A Tohoku Journal

Michael Ryan Smith

August 5th, Tokyo
Morning -- Hot
Tokyo Again. I always feel lost here. The bus ride here doesn’t help, of course. Especially when
the bus my dirt-cheap travel agency chartered breaks down and the nine hour trip turns into twelve hours.
I want a shower, but all the bath houses are closed. They don’t open until the evening. Who would wanta bath at this hour except a stranded traveler like me?
This journal isn’t about Tokyo’s bath-house operating hours or late-running buses. It’s about myimpressions of Japan, collected over a decade, and written during the week of volunteer work which I
about to embark on. I hope that the unique environment in which I will live for the coming days will
give me the inspiration to put my thoughts of Japan to paper. This will be my third opportunity tovolunteer since the 2011 tsunami, and each time has given me new insight on myself and the country I
now live in.
It’s time to take my train. The pre-departure orientation for my volunteer association is geld attheir headquarters near Shinjuku. My job is to translate for the non-Japanese speaking foreigners in ourgroup: About a dozen Australians funded and organized by the philanthropic efforts of their leader, theBenefactor. Because of my bus troubles, I wasn’t able to meet with him yesterday as planned. I hope heis understanding.

Afternoon
Our lone bus is riding along a two-lane highway. We are near Tochigi now, moving north
towards Fukushima. The roadside is lined with the bright green of the August rice, punctuated by thedarker shades of Japanese cedar and crossed by small rivers dark in the setting sun. This is the kind ofJapanese scenery that I’m accustomed to. Watching it go by for hours from my bus window reminds mehow much of Japan looks this way. I know that many people prefer the city, and feel isolated in thecountryside, but for me these quiet hills are a reminder that we still have our place among nature.

Last year, there were ninety volunteers in three buses. This year, there are thirty. I wonder if thisis because there is a lessening need or a lessening awareness. Among this summer’s group there aremany people who have volunteered three or more times. According to those who I have spoken with,things up north have not improved that much. There is something worth noting, though: The number offoreign volunteers has increased, and many of the returnees are foreign, including myself. I wonder what
everyone’s motivations are.
I know, in my case, my actions are a gesture- an attempt to repay Japan for everything it hasdone for me. Japan has given me the opportunity to improve my life, something which I never felt waswithin reach in my own country. It have me a home when I was transient, and an avenue to succeed if I
was willing to try. That in itself would have been enough to warrant my actions now, but then there werealso the individual people: The teachers that educate me, the employers that support me and the friends
that sheltered me and gave me a sense of belonging. They acted as my family when I had none. Some ofthese people have moved on, and I can’t speak with them though I would like to. But I will never forgetthe contribution that they made to my life. It’s for them that I volunteer. Not out of patriotism or a desire
to be praised, but because it is the one gesture I can make to express my gratitude.
The road outside is dark now. The cedar trees’ narrow trunks, now looking a dull purple, standout from the dark of their groves. But as I write they fade into the dusk. The road is growing smaller,
and my hand writing is getting worse for the lack of light and bumps in the ride. We will arrive inIshinomaki City within an hour.

NightWe’ve arrived in Ishinomaki. Our volunteer leaders immediately took us to our lodgings: Thesecond floor what was a Chinese restaurant before the tsunami. The owner has been kind enough to let
our organization set up a base of operations in her home. This is in spite of her losing both her businessand her husband in the disaster. Having come into contact with her and others like her, I can’t help but
be amazed at the kindness which these people display in the face of adversity.
The curfew is at nine, with ‘lights out’ at ten. I can’t continue this entry any further because it’s
too dark to write. Our work begins early tomorrow.

August 6th, Ishinomaki
Dawn
I woke up at five this morning. Most of the other volunteers got up earlier than I did, though.
Today, we’ll be given our assignment for the week. The group of international volunteers which I am tolead will be going to the harbor. There, we will help the fishermen with their rebuilding effort. I’m notsure what kind of work that entails, but it’s sure to be hot outdoors today. Everyone is very energetic andeager to begin work, however. I am anxious to begin helping people, too.
Breakfast today was a candy bar. I should have put more thought into what I packed.

NightToday, we helped the fishermen. My particular group was sent by bus out into the distant harborsof the Ishinomaki peninsula. The bumpy ride over broken pavement and around collapsed shoulders
took nearly an hour. When we arrived, we immediately went to work repairing fishing equipment: A sortof net, made of long strands of oyster shells, on which a type of edible sea barnacle- the “Hoya"- grows.
The maturation of these barnacles takes about 4 years, according to the fisherman instructing us.
Naturally, the tsunami washed away these fishermen’s homes and equipment, but the nature of theircrop means that they will continue to be financially affected for years.
We made a lot of progress today, despite a short thunderstorm in the afternoon. Our hosts, thefishermen, were kind enough to feed us a lunch of whale, pickled cucumber salad and other local foods.
Dessert was watermelon. Many of the first-time volunteers were surprised by their hospitality, but I havecome to understand that the locals of Ishinomaki are always like this. In spite of us being there to help
them, they regularly help us.

August 7thMorning
Last night was a bit cold, and I didn’t sleep very well. So I was a bit late in waking up. Still, it’samazing how bright it is here in the mornings. Even at half past four, I already feel the need to wake up
because of the sunlight outside. I didn’t have time to bathe after work yesterday, so I am looking
forward to going to the local bath house after today’s work.
Today will be another day of helping the fishermen repair their equipment. We’ll be leaving forthe peninsula soon.

NightToday, my group of volunteers went to another fisherman’s home. Or, rather, her property where
her house used to stand. Since the disaster, she and her husband have built a workshop there to continue
their work.
As we helped her with her Hoya trap-making, she told us how she escaped from the tsunami: She
happened to be in her upstairs bedroom and, glancing out the window, saw tsunami washing over theroofs of homes in the distance. She managed to flee outside and up a nearby mountain. The mountain
was on the leeward side of the wave, and it saved her life. Three of her neighbors had fled up theopposite side. They were caught in the swell of debris as it crashed up and over them.
Listening to her story, I stared at the mountain above her home where she had escaped. There
was a line of dead trees thirty meters above her roof. This marked the high point of the tsunami. Seeing
is believing, but I couldn’t believe it. I could only guess from her story how terrifying it must have been.
For lunch, our hosts cooked for us once again. It was a local dish of curry with Japanesepumpkin. I was not expecting this for a second day in a row. And again, I wonder if our task is not tohelp these fishermen repair their traps and tools. Maybe we are here to make them feel like they aren’talone. If cooking supper for us provides them with that feeling, then I am only sorry that I can not domore.
After I came home from work today, I spoke to the leader of my volunteer organization. He has
been here since the beginning. When I told him about my research, and how I planned on making thetsunami survivors the focus, he told me that what I am doing is important. The worst thing you can do inyour situation is to become complacent about the suffering of others, he said. One thing that I was eager
to ask him about was how the recovery was progressing. He replies that this is these are the hardest
times for some who lost everything. A sense of normalcy is finally returning to many of their lives. The
luxury of extra time which normalcy affords leads to thoughts of home, family and friends before thedisaster. This leads to depression in many cases. And so, it has become his personal mission topermanently connect the members of our volunteer organization and the survivors of Ishinomaki.
Until now, I largely focused on the physical labor allotted to me, but now I know what my realtask is: I need to listen to these people’s stories closely and become a part of their live- even if its a verysmall part.

It’s too dark for me to write any more.

August 8thDawn
I didn’t sleep well last night. The man next to me- I haven’t been able to learn or remember hisname- spent most of the night tossing and turning. At one point, he flung his arm across me in his sleep,slapping me in the face. He is still asleep now, half inside of my bed. I decided to get up.
Outside, it is unexpectedly cold and overcast. It’s nothing like the beautiful weather we had for
our first two days. Today, they are calling for thunder and lightning. During my previous volunteer trips,
rain meant cancellations. I hope that is not the case this year, especially now that I understand themotives behind this stage of our work.

NightToday, I went to the same fisherman’s home that I visited yesterday. This time, I was careful tospend time with them and pay close attention to their story of how they escaped the tsunami. Of the 150
homes that were originally in their village, only one was spared. All of the others were completely
washed away. When they first escaped into the mountains, they were terrified that they may be the only
survivors. Thankfully, some other families also made their escape by other mountain trails.
The fisherman’s wife also told the tragic story of how her elderly mother-in-law lost her life in
the tsunami. The couple had taken her to the local evacuation center; A large elementary school on a hill
overlooking the ocean. Thinking to return home and prevent whatever minor flooding there might be,they were instead forced to run for their lives. They walked several hours through the mountain paths,
only to discover something horrible: The evacuation center lay on ground that was too low and wascompletely destroyed by the wave. Several weeks later, on their mother’s birthday, her body was found.
Even this the couple considered a blessing, because the woman’s face was relatively unmarred andeasily identified. It was a difficult story to listen to. Those there who were present and could understandJapanese were moved to tears.
After work today, I crawled half-way up the mountain which the fisherman had used to escape. I
stopped when I reached the concrete foundation of what was a tsunami warning siren. All that was left
were some steel posts, cut off at the base by emergency workers. Even at this point, I was still standing
10 meters below the line of dead trees which indicated where the tsunami stopped. Inside the thesenaked one could still see fishing lines, strings of buoys and nets tangled on branches 30 meters from theground. Such an irresistible terror, a sheer alteration to geography and water, is difficult to fathom evenwhen witnessing the aftermath. I don’t know if I can ever understand how frightening the tsunami musthave been.

August 9thMorning
There was another small earthquake last night. We’ve been having a few this trip. I don’t know if
this is normal for this area to have almost daily quakes, or if this is a continuation of the 2011
earthquake. If the latter, I wonder just how long this will go on.
Today I feel raw and unrested. Yesterday’s rain was not bad enough to cease work, but it wasenough to give me a sore throat. Also, we have several very loud snorers in our group. They give theearthquakes a run for their money. I’ll buy earplugs tonight.

Evening
Today, I finally had an opportunity to do something labor intensive: Gutter cleaning. For most ofour trip, we have been in a cool, shady spot- sometimes indoors- repairing fishing equipment. To gooutside, to work under the hot sun, to sweat and get sunburned, to get blisters and skin my knuckles on
my tools; These are things I desperately wanted to do by our fourth and last day. Despite knowing thatmy real task here is not to dig gutters or fix nets, but to be here and listen to these survivors’ stories, Ifeel an incredibly strong compulsion to physically exert myself, as if that could somehow ease thesuffering of those around me. I know that is impossible, but it is a physical desire that I can’t deny.

NightToday was the last day of volunteer work. We celebrated by having dinner at a small restaurant
near our lodging. The exertion and heat of the day made everything taste wonderful. Today was alsosignificant because it was the Australian Benefactor’s 27th anniversary. Instead of spending it together,
they decided to come to Ishinomaki and volunteer. In our volunteer group, men and women must sleep
separately. And so, they will spend their anniversary evening apart. The dedication that they have shown
to Ishinomaki is inspiring, and I am glad to have met them. This is the Benefactor’s fifth trip toIshinomaki, and he says that he will come again in November. When he does, he wants me to comeagain as his translator. I hope that I am able to come with him.
After coming home from the restaurant, the Japanese volunteers surprised the anniversary couplewith a cake.

August 10thNight
Yesterday was supposed to be my last day of work. That wasn’t what happened. Early thismorning, I told that I could volunteer to work at the “temporary survivor housing” on my appointed restday. I jumped at the chance, and that was how I spent my last day in Ishinomaki: Visiting people in theirhomes, cleaning for them, playing with their children, removing hornet nests from their roofs and- ofcourse- listening to their stories.
Today I had one of my most emotional experiences since I began volunteer work. As my partnerand I made our rounds through the housing unit, we came to the home of Mr. and Mrs. Y. Until now, ourvolunteer organization had no luck contacting them or getting them to answer the doorbell. Today Mrs.
Y came to the door. She has suffered epilepsy and memory loss for the past ten years. She was only
thirty-one when the symptoms began, but it cost her her job and her driver’s license. When we firstarrived, Mrs. Y had great difficulty in understanding who we were and why we were at her home. When
we spoke, it sometimes took her minutes to respond because of the incapacitating medication hercondition necessitates. But, at length, she found herself and began to tell us her story of her life
following the disaster.
Her disability prevented her from escaping the tsunami, and the industrial chemicals in the water
had harmed her when she swallowed some. Now, her husband works every day to rebuild their lives, but
she is completely unable to go outdoors. Even in her condition, she said that she wanted to work using
the nursing license which she earned earlier in her life. Her neighbors, however, have been less thanunderstanding of her condition. Due to the close proximity of the temporary housing units, they havenoticed that someone is always home at the Y household. This has lead to misinformed rumors of Mrs. Y
being a layabout, despite her obvious medical condition. The temporary housing community is very
close knit, and even in her current state Mrs. Y is aware of and upset by these rumors.
Hearing this was too much to bear for me. When saying farewell, I grasped her hand and told herthat I would write to her upon returning home. I don’t want her to feel that she is alone in her struggle.
Tomorrow morning, at dawn, a bus will come for us. I will go back to Tokyo, and from theretake another long bus home. But I will return, I promise myself, and when I do I will visit Mrs. Y again.

Afternoon
Our bus ended up arriving five hours late, so we didn’t leave Ishinomaki until noon. The newvolunteers go off the bus looking very exhausted from their long journey. Without exchanging many
greetings, we got on in their places and left. It was strange, but we are all part of the same effort and firsttime meetings are always awkward.
Now we’re stuck in traffic an hour outside of Tokyo. It’s the Obon Festival season, and everyone
is rushing home to pray for their relatives and ancestors. It’s raining, and the greens of the fields andpastures are dulled- if only slightly- by the overcast skies.
Coming back to Tokyo, one is struck by how different the small details of country life are. The
bath houses in Ishinomaki left their doors and curtains wide open. Here, they’re shut to preventvoyeurism. People in the countryside said “good morning” without fail. Here in Tokyo, commuters
intentionally avoid one another’s gaze. Despite being foreign, no one pays me any mind. This is theanonymity of the city, and it is a lonely feeling.
Here and now, I want to go back to Ishinomaki, or Kyoto, or Wakayama, or Shiga, or any of theother Japanese countrysides that I have known. They all feel like home to me. The people there make me
feel so. I want to see them badly, and Ishinomaki has made me homesick for all of the mother figuresand father figures and siblings and friends and lovers and that grandfathers and grandmothers that havepassed away. Every time I return to them, my Japanese family grows, and the resulting desire to returnto them when I leave grows likewise. They took in a family-less child like me, ignorant and full of anger
at the hand I was dealt, and they taught me what I couldn’t teach myself: Appreciate the life you aregiven. And that is why I will go to Ishinomaki again.
It’s night time now, but Tokyo is a still a tumult of life. My bus will come soon. It’s time to gohome.