The Middle

I have vivid memories of playing pickle in the middle with my mother and sister in the neighborhood pool at my Grandma’s house. I was youngest, shortest and the weakest swimmer. The way I remember it, they would just throw the ball over my head and laugh because I couldn’t catch it. The game pickle in the middle still annoys me. But, maybe I am stuck in the middle again. This time, not so bad.

Things are going well here in Fianarantsoa. I am at a point in my time here where I feel like I will live here forever, and that I can’t picture myself returning to Minnesota. Even though I know, the time will come. I know that July will come and I will have to leave this amazing community, but in the day to day I often feel like Fianar has always been my home and always will be. I am comfortable here, I, mostly, understand that day to day conversations that I have, I know all the sellers at the market near my house and I know they will give me a good deal. Sometimes one of them will ask me for more information on what I am doing here in Fianar. When I explain that I will return to the United States in July, they are surprised and usually respond with something like, “and, when will you return to Fianar?”

Getting to know people in my community, learning language and simply spending time here has increased my comfort since my arrival. But, I also have times when it feels very obvious to me that this isn’t home. Mostly, these times come when I really want some food that isn't available here, or when I go to the supermarket (most Malagasy only shop at the outdoor market) and buy yoghurt and cans of chickpeas for hummus, or when I spend an afternoon at wifi and my Malagasy friends say, “what did you do for four hours online?” Or, even when I use my newly discovered oven to bake bread and have a sandwich.  These things are important to me as well. Sometimes when I have a fresh baked loaf I will bring a few pieces to my host family and they think it’s delicious, but they cannot grasp a meal without rice.

I am practicing finding a balance between being completely at home here in Fianar, and also being an outsider. I will never be Bitsleo (the tribe here in Fianar) even if I know their language and make jokes about being half Malagasy. I am finding a balance between my Malagasy self and my Minnesota self. These two will always be pieces of me. I will forever live someplace in between, and maybe neither Minnesota nor Fianarantsoa will ever feel completely like home. I will forever eat my small quantities (according to the Malagasy) of rice with a spoon, because it’s really more efficient anyway. When I will return to the states, I will still cook wearing my lamba (like an apron) but I will not use charcoal. I’m forever stuck in the middle, and I’m not sure that I would choose to become un-stuck if I could.