I‘m intrigued by the discussion of whether or not we learn from failure. My own take on the question is that it depends on the individual. At one end of the spectrum are those who are not particularly introspective. They merely learn what did not work—which is to say, they learn by rank process of elimination. At the other end are those who are self-reflective and therefore able to find out why they failed; extrapolate what other activities might likewise fail; and finally chart a path that might lead to success. So while failure may not always be an effective teacher, one’s ability to persevere after failing is a crucial skill … and one at which every entrepreneur worthy of the name must excel.
Let me share one example of an early failure—a small one in retrospect, but one that might have colored my entire experience in Ghana and prevented me from ever starting my chocolate business there. In my case, it took 30 years until I received a satisfactory explanation for a singularly curious event that took place the moment I first set foot in Ghana back in 1978.
At the age of 16, I stepped off the Swissair DC-10 at Kotoka Airport and into the sweltering afternoon heat. I had worn a light windbreaker jacket during the flight, and I proceeded to take it off and wrap it around my waist. I began to walk down the stairway (no jetways in Ghana) and the headmistress who was in charge of the student exchange program saw me, charged up the stairs, grabbed my wrist as I was adjusting my jacket and tried to jerk it from my waist. At that moment, a flash went off and the picture of me deplaning and adjusting my jacket with the angry headmistress at my side was on the front page of the nation’s largest newspaper the next morning.
I was mortified. I clearly had made a terrible first impression. I could not understand why my action had so provoked Mrs. Osae-Addo and assumed my wearing a jacket around my waist might somehow be considerate effeminate in this role-conscious society. But many Ghanaian men wrapped themselves in traditional cloths, toga-like, and the idea of wearing a loose-fitting cloth did not seem so confrontational.
In the intervening three decades, I had never observed similar behavior and no Ghanaian I had asked had proffered a suitable explanation. Then, last summer, I mentioned this episode to a Ghanaian and stood up to demonstrate just what I was doing with my jacket those 30 years ago. My friend Daniel laughed and immediately understood what had eluded me for so long. Apparently, the act of adjusting cloth draped around your waist is considered an act of aggression in Ghana. It is the action of a warrior going into battle—literally girding his loins for combat. My re-tying of my jacket sleeves in the first moments of my arrival in Ghana signaled to all that I was fixing for a fight—hardly the first impression I wanted to make!
Trying to understand a different culture, with all of its nuance and subtleties, is an intellectual journey all its own; a process of decoding a puzzle. How intricate was the new language I needed to learn? How forgiving would my hosts be? How frustrated would I become at causing offense inadvertently? And would these awkward first steps prevent me from trying to learn a new language? From trying to fit in? From trying to succeed during this seminal summer? No one said any of this would be easy.
Perhaps the only lesson to be taken from this first misstep is that early failure is not necessarily a predictor of future success. At some point, my ongoing behavior supplanted whatever poor first impression I had made. On a very human level, my success depended on my ability to not lose heart, to persevere, and to not unduly internalize every transgression I inadvertently had committed. Both my hosts and I had to learn how to forget; how to have a short memory for imagined sleights, as well as a sharp eye for those moments where learning and profound engagement take place.
