Ghana! A Travel Journal of Ghana and West Africa

When you were a kid (or yesterday if you're a klutz like me!) did you ever run full steam into a glass door? Thats kind of what it feels like to return to the Western world after a couple months in a refugee camp. That invisible shock that knocks the wind out of you when your least expecting it. Most people don't realize that most challenging part of an experience like this comes with the return to the “real” world. This advert I took from a place in Dubai where they nearly finished with this project to build these massive man-made islands as luxury resort homes ( and also where I had a day layover after leaving Accra; you can see why it was such a shock. Also watch this advert video about making another artificial set of islands in the shap of all the continents of the world- it gives you an idea of the infinate excesse of the place.) (Sorry about the poor embedding of the video, this blogger interface is a real pain to work with). Dubai has got to be one of the most extravegant, nausiating displays of wealth and waste that I have ever seen. It is the Las Vegas of the ultra-rich. Imagine my disgust to be thrust into this environment after two and a half months of this, one of the most impovershed region in the world.

When you go off to a place like Buduburam, the refugee camp, its such a major experience in your life, a turning point for many people, that it comes as a complete shock when you return to see that for everyone else life is carrying on as normal. You somehow expect the world to have changed along with you, and finding out that it hasn't can be very unnerving. Whats worse is the nagging feeling that soon I too will be back to my same old routine while the refugees are still stuck in their same old routine, just as if nothing ever happened.

The first few days back the guilt feels like a kick in the stomach. It's not that I don't enjoy my creature comforts, its for the very reason that I love that I feel so nefarious. As much as I would love to say that living in camp opened my eyes and brought me closer to humanity or some other crap like that, I can't. If it really did open my eyes and was such a touching experience than what am I doing sitting on these nice leather couches typing on my computer that costs more money than some people on camp will see in years (literally years!).

Yes, I wish the Liberians were living better, as well as the Darfur refugees, the Sierra Leoneans, the Ivorians, the Somalis, etc. but do I wish it enough to give up this life? No

Thats what makes me feel like crap coming home. I love the fact that I have this home to come to. I love that I will always have the safety net afforded to me by the mere happenstance of my birthright. The idea of having to live like those on camp for life without that plane ticket home in two month or two years scares me, a lot. So as much as I'd like to reject the West with our stupendous waste, astounding ignorance, and our unparalleled gluttony (thats the word that comes to mind when I find out the U.S. alone spends more on makeup than what it would take to feed the hungry of Africa, not that throwing money at the problem is any type of solution, I simply use the figure to frame the situation), I can't.

So I guess it wasn't the contrast between my changed state and that of the rest of the world, but the subtle understanding that I really haven't changed at all which gives me the gut wrenching feeling of guilt that twists my stomach as I revel in the joys of a hot water shower for the first time in months.

The first pair of clean cloths I put on when I came home was a $50 pair of jeans- thats more than two months pay for a CBW employee.

Yet I'm still wearing them...