Compared to Americans Malagasy are in general a very indirect people. But when it comes to appearance, they just say what they see. It is not always meant in a mean way, but that depends on the situation. One kid I know is nicknamed “Rat,” and when you see his front teeth you know why. There is a guy named “Tall Mami,” and a lady “Big Jenny.” Pretty clear as to why. In my village, I’m known as “Big Elsie,” and in the house in Andasibe, “the stomper” because they say the house shakes when I walk.

            I’ve never been small, but I’ve never been so constantly made aware of my size. And it doesn’t help that they are comparing me to themselves – generally short people, and most of them are manual laborers of a sort. If someone was really embarrassed about their body, they would not like it here. These are a few episodes from my time here:

When I got to my village there was no outhouse so they built one. They had 3 logs laid across the hole in the ground, and the president of my NGO asks them to seriously consider adding another, because “how many tons do you weigh, Elsie?”

           

After a few weeks at my site, I broke a part on my bicycle. A co-worker had some advice: “I know it’s against Peace Corps policy, but I really think you need a motorcycle to get to your village because you are too fat to ride a bicycle.”

At the market:

Me: “How much is this pineapple?”

Seller: “600 ariary. You’re really fat”

Getting on a packed brousse to go to Andasibe, the whole thing is loaded down  with people, chickens, possibly a whole ton of rice, cases upon cases of beer, and a mystery assortment of things in gunny sacks. On steps Elsie Be, and there are a few comments that float to my ears: “Whoa! do you see how fat she is? I hope we have a lot of gas today.” “This brousse is going to work hard today. I hope we make it up the hill.” “Look at her. It’s going to take a long time to get to Andasibe today!”

I just met a good friend’s girlfriend for the first time. We greeted each other, then she turned to my friend and said, “wow. She’s tall and really really fat!”

Walking up the hill to my village with one of my neighbors. She was behind me, and stopped and sighed. I asked why. “Look at your calves. If only mine could grow like yours!”

Many of my friends: “Elsie, your calves are huge. I’m tiny but I want to be big. Can we just cut some off your calves and put it on mine?”

A beautiful friend of mine, who has a really nice figure: “If I had legs as fat and white as yours, I would wear miniskirts and short shorts everyday!”

I was sitting in my neighbor’s house, just me and two women. I was wearing a skirt, but because of the way I was sitting it had fallen slightly above my knees. Still entirely respectable. The younger sister reached over and tried to push my skirt up my legs. I swatted her hand away and asked what she was doing: “Please push your skirt up! We just want to see how big and white your legs are!”

This I get a lot: “Such a big body. But you put so little rice on your plate!”

In the fields, planting rice with my neighbors. They knew I was there, and it’s not like there are any other white people to confuse me with. Some people came from a far field and stopped to say hi on their way home: “We saw your giant calves from our fields so we knew it was you.”

The grandmother of the family I stay with in Andasibe likes to call me her Gendarme (Malagasy military), because she says I am so huge I would intimidate anyone, and the way I walk is already like a gendarme.

After a year at my site: “Elsie, no matter how much you walk, you just won’t get skinny!”

My Mitsinjo friends: “You look much better now then when you got here. Then you had fat here, here, and here.”

My village friends: “When you got here, you were really fat. But nothing compared with how fat you are now! As soon as you got here, you just started getting fatter.”

“You know, if you just didn’t eat for a month you wouldn’t be fat anymore.”

A young neighbor musing on our differences: “maybe if you worked in the fields with us, you’d get skinny like us.”

“I only wish I could be as fat as you! But then I wouldn’t be able to work anymore, so I can’t get fat.”

My favorite, which I get all the time: It’s cold out, and we all comment on it. “But Elsie isn’t cold. She’s fat, and fat people don’t feel the cold.” How do they know this when they’ve been skinny their whole lives? What fat person told them that fat people don’t feel cold? And do they not see me shivering?

A neighbor in my village: “when you first got here, I was sure you’d go home early. I saw how fat you were and never thought you’d be able to walk or bike out here.”

If they talk badly about fat people, and I point out that I am fat too, this is the response: “Yeah, you’re really fat, but that person is short and fat whereas you are tall and fat; so it’s good that you are fat, but bad for them.”

“If we had to eat someone, Elsie would be first. She’d feed us all!”

Walking down the street in Andasibe, I hear the whispers that follow my passing: “Do you see that really fat vazaha? She speaks Gasy.”

A friend just sold her pig for Christmas, since pork prices go up for holidays. “My pig was tall and big, but not overly fat. Just like you, Elsie.”