Can't Have It Both Ways
Today I was sitting at the clinic, waiting to see the doctor. There were about 20 Malagasy people in front of me, and as the clock ticked away I became more and more agitated by the long wait. The nurse would come by every five minutes or so to give me an update on why it was taking so long. While this specialized care comforted me, I was still becoming frustrated by not getting in faster. I looked around at the other patients waiting. The nurse wasn't going out of his way to make sure they got in as quick as possible. I felt guilty for being so irritated, especially in the midst of the specialized "vazaha" treatment.
Vazaha is the word they use for foreigners here. It generally refers to white people. We are called out by this name daily, and it has become a name that missionaries detest. Not only is it annoying to be labeled "Vazaha," it is also something that we strive not to be. We don't want to be tourists here. We don't want to stand out or be different. We want to build real relationships where the color of our skin isn't a barrier. Every day, our "vazaha" status frustrates us. We are surrounded by beggars the instant we get out of our cars, people befriend only to see what they can get out of us, police officers pull us over the instant our faces come into view, sellers mark up their prices to a special vazaha price. It affects nearly every aspect of our lives and ministry here. It drives us crazy being a vazaha! We would love to not be a vazaha to these people.
But do I really not want to be a vazaha? Do I want to give up a house with a guard, a car that gets us to the bush, the internet that allows me to talk to my mom, or the French school where my kids can learn and play? The truth is that in order to live and be like a national here, I would have to give up a lot. Can I give up safety? Can I give up comfort? The truth is, I will always be vazaha here. It doesn't matter how well I learn the language or how small my house is. But this label is a daily reminder to me that I need to seek the Lord's wisdom on how to minister to these people as a vazaha in their land. I need to seek a life of humility and sacrifice. And if I can't sit in a waiting room without feeling entitled about getting in to see the doctor faster...well, I have a lot to learn.
Vazaha is the word they use for foreigners here. It generally refers to white people. We are called out by this name daily, and it has become a name that missionaries detest. Not only is it annoying to be labeled "Vazaha," it is also something that we strive not to be. We don't want to be tourists here. We don't want to stand out or be different. We want to build real relationships where the color of our skin isn't a barrier. Every day, our "vazaha" status frustrates us. We are surrounded by beggars the instant we get out of our cars, people befriend only to see what they can get out of us, police officers pull us over the instant our faces come into view, sellers mark up their prices to a special vazaha price. It affects nearly every aspect of our lives and ministry here. It drives us crazy being a vazaha! We would love to not be a vazaha to these people.
But do I really not want to be a vazaha? Do I want to give up a house with a guard, a car that gets us to the bush, the internet that allows me to talk to my mom, or the French school where my kids can learn and play? The truth is that in order to live and be like a national here, I would have to give up a lot. Can I give up safety? Can I give up comfort? The truth is, I will always be vazaha here. It doesn't matter how well I learn the language or how small my house is. But this label is a daily reminder to me that I need to seek the Lord's wisdom on how to minister to these people as a vazaha in their land. I need to seek a life of humility and sacrifice. And if I can't sit in a waiting room without feeling entitled about getting in to see the doctor faster...well, I have a lot to learn.
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