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walking alone in the rain

Ideas, they say, come in moments of loneliness or seclusion. Volumes of books have been written by people while imprisoned by their fellow men, who lamented the inspiration gained by their enemies even while imprisoned. In 1963, from a Birmingham jail during the civil rights movement, Dr. Martin Luther King wrote several seminal letters.

Not that I recommend going to jail as a way to generate 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, to generate new ideas or to wait for new ideas to germinate in the mind like the little wavy stalks of young corn plants.

“Just find a quiet, secluded spot,” they say, “and ideas will rush into your brain.”

This is not to say that a person still cannot have 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 one more minute for the egusi soup/ melon is ready. they cook properly, their children do not do what they are told, their beatings are unreasonable, money dries up like raindrops on Harmattan Day, and people do not give them the respect they deserve.

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

It goes without saying, therefore, 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 walk for months, maybe years, I had an idea of ​​where to go to find solitude. What freedom it would be to walk alone! The place she had in mind is a community park in Monroe, Connecticut called Wolfe Park. It is an area full of tall trees, surrounding 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 Wolfe Park Lake looked like Lake Nwangele in Onitsha, Nigeria. As children we would visit Nwangele and from a distance, and for no other reason than that we were young, restless and uncontrollable, we would throw stones at a few toads and frogs that poked their heads above the water. I remembered how fast those frogs were and how they would dive back into the water when the rocks left our palms.

Don’t feel left out if you haven’t been to Onitsha town or Lake Nwangele. It doesn’t really matter, because people have mistreated Nwangele, used it as a dumping ground and left it to dry beyond recognition.

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

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

Things came to my mind. Was it possible that what he hadn’t been able to do for months could become reality today? Several times he had used exhaustion as an excuse not to walk. Yesterday, fatigue was the reason I was able to walk; Today the fatigue is gone.

Waves of emotion flew through my head. What would be the feelings when I walked alone and what ideas would come to my head?

Walking with others is fun, but it’s compromising when you have to keep up with them or talk to them or listen to them, share their endless burdens 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 footsteps and the beating of my heart, the rustle of leaves in the majestic treetops.

In terms of ideas, lately, my ideas seemed as old as worn jeans. A new wardrobe of ideas was what she was looking for. There is more contention for a walk alone, a walk that would solve many of my worldly desires.

With the decision made, after work, instead of going home, I drove to Wolfe Park. There were no other cars in the parking lot. What did that mean? Everyone 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 up 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 final preparation I grabbed a can of bug spray 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, bugs, mosquitoes and their cousins ​​like to follow me, perch on me and bite my neck, like bad women do with their men.

Then again I looked up to the sky. Not that I was terrified of the rain; I just wanted to know what I was up against. The cloud above was damp from rain, but there was also a defiant sun. Which of the two would win the day? I will ponder 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 once again, a torrential downpour could soak the sun.

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

True to expectations, there was not a man or woman on the road with me. He was alone, just as he had prayed. You would usually see a crowd of people including weight watchers, loners, monks, those who wanted some quiet time, old and young, male and female, black and white, all walking the trail. Not today.

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

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

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

The raindrops were now beginning to break off the leaves to fall on my hat and arms. It was a drizzle, but it was starting to derail my mind and ideas, turning them into an alert situation. 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 moment I was in the middle of the park, surrounded by trees, huge and tall trees; some kissing the sky, others, weak and broken, leaning on their neighbors. My mind was running through scenarios of chaos. Am I in danger or not?

The raindrops were now making their way through the branches and leaves at a much faster rate and falling on my head, which was now exposed because I had been using my hat to keep away the dozens of flies that, despite the repellant from Insects fluttered around. my ears and eyes and face.

To shake off the flies, I began to jog, stopping from time to time to avoid them. They kept up with me. How did I manage to get myself into this mess? I swore to myself as he beat the flies off my head.

Minutes ago I was happy, unaware of my surroundings walking alone in the park, and sure enough, 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 quiet since I started the walk, began to pound under my ribs, and my breathing rose and fell like a child at the end of a long cry.

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

Around the road there 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 by the time I looked back at the snake, it had turned into a twisted fallen branch. A sigh of relief washed over me. With my gun ready to hit any other intruders, I continued down the path.

As I approached the lake that looked like Nwangele, I quickened my pace trying to go around the circumference of the lake in a faster time. Half of the perimeter of the lake is not protected by trees and the rain was hitting me as I walked.

Since I was so deep in the woods, I welcomed the rain. It had been a long time since the rain fell on me. It brought back childhood memories of my hometown, Akokwa. How Grandma would let me shower in the rain and I’d get high to let the zinc cascade hit me on the head.

Except for the ripples of raindrops, the lake was calm. I don’t think it has frogs and toads like old Lake Nwangele before it dried up, but I have seen people catch 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 completed the circumference of the lake, I turned the corner and started walking back up the trail to where I started the trip. I was soaked but happy. My fear had subsided. Let it rain on me, I whispered through wet lips. I slowed my ascent up the hill. Why rush when I was already soaked?

About halfway to my car, a steady breeze came to glue my shirt to my skin. The 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 shivers, so I let the shivers torment me.

More walking power and I could see the outline of my car, all by itself in a field that could swallow six hundred and seven cars. Pride filled my heart. Not empty pride, but a pride of achievement.

No groundbreaking ideas came up, but I laid the groundwork for one. No farmer sows a seed of corn without tilling the land, preparing the fields, and cutting down the weeds. The same with ideas; they don’t come out of nowhere. And they come when least expected.

Who knows what channels were 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?

End