, I would have to endure it as I have endured many other misfortunes in my life.

As a final preparation, I grabbed an insect repellent can from my car and sprayed the tips of my shoes, the cuffs of my shirt, the hems of my pants, and the top of my hat. For some reason insects, mosquitoes, and their cousins ​​like to follow me, land on me, and bite my neck, like mean women do their men.

Then again, I looked up at the sky. Not that I was terrified of the rain; I just wanted to know what I was up against. The cloud above was wet from the rain, but there was also a defiant sun. Which of the two would win the day? I pondered. When we were kids, we used to wonder who would win if the sun and the rain fought. The sun is so powerful that it could evaporate the falling rain, but again a torrential rain could drench the sun.

Not sure if it would rain, and not overtly worrying if it did, I started walking along the park path, an undulating landscape of hills and valleys around a crystal clear lake, surrounded by greenery and large tall trees.

True to expectations, there was no man or woman on the road with me. He was completely alone, just as he had prayed. Usually you would see a crowd of people, including weight watchers, loners, monks, those who wanted a quiet moment, old and young, male and female, black and white, all walking the path. Not today.

They were not serious, to begin with, I said to myself: How is it possible that everyone has left because of the threat of rain? His absence was my gain, I supposed. More quiet time for ideas to rush into my brain.

As I walked down the path my mind was busy, initially full of ideas, wonderful possibilities in the field of making money, lots of money, and new discoveries never before seen that would take the world by storm, all of which would eventually make my teachers fall for it. be proud of the time you spent educating me.

Mediocrity was not what they intended when they crammed my brain with math and physics and yes, chemistry.

The raindrops were now beginning to break through the leaves to fall on my hat and my arms. It was a drizzle, but it was starting to derail my mind and ideas, turning them into a situation alert. For the first time during the walk I became aware of my circumstances.

What a crazy idea to walk the path, alone in the rain, through the forest. At that time I was in the heart of the park, surrounded by trees, huge and tall trees; some kissing the sky, others, weak and broken, leaning against their neighbors. My mind was running through pandemonium scenarios. Am I in danger or not?

The raindrops were now going through the branches and leaves at a much faster rate and landing on my head, which was now exposed because I had been using my hat to scare away the dozens of flies that, despite the insect repellent, were hovering around around. my ears and eyes and face.

To shake off the flies, I started jogging, stopping every now and then to avoid them. They followed my rhythm. How did I manage to get into this mess? I swore to myself as I slapped and swatted the flies off my head.

Minutes ago I was happy, without realizing my surroundings walking alone in the park, and indeed, new ideas began to explode in my head; but now everything around me had become remarkable and terrifying.

The trees were no longer graceful and strong. They were actually in a forest where wolves live, and I remembered that recently people had reported seeing a horde of wolves. My heart, which had been silent since I started walking, began to beat under my ribs, and my breath rose and fell like a child at the end of a long cry.

From the chest of the forest, a long, sinuous serpent rose up and began to crawl toward me, one inch at a time. With raindrops hanging from my lashes, it was difficult for me to judge the distance. I suspected he was close enough to lash out at me. I could only see his dazzling head, his gray skin, and half his length; I suspected that the other half of its body and tail had been hidden or curled around a half-dead tree with a thin trunk. What should i do now? Grab a gun, my mind ordered.

Around the path were quite a few sticks thrown to the ground by the wind that had accompanied the weeping sky. I chose a thick club, the size of a man’s leg. But the second I looked back at the snake, it had turned into a twisted and fallen branch. A sigh of relief came over me. With my weapon ready to hit any other intruder, I continued down the path.

As I got closer to the lake that looked like Nwangele, I picked up my pace trying to go around the circumference of the lake in a faster time. Half the perimeter of the lake is not protected by trees and the rain hit me as I was walking.

Because I was so far into the woods, I welcomed the rain. It had been a long time since it rained on me. It brought back childhood memories of my hometown, Akokwa. How Grandma let me shower in the rain and I position myself to let the zinc waterfall hit my head.

Except for the ripples of the raindrops, the lake was calm. I don’t think it has frogs and toads like old Lake Nwangele before it dries up, but I have seen people fishing for medium-sized fish and crabs in Lake Wolfe. Where were they today? Just a little rain and everyone but me was gone. They couldn’t have been serious fishermen.

When I had completed the circumference of the lake, I turned the corner and started walking back along the path to where I started the journey. I was soaked but happy. My fear had lessened. Let it rain on me, I murmured through wet lips. I slowed my climb up the hill. Why rush when you were already soaked?

Almost halfway back to my car, a steady breeze came to stick my shirt to my skin. Restlessness and cold sent a shivering sensation around my chest. I tried to remove parts of the shirt from my skin, but it wasn’t enough to save me from the chills, so I let the chills haunt me.

More fast forward and I could see the outline of my car, alone in a field that could swallow six hundred and seven cars. Pride filled my heart. It is not an empty pride, but a pride of achievement.

The revolutionary ideas did not come, but I sure laid the foundations for one. No farmer sows a maize seed without plowing the land, preparing the fields, and cutting the weeds. Same with ideas; they don’t come out of nowhere. And they come when you least expect them.

Who knows what channels had been opened in my mind by the experience of the rain on the body, the reconnection of the past with the present and the memory of Nwangele?

Back in my car, I took off my wet shirt and put on a jacket. Where is everyone on this rainy day in Wolfe Park?

The end