FROM THE WESTSIDE FOREST TO THE RISING SUN OF THE EAST

The journey began where the sun had already died.

On the west side of the forest, night pressed heavily against the trees, wrapping them in shadows thick as palm oil. The wind whispered in old tongues, bending the tall iroko and obeche trees as if they were elders leaning together to gossip. Crickets sang in sharp rhythms, and somewhere far away, a night bird cried—a warning or a prayer, no one could tell. stepped onto the narrow path with only a lantern and my name for company.The forest was not empty. It never is at night.Roots curled across the ground like sleeping snakes, and leaves rustled even when no wind passed. Each step felt watched. In the darkness, I remembered what the old people said: “When you travel at night, greet the road, for the road has ears.” So I whispered softly, asking the forest for passage, promising to leave no insult behind.
As hours passed, the west faded deeper into mystery. I crossed streams that reflected the moon like broken mirrors. At one crossing, I heard faint laughter—soft, playful, dangerous. I did not look back. In forests like this, curiosity is how men disappear.
By midnight, the air changed. The trees thinned, and the smell of wet earth gave way to the scent of distant fires. I knew I was moving eastward, closer to lands where stories are carved into red soil and the spirits speak through drums.
At the edge of the forest, an old woman appeared, standing where no one should stand. Her eyes shone like embers.
“Where are you going, traveler?” she asked.
“To the East,” I replied. “To Nigeria’s rising sun.”
She nodded once. “Then walk with courage. The East does not welcome cowards.”
She vanished before I could thank her.

Beyond the forest, the road opened into wide land. Villages slept under star-strewn skies. Dogs barked once and fell silent. Somewhere, a drumbeat echoed faintly—dum… dum… dum—as if guiding my feet. With every step eastward, my spirit felt lighter, as though I was shedding fear along the road.
By dawn, the first light touched the horizon. Palm trees stood tall like guards of a new world. The red earth of Eastern Nigeria warmed under my feet, alive with promise. Roosters crowed, and smoke rose gently from cooking fires. Life was waking.
I stopped and turned back once, toward the west-side forest now hidden by morning mist. The night had tested me, taught me, and released me.
I smiled.
Some journeys are not measured by distance, but by the darkness you survive to reach the light.