White.

In Madagascar, I am a vazaha (“vah-zah”). It means foreigner technically, but many people also assume that it means rich person, and usually also French person. Kids ask you for money. People whisper it or shout it when I go by, mothers teach their children that “bonjour vazaha” is a nice thing to say, and vendors are quick charge you double. Occasionally it is used fairly maliciously, but most of the time, people say it in an excited way, as if they were pointing out a hot air balloon. In fact, watching vazaha is somewhat of a national pass time for the Malagasy (especially children). Watching the vazaha walk, watching the vazaha eat, watching the vazaha while the vazaha is watching another event…. It is all very entertaining. Also, no one really understands how I could possibly be a white person and not speak French. The vendors are convinced that secretly, deep down, I MUST know French. So they continue to speak to me in French even though I tell them (in Malagasy) that I don’t speak any French, and they respond (in Malagasy) “You don’t?”, and then they continue to speak to me in French…. Sigh.

And yes, sometimes it’s frustrating to always be the one who is different. Sometimes I don’t want to be under a microscope. Sometimes I want to buy a carrot without explaining who I am and where I live and why I speak Malagasy and why I came to Madagascar and why I want to buy just one carrot instead of a kilo of carrots and why I cook for only one person and why I don’t have a Malagasy boyfriend, and no, I am also not looking for a Malagasy boyfriend. Malagasy suitors, by the way, do not waste any time getting to the point. Sometimes I run in the mornings, and I have started to look very favorably on the men who come up to me on their bicycles and say at least 3 or 4 sentences before they tell me they love me. More often the conversation goes, “hello… I love you”, or “I love you… I would like you to be my girlfriend.”

On the other hand, people are usually very welcoming when a vazaha actually attempts speak in Malagasy. Suddenly you are no longer an interesting phenomenon, but a real person that they might be able to communicate with. People’s faces light up when you say a simple greeting in Malagasy and no one is ever too busy to sit down and chat.

I ran into a four year old boy last week who happily shouted “Bonjour vazaha!” I responded with the Malagasy greeting, “Mbolatsara e!” The little boy looked ecstatic and turned to his friends to explain to them that he had found a Malagasy foreigner! “Bonjour vazaha gasy!”