Why I Failed, Part I

"How was Ghana?"
"Ghana sucked!"
Just once, I'd like to respond with those words - to be able to speak the cold, hard truth. Sometimes I'd like to take their rich, smiling faces and shove them into a pile of dirt... Ghanian dirt. I'd like to show them the kids that didn't make the photographs. It's not just that they weren't cute, though that's part of it, it's that they were forgotten. I'd like to show them the village leaders who sat so proud on their seats and showed off all the glorious cultural practices of their village in an attempt to shamelessly beg us for help. A grand chief who wouldn't let his wife touch his footstool, but would do anything to get help from a tiny American girl. I'd like to show them the cab drivers, the trinket sellers, the food venders - all of whom feel they work their hardest every day with no hope of ever improving their lot in life. And I'd like to show them a country full of people who have simply given up. The only thing they will fight for anymore is the chance to escape it all by coming to a country they partially blame for their plight.
But it wouldn't do any good. You know why? Because it's been done. I traveled with a group of spoiled white, rich, people who wanted to experience the plight of the "less fortunate." But though they walked where I walked and saw what I saw, they didn't experience what I experienced at all. They saw methods for doing things that appeared completely haphazard by our standards, yet still produced results. An example of how different people do things differently but one way isn't better than another. They marveled at a level of patience that would enable someone to wait two hours for public transportation. An example of a slower-paced, less-stressed life. They loved and were flattered by the efforts people went to make them feel welcome and accepted in Ghana. An example of a culture that honored people more than material things. They laughed at customs that were "quaint" or "interesting" but never wrong and certainly never harmful. Why did I, the one who did everything, accepted everything, and became the most immersed in the culture, come away the most disillusioned by a people who thought I should instead be impressed? The others were impressed? Was I that much more spoiled, and my expectations just too high?
I talk to people. I relate to people. When I really take the time to be with someone, I feel what they feel. Often I even feel the motive for their actions. It's a gift, but in Ghana I think it was a curse. See, I didn't go there to "see how uncomfortable I could be without breaking." I didn't want to enjoy the experience of another culture and learn how all of us are equally good and all cultures are equally valid. I wanted to learn about the people so I could know how to help them. I listened to what they wanted me to hear, but I also listened to the cry of their heart. I listened to the defeatism, the victimization, the justification, and ultimately, the despair.
And that's why I failed.