My name is not "vazaha"

Note: I’ve debated about whether or not to write a blog post about this, because it could be interpreted as a rant, but today I decided to—mostly because it’s something that colors my daily life, and is a topic which can be used to illustrate some realities of life for Malagasy people.

I’ve written before about one of the challenges of being a Peace Corps volunteer in Madagascar is that you’re constantly telling people that you’re American, not French. The assumption by many Malagasy people is that if they see a white person, then they must be French, both because France was the former colonial power here, and the majority of tourists the island sees are French. So, the greeting that most people give a white person is “bonjour vazaha”. Or, they call out to you “eh! Vazaha!” To me and many other PCVs, the term “vazaha” is rather insulting, because it means that we are being grouped with all other white foreigners simply based on our skin color. We all work really hard to integrate within our local communities, and so being called a vazaha just like any other white person means (to me at least) that people don’t understand what you’re doing and why you’re different. I am always reminding people that I’m not a tourist, I’m not wealthy, and I’m here to help. After all, if I were a “normal” vazaha like they usually see, why would I be studying Malagasy, fetching my own water, doing my own laundry, and shopping for and cooking my own food? The goal for us PCVs in Madagascar is to be considered “Malagasy fotsy” (white Malagasy), so getting called vazaha is like a slap in the face that you’re not there yet. There are days like today when I feel like I make so much progress, where I have good conversations with the people in my neighborhood (who now know my name), and I just generally feel very Peace Corps. And then I’ll bike to work and a kid who I’ve introduced myself to 3 times already will shout “bonjour vazaha!” at me. Seriously? How many times do I need to tell you that a) I’m not French, I’m American, and b) I speak Malagasy?

The thing is, I know that for kids here, it’s hard to wrap their heads around the fact that there could even be a vazaha who isn’t French. To many of them, it’s ingrained in their heads from an early age that any time you see a white person, they are a vazaha, and you say to them “bonjour vazaha”. (They also seem to pick up the phrase “Donne-moi de l’argent” fairly young, too, because I get that a lot. Does someone tell them that dermanding money impolitely in French actually works?) I’ve literally seen, on multiple occasions, mothers teaching their babies the word “vazaha” by pointing at me. Depending on my mood that day, I’ll kindly inform them that no, my name is not “vazaha”, it’s Emily, or I’ll roll my eyes and walk away. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve responded to a kid saying “bonjour vazaha” by saying “Akory aby, tsy Frantsay iaho—Amerikana iaho.” (Hello [in my dialect], I’m not French, I’m American.) I feel like I’ve said this to every single schoolkid in my town by now, but even if I have, they still say “bonjour” to me. Today I got especially frustrated by it, because even though my town is big, you’d think word would have spread somewhat that the white woman who rides around on a bike wearing a funny helmet, and who shops in the market every day and fetches her own water, is actually American.

This weekend I tried explaining to a 17-year-old kid in my neighborhood, who is obsessed with speaking English and loves to practice with me, about why I hate being called a vazaha. (We went to the town soccer game, and the staring, laughing, shrieking, pointing, and shouting of “vazaha” just pushed me over the edge.)  However, my Malagasy is not quite at that level yet. What I want to explain to people is that when you point and shout “vazaha” at me or someone else, it means you’re only seeing them for the color of their skin. How would it make them feel if someone did that to them? But, the main difference here is that unlike America, in Madagascar people know that if your skin is white, you are not Malagasy. The idea of America and other countries where people of all difference races live together in general harmony is a pretty far-fetched idea for many people who live here.

I’d be remiss if I wrote a post on this without discussing what life is like here for Asian- and African-American volunteers. To start, for many Malagasy people it’s unfathomable that someone could be American but not look white. My African-American volunteer friends often get the assumption that they’re Malagasy (which can be a good thing), but when they say they’re American, people still ask “no, but where are you from?” The fact that you could be dark-skinned but be from America is hard for a lot of people to wrap their head around here. It’s also similar for Asian-American volunteers, who are unfortunately subject to the type of comments (“you have slanty eyes”) that would be considered horribly rude and offensive back at home, but here are just simple commentary-- not meant as an insult, just an observation. Last week on a taxi-brousse with one of my Asian-American friends, a guy kept calling her “Japonais” until I got so sick of it and snapped at him that she was American. So, for volunteers who are American but not Caucasian, they have a different set of challenges to overcome.

So, the “vazaha” issue is something that will continue to be a challenge for me at site. I can only hope that more people in my town will get to know me and I’ll cease to be as much of a novelty, but I know that I’ll never stop getting called “vazaha”. Some days it will affect me more than others, but hopefully I can turn some of these situations into opportunities to teach people about what I am doing here and how I’m different. And, that my name is Emily, not “vazaha”.