As a female, I have been raised in a way that is different than my male counterparts. In the U.S., I have been implicitly told certain things.
You can be whatever you want, but also know that there is a glass ceiling. Know that (white) women make 88¢ to a man's dollar. Know that women in certain careers (including but not limited to: science, law, policing, and math) will have to fight their way tooth and nail to be respected and considered equal to men.
I have been taught how to defend myself- carry your keys in your fist when you walk to your car, go with friends to the restroom, don't walk alone at night, memorize this fake number to give out to creepy guys, always keep your drink in sight, don't dress "like you're asking for it", and be careful who and how you rebuff men that ask you out.
I have learned from the media that to be 'beautiful' means being white, thin but not too thin, curvy but not too curvy, with straight (preferably blonde) hair, no glasses or braces, able bodied, clear skinned, with sharp cheekbones and symmetrical features.
I have been told that women should be softer and gentler than men, that women are natural caregivers and nurturers, that women are domesticated.
I have figured out that a woman is defined by the men in her life- my father will give me away at my wedding as if I'm a possession; I am expected to smile, dress, and act a certain way in order to attract a boyfriend; our bloodlines are traced through our fathers; when -not if- I get married, I will have to consider my husband's self worth and masculinity in determining if I should continue in my career and whether or not to have children; and if I am approached by a stranger on the street, the best way of turning down his romantic advances is not to say "no" but rather "I already have a boyfriend".
After 23 years, I have internalized these lessons. It's not all bad; I have also learned new, stronger lessons, lessons of self-image and feminist theory and confidence and self-sufficiency. But all of the other lessons? The ones I listed first? Those are the oldest, most ingrained, and deepest. I will carry those with me for life, wherever I go. I carried them to Madagascar.
In the United States, I have dealt with these issues. With being considered less able than boys to study science, with self-image and beauty standards, with the fear that comes from walking alone at night, with catcalling and harassment, with rape culture.
But in Madagascar? These issues have been amplified.
I have learned that I don't trust men. That's misleading- it's not that I don't trust any men, it's that I am wary with whom I trust among the opposite gender.
I avoid giving men my phone number. Letting a man walk me home. Buying me food or drink. I make sure to tell new men I meet that I live with a family, that my father was in the army. When guys approach me in the street with leers and "mon amie" and "cherie", I walk away and don't make eye contact. I have memorized the phrases in Malagasy to turn someone down for a date or marriage.
Here, I attract a level of attention that I was never afforded in the U.S. I walk down the street here and get catcalled daily. I despise crowds because I know that it's likely a man will brush up against me deliberately. When it's dark out, the hissing (equivalent to wolf-whistling) comes from all directions. The handshakes that are so culturally important in Madagascar often turn into a man refusing to let go and caressing, petting the back of my hand.
Here, white women stand out. And globalization has spread our "Western beauty standards" worldwide. Pale is beautiful. White is beautiful. Blonde hair, thin noses, blue eyes, are desirable. Combined with colonization and racism, the fact that vazaha are rich...white people, especially white women, are almost a commodity. Movies and media and porn have painted an image of white women- beautiful, rich, flirtatious, sexy, exotic and famous. It's a mark of honor, of manhood, for men to have "bagged" a vazaha.
It's not because I'm absurdly beautiful, it's because I'm white and have blonde hair and am American that I get so much attention from men.
Don't get me wrong- not all guys here are like that. But assumptions and habits are hard to break. I've been taught for so long how to protect myself from men, and when confronted with a level of attention I've never faced before, my self defense mechanisms were higher than ever.
Though I've learned that I am instinctively wary around men, I've also learned that these assumptions are not always true. I've met multiple guys here who have challenged my internalized ideas of what "men are like".
One day when I was walking home from church, I passed by a hotely/bar where a bunch of guys hang out and drink THB (the beer of Madagascar); head down, eyes lowered, fast paced, as usual. As I was about to round the corner, a guy called out to me in French. Being that I don't know French, I wasn't exactly sure what he said...but my experience has told me that most catcalls that include the words mon amie and ça va aren't usually good to encourage. So I gave him a polite, but dismissive, semi-nod and continued to walk by. He reached out and grabbed my hand for a handshake as I passed. I admit, at that point I began to get nervous...it was still light out, but we were by a bar full of men in various stages of intoxication. He struck up a conversation while holding my hand captive; I answered his questions quickly while trying to make excuses. A women walked up, heading towards us. Having been protected by women before (walking home at night almost always garners me an escort of neighborhood women), I hoped she was coming to say something to him to let me go. And he did let me go- only to pull the other women into a hug and quick kiss, and then to introduce us. "This is my new friend, mom. Anna, this is my mother-in-law." He then sent her to bring his wife and baby to meet his new friend, and invited me to drink juice with his family.
Another day, I was shopping in the market for a satroka ba (knit hat); instead of walking back to the other side of town to get my usual bus, I decided to take a new line that said 'Tanjombato'. After 40 minutes, I realized I must've gone the wrong direction when the bus suddenly stopped in an abandoned lot and everyone got off--the end of the line. Very, very lost, I started walking towards the palace that I could see in the distance. A man came up and started walking next to me, and we began chatting in Malagasy. He offered to walk me back to Analakely, where I first got lost, and then invited me into his home which was on the way. His mother in law served me tea and we made small talk for a few minutes before heading back to Analakely, where he made sure I got on the right bus and gave me 1000 Ariary for the fare.
I may be wary about men and their intentions, but I have been proved wrong in these assumptions multiple times and I am very thankful for these opportunities to be challenged and grow. Implicit assumptions are not helpful. Trusting is not an inherently bad trait. Slowly, I have learned these things. I am still learning.
But every time I learn, I get to see new pockets of beauty in the world, new snapshots of the divine in places I previously would have avoided.
May I never become so jaded and wary as to be blinded to the wonderful possibilities of being wrong.
