Back to my “roots” (French born overseas…), and an all American gal…

Indian Camp??? In Normandie???
There is a term in Madagascar for French born in Madagascar, “Zanatan.” There was also a term for French born in Laos, but the term is not as appealing. In Laos, they were called Falang Khi Nok  “Bird Poop.” I will refer to myself as Zanatan (sounds exotic), instead of Bird Poop. Although I have no idea what Zanatan really means, and I will stay ignorant. (Actually, Barnett checked, Zanatan means "Child of the country.)
Being born French, Lao and Vietnamese in the midst of colonial French in Southeast Asia was not easy. You, (as you in a general sense of you), are raised to be French; and then you are expected to be Asian, especially the girls. You are supposed to be dealing with life as an Asian, i.e. being sheltered, educated and married to someone possibly rich, with a position. You can marry white men if they are educated French, but no Americans. And then you would restart the cycle with the next generation. Boy, did I mess up or what. Not only am I neither French nor Asian (only my looks), but I also messed up the following generation, Isabelle is 100% American pie sweetheart.

It was honestly hard for me to be in limbo between cultures. If I did something not appropriately fit for the moment, I would hear, “You cannot do that because you are French, or you cannot do that because you are Asian.” Quite confusing for a child, and even more confusing for a teenager. I was never sure when I was supposed to be something in the appropriate order. At the age of 20, I married an American against every member of the Souvannavong wishes, but at least the French (such as my father!!! And he was only half French), side of my family didn’t mind. More like one half Frenchman didn’t mind. [Being fair though, all those guys who said no were the same ones who went out and caroused with my now husband in Thakhek. That wasn’t very nice of them.]

Now everyone wonders why I am so, so, soooooo American. How did that happen? So, my dearest friends, especially my dearest French friends, don’t wonder too much about me being so American because I am. Officially, I have been an American since 1975; and, after 35 years, it was bound to rub off!!! Come to think of it, I never lived in France, only visits in between; and even in Asia I lived in a convent for 11 years of my 20 years before I married an American. From 0 to 5, you can’t count that. So we are down to 6 years as a cross-cultural individual.  And apparently I have a hint of a French Southern accent when I speak French, and I finish a phrase with an American ending, hum!

Yeah, I am an American and proud to be one!

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