Authenticity, Part I
Last week, at the Ghana Spa, I got a little bit closer to being a true EWBer.
Sometimes it feels like EWB elevates “suffering.” Maybe people might not consider my JF placement a real placement since I live in a town, not a village. My host-family’s house has concrete floors and metal doors. There’s a store that sells chocolate, cheese, and butter. I can buy lettuce. I have a toilet and running water.
This isn’t “authentic” Ghana. This isn’t a mud house with no windows or doors. I don’t have to eat TZ every day for a year. I don’t have to wait until it’s dark so I can poo outside in a hole.
Thank god. I don’t think I’d handle “suffering” very well.
But last week I got a little bit closer. Typhoid with diarrhea and vomiting. For the first time in my adult life, I pooped my pants.
It was just a little bit. I was at home in my bed and it didn’t even make a mess. I was able to lurch to the bathroom and clean myself up. But it was a step.
I know people are scoffing: “Whatever. You didn’t have to lie outside in your own filth in the sun. Don’t pretend you’re hardcore when you’re not.”
In this luxurious lifestyle, I’ll take whatever authenticity points I can get.