The coast of Madagascar becomes lighter and lighter with interracial children. Men have their wives back home and their girlfriends here to vacation with. Some actually care about the girls and some pass them around like they were a carousel ride. I, for one, was very interested how exactly all these relationships worked and shamelessly asked every local English speaking vazah about it. "...Yeah, Marco! You know, the guy with the short hands..." a blabbermouth dive shop owner eagerly told me. "His girl is that skinny chick – you've seen her. For a while there, she looked so sick! He was so worried... Heh, worried... He was shitting his pants! Hell! We were all shitting our pants!" He swallowed that last bit of the sentence and choked on it too realizing he was spilling a bit too much. "She ended up having... Eh... What do you call that? Um... Tuberculosis! Yeah... That's what it was." He said eventually and changed the subject.
Like everywhere – money is power. Local women have money in a place like Nosy Bee, and local men are left on the sidelines to drive cabs and watch their women give birth to blonde babies. I'd be surprised if there was no resentment. And I wasn't surprised when a woman tourist ran up to me on the beach crying about a man robbing her of her purse with all of her money and documents.