My Life with the Share Care Cult

The communal living space at the Sakari base, formerly a large Fujiwara electronic store in downtown Ofunato, leaves little room to carve out peace or mental space.   Being constantly inundated with conversations and questions, I developed tactics like putting on my reading glasses and staring at my laptop as if I were deeply engaged just to squeeze in some parallel ‘alone’ time to not be engaged, sip my tea and process my day.  Sometimes I would wake up at 4:30am or take long walks just to have some down time alone.  After a week I moved to the Fukushino Sato Center (“FS”), a former hospital which had been housing volunteers from All Hands, a Japanese NGO and a German organization. For some reason (and I still haven’t quite figured it out) all of the male German volunteers have long hair. The FS Center is much stricter than the Sakari base with a 10pm curfew (read, there are loopholes) and a no alcohol policy. It's also remotely located about a 20 minute walk from the nearest Lawson's. Basically over here it’s bathrooms inside, showers and osento inside….sake outside.

On my second work day, somebody had already clipped my milk, even though it was clearly marked HEK in red permanent marker.  This indiscretion eventually led to a collaboration with two other volunteers in building a dynamic multicultural fortress around our snacks.  Alice, Antony and I have created the ultimate snack pool. Basically, anything in the fridge labeled with one of our names or “AHA” is in our exclusive snacking pyramid scheme….milk, croissants, kuromame crackers, ham, butter, pineapple and fried squid. 



Outside the Sakari Base



Outside the FS Center







Common Space at Sakari Base

 

Common Space at FS Center





Sleeping Space at Sakari



Sleeping Space at FS



Irreplacable Images

Photos Drying

For almost a week now, I’ve been working on a photo rescue project.  Over 70,000 photos have been hand cleaned out of those that were found amidst the tsunami wreckage.  All Hands Volunteers has a global network of over 300 photographers working to re-touch these photos to preserve the irreplaceable images of people’s past. Members of the local community often come by to search for photos of their loved ones and to go through the albums that we’ve created. 

I spend hours each day slowly dipping each photo into frigid water with my latex gloves.  Sometimes as the photo is dipped into the water, the color will slowly begin to dissolve. The process is a very a delicate balancing act of cleaning away dirt and bacteria while maintaining as much of the fragile image as possible.  It can be quite a tedious task, but can also be quite meditative at times.  Everyday I find myself wandering down hallways with the images….a junior high school class trip to Nara; a bride with a nervous smile on her wedding day; an elderly couple’s 1993 vacation on Sado Island; a grandmother bathing her toddler twin granddaughters. 

Sometimes if I’m very quiet and still, the hair on my arms will stand up and I can hear their stories.  More than anything, they want to be acknowledged and remembered. 

Photo Salvage Project

What Exactly is Category 2?

A landed ship in the middle of Ofunato



On Wednesday, I was working outside at a fish distribution center as a category 2 typhoon was working its way in our direction up the Honshu Island.  The group that I was working with was cleaning large seafood drying racks that had been covered in mud by the tsunami.  With three large vats of water, scrub brushes and rubber gloves, we cleaned the metal legs of the racks, each about half the size of a doorway. The normal mid day heat had given way to a chilly grey sky and heavy rain.  The wind whipped through the mountains and trees, moaning and wheezing like a large wounded animal.  Everyone kept repeating, “the typhoon is only a category 2.”  Well, the ‘category 2 typhoon’ shut down the Shinkansen (bullet train) and some of the highways up here.  Wednesday stands out as a reflection of what has quickly become my new comfort zone.

Mr. Sugawara, a super spry and opinionated 72 year old with a large warm smile, is the owner of the distribution center.  He showed us the route that he and his wife used to escape the tsunami.  The three houses next to his were all swept into the sea, along with his elderly bedridden neighbor. Having also survived the Ofunato tsunami in 1962 that resulted from the earthquake in Chile, Sugawara-san is now planning to donate his land to the city to build a sea wall and to move his operation to higher ground. He reiterated to me several times that he was going to be okay, that he had other income streams and that he didn’t want to be super wealthy anyway because he didn’t want to pay any more tax to the Japanese government.  At lunchtime, his wife came to the work site on her bicycle with warm soup and coffee to go with our bento lunches.  Sugawara-san was quick to point out that the sanma fish in our lunch was now imported from Hokkaido, as sanma could not be distributed from this area for the next 5 years.

 

Mr. Sugawara

I spent several days working on projects for Sugawara-san.  I’m beginning to think that he tries hard to come up with new tasks for us to do because he simply enjoys our company.  An important part of the rebuilding effort is allowing people to share their experiences. 

I’ve started to exhibit a sort of obsessive compulsive disorder when I’m clearing debris or cleaning anything here.  I will pace back and forth, working diligently, digging, scraping and sweeping that small section of the river ditch until it sparkles. Sometimes I’m overwhelmed with this irrational feeling that if even one tiny section of a ditch can sparkle, then northern Japan will be restored to normal, that the splendor of the coast and the rolling rugged mountains will be free of the sadness and pain of the 3/11 tragedy.  Sugawara-san said that he was surprised and impressed by how hard we worked everyday, all day….even in the driving rain amidst a typhoon warning.  He assured me that he will never forget our faces.



The Tree of Life



The Tree of Life in Rikuzentakata



I’ve been awakened in the middle of the night by earth tremors for the past four mornings.  The building usually begins to gently shake, then gradually builds swaying back and forth with more strength before slowing to a simmer. There are close to 50 volunteers from all corners of the world and from all over Japan staying here at the Sakari base, which can make for very little room for much needed psychological space.  Life here is somewhat chaotic, but pretty basic.  We have a common sleeping space, a shared kitchen and outdoor portable bathrooms (I usually walk to the train station).  We take bucket baths and all of our work locations have solid evacuation plans for higher ground in the not so unlikely event of a tsunami warning. 

This is by far the hardest thing that I’ve ever done in my life.  Physically and emotionally, the work here is very strenuous.  Everyday my eyes sting with sweat and the muscles in my arms, calves and back burn.  After my first day, I really questioned whether I was strong enough for this.  When I dig my shovel into the sludge to clear ditches and canals, I find high school medals, photographs, shoes, and pieces of roof tile, twisted metal from screen doors, children’s barrettes and broken lacquered rice bowls. Ever so thin is the veil that separates us. I sometimes feel like I’m an archeologist excavating through a graveyard of memories.  There are shards of glass and they permeate everything.  The enormity of the destruction here is just indescribable.  I often find myself deep in silent prayer with every breath as I’m digging, cleaning, scraping and shoveling.  The unforgiving heat of the late morning sun and the echoes of the lives that were swallowed into the sea often leave me spinning.

There is a tree in front of the cemetery in Rikuzentakata that I refer to as the tree of life.  When the tsunami slammed into the town on March 11, there was a family who had been swept away in their home as it was pulled from its foundation. As the waters receded, the house caught onto the top of the tree just long enough for the family to escape and cling to its branches.  The house was soon washed completely into the sea, but the family survived. In the past 120 years, the town of Ofunato has been hit by four tsunamis and they are still standing.  Everyday, it’s the shared stories of life, inspiration, survival and strength that enable me to persevere much further than what I think my limits are.   がんばろう　東北…..がんばろう　日本！(Ganbarou Tohoku….Ganbarou Nihon!)



A thank you poster in a local shop



Sea Legs in the Tokyo Area

 

Daibutsu in Kamakura



“Jishin da!” (It’s an earthquake!), my friend Satoko said to me as I sat on the couch while the entire building shook briefly from side to side.  I could tell by her reaction (or lack thereof) that this was ‘normal’. Prior to my departure, another friend had advised me to be prepared for Tokyo’s late summer heat and for the earthquakes.  I had been in Japan for less than 24 hours and had experienced both already.

During the past few days, I’ve had many festive and emotional reunions with old friends. Life in the greater Tokyo area seems to be back to its regular pace, but the 3/11 disaster permeates everything.  I have some friends who have quietly relocated to the Kansai or who are planning to soon relocate to Okinawa due to radiation concerns.  The evenings are darker due to the energy crisis and the resulting “Setsuden” (the conservation of electricity).  Many of the street lights are turned down or completely off and the air conditioning on the trains and in the stations is at a lower level, if it’s on at all.  If you’re in Japan right now and you’re converting funds from a foreign currency, the strength of the Yen can be quite a shock.  When I left for Japan, 1 dollar was just over 77 Yen.  Basically this means that for the price of two fingers on your right hand, you can take the Narita Express train from the airport to Musashi-Kosugi station in Kawasaki City.

My friend Gaku asked me if I felt the earthquake that was centered in Chiba on Sunday evening.  He explained that there was a feature that I could add to my cell phone that somehow provides a 20 second warning before a quake.  He told me not to worry, that the tremor on Sunday was a small one.  For me it was big enough that I’m writing about it right now.  He assured me that I would soon adjust to the moving soil and develop the “sea legs” like everyone else.

  

This evening I’m heading up to Iwate prefecture on an overnight bus that leaves from the west side of Ikebukuro station.  This is where I will be working with All Hands Volunteers in the cities of Ofunato and Rikuzentaka along the northeastern coast.  The area was one of the hardest hit in terms of tsunami damage.   In terms of radiation, the area is a safe distance, far north of the stricken Fukushima Daiichi plant. I’m not sure if it’s possible to mentally or emotionally prepare for the level of destruction.  I’m very much looking forward to being a part of Project Tohoku, praying for the ground to find its stability and hoping to not develop the sea legs.

   

A photo op with "Obama" near Toyosu station



Bright Orange Waterproof Overalls



Seki-san, My 'Okaasan'

 From my cubicle a year ago, I would have never thought that I’d be travelling into a disaster zone in Iwate prefecture with steel toe boots and a sleeping bag or that I would be reading the fine print of the evacuation policy covered by my insurance.  How do I give back to a place, to people who have given me so much? 

Walking into my Japanese class following the earthquake/tsunami on March 11, our Sensei greeted us with a map of Japan that spread out across the entire study table.  Part of our conversation for the evening involved us locating the areas in Japan where we either lived or where we had family.  She then asked us to describe what we were feeling.  I remember that the room was eerily silent and that I was trying hard to swallow over the lump in my throat.  At the time I still had many dear friends that I had been unable to contact and the nightly news reels of the devastation made my stomach heave in anxiety. Being a product of my home training, I knew within the first week of the disaster that I was going to do whatever I could to help with the recovery.  I knew that it was likely that I would return to Japan, I just didn’t know when or how.

It was many years ago that I had been a JET programme participant in the north, in Niigata prefecture.  The experience completely altered my life trajectory.  Through JET, through securing funding for graduate school and through working for JETRO, I spent almost a decade involved in different ways with the Japanese government.  I have an Okaasan (mother) as well in Niigata prefecture.  She was a neighbor who had two grown sons and always wanted a girl.  She “adopted” me almost 15 years ago.  Worried that I would never marry, she insisted that I take a photo in one of her kimonos and send it to my mother as a sort of “marriage insurance”. As her American daughter, I now possess 3 of her kimonos and for 9 years I’ve been happily married to the man who took photos of me in one of the kimonos in her living room on that wintery afternoon.

I’m so very grateful to the many comrades, friends, relatives, classmates and colleagues who have donated to All Hands Volunteers through my donation page.  Several friends have asked that I work for them as well, that I be their hands since they are unable to go to the Tohoku region right now. In my pre-departure, there have been a million helping hands that have assisted me.  My language partner took the time to ensure that I had reservations on the overnight bus from Tokyo to Ofunato city and back.  A friend in Japan secured a cell phone for me to use on the network once I’m there.  The particular service is only for permanent residents, so we joked that I will soon be a “make believe” resident.  My spouse gave me a rain poncho, a personal first aid kit and an adjustable head lamp.  I had a dear friend take me on a shopping excursion over the weekend to make sure that I had safety chemical splash and impact goggles and of course the bright orange waterproof overalls.  Another friend of mine in Tokyo joked with me that he is grateful that I will soon arrive to join him for some shochu to take the edge off.  He warned me to be mentally prepared as the ground still sometimes moves.  His email sits in my inbox as a subtle and sobering reminder that the earth is in transition.