#PrayforParis

What a world we live in. 

The news from Paris today, of a concert being attacked, attendees being held hostage, and the death count slowly rising (127, as of now)- it's a grief that's almost too much to bear. The weight of our wrecked world rests on us today, with a bit more vengeance. 

I am weary. I have only been on this earth for 22 years, and yet I have still lived through some dark, dark times in our history. 

I was 8 the first time I really learned what evil existed in our midst. September 11, 2001. I remember getting out of school early that day, momentarily excited before learning what had happened. 

The ensuing Iraq war- the U.S. invaded when I was 10. By the time I saw that conflict end, almost 4,500 American soldiers had died. 

There have been scores of school shootings on American soil- Columbine (1999), Virginia Tech (2007), Sandy Hook (2012) and countless others. 

I have seen shootings at movie theaters, army bases, shopping malls featured on my nightly news. 

I was alive when the subways in Spain (2004) and the U.K. (2005) were bombed. When I went to D.C. almost 10 years later, I hesitated before climbing onto the metro everyday. 

I've been alive during times of genocide: Rwanda (1994), Bosnia (1995), and Darfur (2003).

And now, violence over race in the U.S. seems to be coming to a head- young black man after young black man being shot by police, riots, police brutality, arson, and college protests all rage on. 

Recently, terrorist attacks have been splashed across my newsfeed, graphic videos and photos of bombings, beheadings, suicide bombings. 

Our world. 

Look how far we've fallen. 

And amidst it all, what do we do?

We respond with a hashtag. #prayforpeace #prayforparis 

We change our profile pic to reflect the French flag. 

We share articles and video clips and picture montages of lighted candles and clasped hands. We say, "our thoughts and prayers are with the victims at this terrible time". 

Is anyone else sick of it?

Friends are sharing pictures, articles, all with the obligatory #PrayforParis tag line. I've seen so many prayers, written in fancy script over calming photos. So many statuses: our prayers are with Paris, pray for peace, praying for an end to this madness, prayer, prayer, prayer.

Is anyone else kind of mad at it?

Borrowing a few words from President Barack Obama (speaking in the wake of yet another school shooting): "Our thoughts and prayers are not enough". 

It's not enough. 

What good are we really doing by sharing that photo, writing that status, saying "our thoughts and prayers are with you"? 

I'm not saying that prayer doesn't accomplish anything. I'm not shaming anyone for engaging with this tragedy on social media (I've done it too). 

But I am saying that I'm sick of the litany of 'our world is broken, pray for peace'. 

How long have we been praying for peace?! 

At what point are we going to admit to ourselves that our world won't be fixed by prayer alone? 

So, maybe instead of saying #prayforparis, we should be saying 'here's how I can help'- and then pray.

 

"Pray as though everything depended on God. Work as though everything depended on you." Saint Augustine 

I recommend reading this article about "hashtag clicktivism", where the above image was taken from:  http://www.pedestrian.tv/news/arts-and-culture/hashtag-clicktivism-the-ups-and-downs-of-collectiv/509a7f26-7cc6-4394-8e07-24012aed2188.htm

Bonjour, vazaha!!

 I walk to church. 

I walk to the bus.

I walk to the Printing Press.

Bonjour, Madame! 

Bonjour, Vazaha!

Comment ça va, vazaha?

Tanjombato is slowly starting to feel like home to me... I know my way around my neighborhood, I can take the bus into the city, I know how to order food and juice and laundry soap at my favorite hotely. 

But every day I am reminded that this isn't my home. I'm reminded that this will never be home. I'm reminded that I will never fit in here. 

I will always be the white person, the vazaha- the foreigner. I may live with a Malagasy family, and eat rice 2x a day, and take the taxibe, and eat at hotelys, and speak Malagasy (ish), but I will never shed that identity of being the other.

This isn't a post to make you feel bad for me. Or a post for me to complain about how I'm othered. On the contrary, I'm grateful for this experience. 

Being the other is not new for me. I'm sure most of us can think of some time we were the other- the only Christian in science class, the only person who enjoyed school on the football team, the only gay kid in the youth group, the only disabled person at work... 

But this is the only time I've been the racial other. 

And man, is it different.

It's one thing to be the only nerd in gym class, and it's something completely different to be the only person of your skin color in daily life. 

White people are a rarity here in Madagascar. Frankly, we stick out like a sore thumb. I don't really blame anyone for staring at me, or really even for yelling at me. I even freak out a little when I see another white person.

The thing that gets me is how the topic of race here intertwines with that of colonization. Maybe you noticed- whenever I get "heckled" (for lack of a better word), it's most often in French. 

The word vazaha is Malagasy, it means foreigner. 

But the rest of it is almost always French. 

In 1883, the French attacked Madagascar: it was declared a colony in 1895 until the Malagasy finally won independence in 1960. The French presence is still fairly strong here- there are French tourists, French businessmen, menus are in French, French is taught in schools, wealthy familys speak French, the airline here is AirFrance. 

It's reasonable for Malagasy to associate vazaha with 'French'. 

Bonjour, mademoiselle! 

Comment ça va? 

Bonjour vazaha!

French. 

It angers and saddens me.

"Colonization is violence, and there are many ways to carry out that violence." -Philip Gourevitch

Being associated with colonization leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

I have never clung more tightly to my label of American than when I'm assumed to be French in Madagascar. When people holler at me in French, I usually respond with "Salama!" Or "Manahoana!" (Hi, how are you/good morning). Reactions vary from "Miteny Gasy?!" to broad smiles to a rapid fire string of Malagasy. It is so unheard of for a white person to speak their language that they freak out when I say "hello". And if I say "Mbola mianatra" (still learning)- oh man. That gets me smiles and hand shakes and pats on the back. And almost as soon as I speak those two words in Malagasy, I start hearing "Amerika" being thrown around. Seems to me, Malagasy love Americans- in part because of the Peace Corps, but also in part because we're seen as the white people who bother learning their language.

I don't know very much about colonization yet. I barely know the history of colonization in Madagascar. But I do know it makes me uncomfortable and queasy. And I know that I will be doing a lot of reading and thinking on the topic in the coming year.

Until then, I will keep on trying to exist as an alternative here- not Malagasy, but not a typical "vazaha" either. I will keep on trying to learn to sympathize with being a racial other.

I will keep these two things ever present with me.