Out here in the fields. I fight for my meals

June 14, 2008
(Living with host family)
From the journal of Derek Rury

I feel that some of the initial sparkle of living with my homestay family is starting to come off. Not because of anything they have done. They are still as nice, generous and amazing as always, but I have began to think about how I am just some foreigner living in their home (and probably their biggest and nicest bedroom) who needs to be fed three times a day and have everything explained to him like a baby, very slow and repetitive. I feel I may have become simply a burden on their lives. Also, there are so many things I want to tell them, show them, teach them and learn from them, but I can’t. I want to show them what kind of person I am. I want them to hear my voice when I am simply talking casually, not spitting out memorized phrases (which I still screw up, judging by their reactions sometimes). But we are working on it. They understand how difficult it is for my to be in this situation. Fetrasou (15) and Rina (19) have been very helpful with the language. Not necessarily in understanding every word, but by talking slow and trying to say words that I know. They have been very patient. I can tell that they want to be able to talk to me. I do most of my talking with the two boys, but not as much as I would like with my host mom, Rivo. She obviously has more responsibility than her sons, being a single mother, running a farm and caring for her children and her grandchildren, but I would still love to be able to have a nice conversation with her. Not a conversation between a host mom and a volunteer, but rather a Malagasy woman and an American man (if I can call myself that). I am still waiting for that level of communication, but I know it will be enlightening. I want to compare stories of childhood foolishness. I want to hear about the town she grew up in and how she wound up here in Alarobia. I want to know what happened to her husband. I can see the 40 plus years she has lived in her toothless smile and the stories she has told, and the stories I am sure she has yet to tell. Her eldest daughter is 24 which means she was 17 when she gave birth. I can only imagine what life for a 17-year-old new mother, living and still growing up in this country was like. I am sure that she takes much pride that she has raised such a happy and healthy family, but I wonder if she ever things about life and what it was like and what it could have been like. Perhaps she doesn’t. Maybe there is no reference point. Whatever it is, I am certainly happy I have been adopted into her very loving family. I just hope I can find someway to repay them for my intrusion.

Baba O' Riley - The Who