“I am only one, but still I am one. I cannot do everything, but still I can do something. And because I cannot do everything I will not refuse to do the something that I can do.” ~ Helen Keller
Going back. Following-up. Making connections. Re-connecting. Speaking to the heart. Doing something, as small as it may seem. Letting voices sing. Finding a way. There are so many experiences to share, so many stories with a Tohoku compass. In this week of ‘golden days’ as so many people help, assist in relief efforts, move forward and work so hard to help others, we remember a few and hold on to small actions = big differences. Always.
In recent media interviews we’ve been often asked… “We see in your photos so many people smiling…why is that?” Honestly…we don’t know. It’s so complex. The circumstances so extreme. But behind the smiles, there is tremendous sadness, grief, and anguish, naturally. Yet as we’ve been told often, we’ve all cried so much, sometimes smiling is easier. Smiles say thanks. Thanks for taking the time, thanks for seeing my situation, thanks trying to understand. Thanks for being here, holding my hand, helping. Or maybe a smile is polite refusal, a steadfast resolve to carry on. I’m ok, I’ll be fine. Thanks for asking. I’ll be on my way now. People smile maybe because it is an expected reaction to a camera. Perhaps they smile because they see our smile first – as clichéd as that is. It’s recognizable, saturated in kindness. Infectious and real. So, yes there will be smiles featured in our work, a positive affirmation in the massive ground zero of loss.
We simply had to re-visit one of the most beautiful smiles we know – Chiyo. If you missed our encounter please get acquainted here. In all that has happened since our first meeting, in the shambles and apocalypse that is north-eastern Japan, above all the agony and pain, Chiyo’s smile and strength of heart and hope continues to inspire. So on our recent visit back to Ishinomaki she was at the top of our list for a drop-in.
She was surprised, truly surprised to see us. In disbelief that we remembered her. And she remembered us. Which in the fugue state we encountered that first week was something. She beamed… “Tracey! Dee!” And we told her we were back to see her, this time with our translator. We had some promised supplies – the underwear… and new friends for her to meet. She was more than grateful for everything and worried that it was too much to take from an international group. We assured her that it was fine, and ok and if she needed anything else we would do our best to help. In the weeks since our last visit, much debris in and around her home has been removed via volunteers working house by house. She was so grateful. So we saw some noticeable differences, improvements. Pockets of hope. Her front yard had been cleared. The house next door now free of all that rubble and the infamous blue shed. Her first floor area still practically unlivable though.
Chiyo has almost everything that she needs, except of course her life pre March 11th. Sometimes she travels more than an hour to visit the shops and collectively buys needed goods for her neighbors. The neighbors buy them from her. No one taking more than they feel comfortable with. We were surprised by this… perhaps you could get what you need for free, or from the shelters? No, it is better for us to buy what we can so as not to take from those in more need. I saw a few ¥1000 notes on her entryway shelf, salvaged from the tsunami and oh-so mud-stained. Barely visible was the face of Hideyo Noguchi, the prominent Japanese bacteriologist who features and his equally famous coif. The sight of those crumpled up, rescued notes spoke volumes, miserable and hopeful in one gesture.
Chiyo delighted us by committing to memory Trace, Dee, Corry and Jane. Several times. It became a mantra. She smiled bigger each time she got it right. We talked for a while, …“please give our best wishes to Kiku”. Today we did not have a chance to meet grandmother. We didn’t question this, it was clear she was not up for visitors; we gave her some small treats. We were thinking of her. Please remember us to her. We will come back and visit another time. Was there anything needed? And while Chiyo talked with an acquaintance who had arrived to check on the whereabouts and situation of family members we met her very sweet neighbor. I think it was Nagawazaka-san, but I may be mistaken…It was a very speedy introduction. She was so happy and shocked to meet us and couldn’t seem to let go of our hands. She talked for a long time and told us that her only need was water. Could we help? In the weeks following the tsunami, water arrived but supplies were now not as plentiful. This was actually the main concern we heard from survivors throughout the region. It was too heavy for her to carry and collect each day. Smaller bottles were much easier for her to manage and she was worried about her health. She needed small bottles to sip from. We promised to deliver some very soon.
There were hugs and conversations. And didn’t we smell nice? Well, that was Corry’s coconut infused hand sanitizer. Would you like it? No, no. It was quickly retrieved from the car and given. Really? We cannot take it? No, please do and use it and think of us. It was slapped on those beautiful, tired hands so fast.
We left with Chiyo’s smiles, in stark contrast to her surroundings. We will come back and check on you again. She happily posed in front of her home one more time. Still standing, and proud and facing a still uncertain tomorrow.
Upon leaving we met another elderly lady and inquired about her welfare. It was soon clear she was not able to communicate, still in such deep shock, so her daughter quickly came to her aid and we spoke at length and rapidly. She said generally there are supplies but water is a huge issue. There is nothing they need so much. “But please, why don’t you go to the shelter up the road?” “There are so many young mothers, now single parents and elderly people. They are suffering tremendously with PTSD and terrible flashbacks. You would certainly be able to help them, listen to them and provide some comfort. They need so much help. We are fine, thank you so much for asking. Please help those in shock.” And off she sadly went, still bowing as she got in the car and drove off.
While small changes are clear, the grander scale is as staggering as ever and a quick trip back to Manga Island solidified that. Around the museum volunteers are hard at work. Outside there are endless tidbits of the joy the museum once gave. Pens, toys, stuff from the souvenir shops worthless, broken, beyond salvageable and repair. Past the museum there is no real change at all. As brutal as it ever was. The 9m controversial Ishinomaki Statue of Liberty erected just last year in the hopes of becoming a tourist attraction, still standing. Now an unlikely icon for perseverance and freedom. Broken but not busted. She stands overlooking a home with no walls, with curtains unbelievably still intact, dry, swaying in the breeze. Like an horrific doll-house you take the roof off and peer into. Details and moments strewn around. The nearby parking lot once servicing the tourists now home to roofs. It never gets any more shocking or less perverse. As I photographed and documented I met a local man. We both nodded, understanding, and got back to our tasks.
We had promised some towels to the folks at the temporary bathhouse where we had met Chie before. We went back to deliver them as it would be bath time soon. We parked somewhere in Chuo, quickly checking with the owner if it would be alright. Sure.
This was how we met sweet Hina and her family. Crying at first, she soon warmed up. Her family had lost their home, but their Japanese restaurant had survived, the tsunami taking hold of the first floor, leaving the 2nd intact. They were living upstairs with very little, cleaning out below as best they could, starting to rebuild their young life. Corry and Jane had oodles of supplies. Would they like any? A simple new toothbrush, some new toys and stuff for little ones. There were so many smiles and thanks and a gentle visit with their loved puppy. So soft and clean among the destruction. There were giggles and air kisses from Hina as we said goodbye and went off to deliver the towels which were gratefully received.
From here we followed the PB team on a takidashi to an area we hadn’t been before. And it was so sad and heavy, even these photos do not tell the story. It seemed to be quite an affluent suburb. Solid, lovely homes, newish. The community now in tatters. Lining up for food, while well-received, was simply something these people will never be accustomed too. They are grateful but wonder how long will it continue? Will you be here tomorrow? What about after that? Shouldn’t the government be doing this? In these images, due to this overwhelming sense of sadness, we focused more on the details. Privacy and respect trumping the photo-op. We hope you understand.
A little boy bounded up to the home that oversees the coordination and receives supplies while we were there. “Do you have any gumboots in my size?” “ Let’s check”…said the elder…”No, we are so sorry, not today, none were dropped off”. “Oh”, said the boy, probably about 11. “Yes, everyone seems to want gumboots.” “ Will you have any tomorrow?” “It’s unclear”, was the response. The little boy was crushed. All he wanted was some rubber boots to protect his feet. But he understood. He wasn’t upset, he just understood. That was all and he left. “I’ll come back and check again tomorrow” he called over his shoulder.
For us it was a very somber, sobering experience. Smiles notwithstanding. Sometimes they say more than what can ever be said. We simply got the job done here, documented the volunteers, thanked the locals, and watched them head home through their destoryed neighbourhood. Trying very hard not to make any promises that we couldn’t keep. Trust will come… as long as the support is ongoing.
Heading back into town for our own break, with flavored chapstick our newest best friend. From here we went back to the Minato Elementary school, to re-visit with friends, check in on the relief efforts and be of some help.
There is much change here. It is a hub of activity. The cars are still parked obscenely in the pool, but just to the left is now a huge portable bath just days away from opening (should be open now). Heated by an ingenius wood fire with fuel from the piles of stuff nearby. It will service the more than 200 evacuees still living in the shelter and those living nearby. With both a bath for women and men. It’s name translates roughly to something like “hot water hope“, I think… We have so much to share from here, but will post this all soon.
We happily met Megumi-san again who has set up the Minato Café in the gym of the school. A space people can come with chair to simply sit and share a drink, a moment.
We met with the PB team actually staying on site, living with the people and community. They are doing wonderful work, coordinating supplies, making sure a system is in place, fulfilling and anticipating needs as well as thinking about the future. Lists and unkets (surveys) are maintained. In a notebook an idea for a compost system is devised, and sketches to explain the stability of the school building are roughly drawn to explain to evacuees that the cracks in the walls should be ok, unofficially of course. Plans of actions and notes are white-boarded. Work gets done.
We often asked the volunteers why are you here? What made you volunteer? Inevitably every answer was different. Ranging from simply feeling the need to have to do something, to it being completely unexplainable…”I’m not sure why I’m here. I just knew I had to help”…that kind of thing…to others with a personal connection to Tohoku, like one of the team now staying at the shelter at the school, who once studied town planning in Ishinomaki. Somehow prophetic that he should find his way here again with much more than a town to plan.
With so much work done and mountains and oceans worth still remaining, it often seems insurmountable. Impossible. And that’s where hope is potent, a miracle needed on many levels. Whether it is in a smile or in pictures, drawings, notes and musings now decorating once flooded halls and walls. Handed to survivors, taped to any surface, shared.
Hope whispers. Perhaps not yet of a tidal force but it is getting there. The poignancy of all these messages, some created by those so young certainly not lost on any of us. Because sometimes all we can do, the very only thing is hope, love, look up, see a ufo, hop and my favorite of all… simply just SMILI…
More about The Great Tohoku Earthquake & Tsunami 2011 Japan:
Read The Black Mouth here…
Read Dead Zone Ganbaro & The Fruit Shop Story here…
Read Sweet Philosophy, that Ishihara and The Bath House Story here…
Read Graveyard Views & Grateful Thanks here…
Read Sequels, Smili’s & The Gumboot Story here…
Read Children of the Tsunami, Lady Gaga and the One about the Clock here…
Read Dark, Heavy & the one about the Drum here…
Read Strangled Blossoms, Trespassing & the One about Sinking towns here…
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5 comments
Thank you for this timely reminder.
Thank you for your time spent there. Your mega-watt smiles must have lit up the area.
Miss you and wish I was there with you xxx
Thank you so much for updating us. Each doing what little they can will change things. In the meantime, doing something makes it more bearable.
As usual, this is terrific… there are so many things to recommend this post and the others like it, but the thing that really comes across to me is how both the words and the pictures convey an emotional atmosphere; in a way that a news report never could, we get the *feeling* of what it’s like to be there… Chiyo’s indefatigability, they boy’s disappointment but hopefulness over the boots, the crumpled thousand-yen bill… thank you so much for what you do.
We can change a definition of tsunami! Hand to hand! Sun also rises again!