Early Saturday Morning, Antsirabe
It is acceptable to call a Latina woman “white” here.
I learned that white women can’t walk alone after 5:30 PM. I found myself shopping for a few eggs after 5 one afternoon, popping into little shop after little shop without success. As I trudged home with my empty bag an angry gaunt man kept a half a step behind me, muttering all the way from city center. He yelled in anger after I unexpectedly slipped into my gated garden. I assumed he wanted money. He called to me for 20 minutes through the gate. Perhaps he was telling me “Go home ugly white woman.” I watch the time before I leave home now.
I don’t know if my language skills are improving, but my courage is. One day, being tired of my own company, I took a walk towards the supermarche for a chocolate bar, a splendid luxury on my stipend. After the encounter with the angry man last week, I walked a new route and found an old, cobbled lane that runs behind the French cathedral. It’s lined with individually owned stands, each one specializing in different products. There is less hustle and bustle on this stretch, the shop people patiently wait for me as I stretch my Malagasy skills.
The stand at the end of the road features 4-5 baskets of different greens caught my eye. We were having a terrible time communicating with one another. Due to my hunger for her greens and the shopowner’s determination to make a sale we found a neighbor man to help with the transaction. Problem solved!
All of my stipend is spent on food. Baskets of fresh produce are sold everywhere, at the markets, along every lane, on the corners, and there are even sellers that walk up and down the streets selling their specialty from a basket balanced on their head. Yet I am down to my college weight, skinny and tanned.
