37 Frames : Great Tohoku Earthquake & Tsunami 2011 Japan… Strangled blossoms, Trespassing & The One about Sinking Towns…

Ha-ha-no-hi. What a lovely few syllables in Japanese. It was Mother’s day when we started this post. Finishing a week of holidays here in Japan, which we worked through mostly, keeping us occupied and driven. We spent Sunday taking a little break to remember our long suffering mums, phone home and catch up with beautiful friends just back from Tohoku. Today’s post will conclude our latest photo + documenting work. We are planning to head back north in the coming weeks. Continuing to create awareness as best as we can. We want to truly thank everyone for sharing our modest work, the cathartic purges, unedited, raw and all. For your love, support, random emails from around the world. Thank you truly. To our families for putting up with us. Our friends, new and old for understanding always. We look forward with Ganbepe! (Ishinomaki-ben…) Back with sorrow and much sadness. Facing now with resolve, heart, resilience and a constant clear uncertainty…making sense always… Sharing just a few of the remaining memories and moments, as we left Ishinomaki, buoyed by hope, anchored in reality, going home via the traumatic road to Onagawa.

Kei found us one of the few, scarce Ganbepe stickers. We slapped it on the car and got ready for the day. A quick trip to the supply shed to see if there were any toys, games, art supplies we could deliver on the way home. There were so many just sitting there and they were happily given to add to what was still remaining in the boot/trunk. The donation shed continues to be in a hub of activity. People always in and out, goods being delivered, dropped-off, trucks filled, emptied, re-filled again and the main map studied, courses plotted. And endless of cycle of motion and action.

Keeping us energized for all that action was Jane’s very impressive buffet on wheels. She would put on this little spread for us each day…putting to shame our instant coffee and maple bikkies. We love and miss you – brekky from the back seat. Please come and find us in Kawasaki, anytime. At breakfast we always had a giggle over the nocturnal activities of our tent neighbors; the plethora of odd noises, the routines. There was such a variety of human behavior on display. A spot of morning Yoga on your head was discussed and appreciated at length, all in agreement that was a move we could never pull off, even after a few ¥500 bottles of Beaujolais de Seven-Eleven. How quickly we adapt. In my neighborhood we hear the school bells, then the pretty, welcome tunes of the local garbage truck collecting for the day. In Ishinomaki helicopters and military flights fill the air.

We make new friends envying Jane’s spread…and we happily while a way time swapping stories and experiences.

It is Saturday, volunteer swap over day. And it was indeed a moving sight to see all those pink buses arrive with the next intake. What a difference from those first weeks. From 3 to 13 to 180, then to 250 with 500+ on the way. The changeover begins, experiences and feedback reported and exchanged, time for a little decompression before either the journey home or the week ahead. While all this is going on we finalise our plans for the day, deciding on what shelters to visit, where we can drop off supplies. There was a lot of finger pointing and just that one very dodgy photo of us all together. But we’ll own it…for now.

The Pink Peace Boat Volunteer Buses…

Changeover begins…

Planning for the day…

And so we head off, tents down, our little space already taken by the next occupant. The cars are loaded, we are on our way. We didn’t make it far. We had all been incredulous of the massive disposal area which had materialized in front us of, just to the right of the University grounds. 2 weeks earlier there was nothing there, just a field. Now it was the final resting palace for the tsunami’s many inanimate victims. Every imaginable element from life’s canvas was now neatly stacked in rows, arranged according to type, waiting for dust to dust. Tatami mats, cars, wood, electronics, metal stuff, remnants, remains. It’s structure and system saying as much about Japan as anything I have every seen. For a slightly better vantage point I climbed on top of the car to shoot.

We finally left the right side of the tracks. Where life appears for the most part normal. We crossed the now well-trodden bridges, before heading back into town. We had a quick couple of stops to make before leaving. And that’s when we saw the Koi Nobori…the lyrical carp flags which had been touchingly hoisted to fly high above the much-loved Manga museum. Not a more fitting symbol at this time of strength, endurance, perseverance. Has struggling to swim upstream ever been so relevant? With Children’s Day around the corner (at that time) it is a traditional decoration to have the carp flying. Nowhere was it more poignant than here. Perhaps not anywhere near resembling a celebration this year or in the years coming. But certainly a commemoration of all that is real. If nothing else a chance to quite literally, look up. Even for a bit.

Of course under the flags the landscape remained pretty much the same. The volunteers still working little by little on the museum side of the river, no one yet venturing to the other side. It was as it was on our very first visit.

With flags flying in our hearts we quickly dropped into Chiyo to wish her well. We will be back. We talked at length about her family so worried about her in Tokyo. I mentioned to please have them call us anytime. And again if there is anything you need… She just smiled and repeated again her preferred phrase… Dee, Tracey, Corry & Jane. And of course with a big smile she waved us off again, almost always rooted in the same spot, to the left of the broken front window, in her loved yard.

As we drove off we saw this image which speaks so much to the heart of place… A little girl no more than five, with life in ruins around her, doing her very best to sweep the footpath. Her own little task, impossibly monumental, but significant all the same.

We then took the road to Onagawa, following the previous day’s route via Ogatsu. It was just as dark, just as heavy and today the rain came. After leaving Ogatsu we followed what was once the beautiful scenic coastal drive. Now simply miles and miles of utter destruction. In places just inlets of tragedy, in others plains of catastrophe.

We simply had to pull over here. It was suddenly too much. This early cherry blossom strangled into bloom by fishnets and other flotsam. It was unbearable.

We then came upon a road that wasn’t there. Just dirt now. We looked to the left and it had been washed several meters away, attaching itself in every available preposition to a little hatchback. It wasn’t by any stretch the worst or most horrific site we had seen, but at that point, at that time on the road to Onagawa it was enough for all of us. Tears came freely, the choking of those pale pink blossoms the impetus for release.

Upon entering Onagawa, the senses were assaulted yet again. Boats on roofs, cars on top of cars on top of cars on top of multistory buildings. Mostly there was nothing left of the once pretty little town, known for its beaches with “squeaking sand”.

It stands at the base of an inlet, with mountains on both sides, at the intersection of two major ocean currents. Just the perfect tidal storm. The tsunami funnelled it’s way furiously, tearing up the fjord-like environment, rearing itself 20 meters in height, in some places. The base of the town hospital, on the hill, is 15 meters. It’s skid mark on the hospital pillars is a good few meters above that.

While surveying from the ground we found that few structures remain, when there was something it was an empty shell, with shredded linings flapping in the breeze. Here the army didn’t even sugar coat it. At times, in different locations they would block our entry, with a polite “this road is closed right now…” Here in Onagawa they simply said, “You cannot come here, we have found another body…”

In the streets we met only the army, a few news teams and officials. Something here was off. Something strange. At first I couldn’t put my finger on it. What was different about Onagawa? Why did everything seem odd, worse, dire somehow? And that’s when we realized. There was another element at play here. This was a sodden scape. Nature had repositioned nature.  Many of the streets, especially near the port area remain under water. The tsunami still here, the waters refusing to recede 5 weeks on…or so we thought.

While taking it in from the vantage point at the hospital I met a group of retired seismologists from Tokyo. Well into their late 70s, early 80s they had a lot to say, earnestly… on what had happened, was happening and in their opinion what would happen. Due to the earthquake and the subsequent pressure release the earth had sunk a meter in Onagawa. This was tweeted in the days following March 11th…

The Oshika-hantō (peninsula), also pronounced “Ojika” moved 5.2 meters east and sunk 1.2 meters. The force of the quake shifted the earth’s axis by 6.5 inches and shortened the earth’s day by 1 millionth of second.

Yes, Onagawa had sunk more than a meter below sea level..

We spent some time at the hospital. The depth of the trauma was so extreme here. It was an insular process, shock driven, not open to communicating on the levels of other areas we had been. Coupled with it being a medical facility and of course, the concerns were different. Some spoke briefly and met our eyes, others were somewhere else lost in waves and darkness. It was so sensitive we thought it better not to barrel in. So we quietly left many new supplies, toys, games at the front door after checking with the very helpful staff who encouraged us to do so. There were not so many donations here. We offered the brand new goods to those passing by, they said no thanks… we understood. But we left the bags and boxes by the door and went back to the cars. It was from here, discreetly hidden from view, we saw many of those same people returning in private to go through the bags. Taking many new things, to homes now swept away or temporary homes upstairs in the shelter. We realized then and there that heart care could be extended in so many ways. Just as powerfully – silently, in pretty bulging bags, left at doors as well as through structured play, inspired by the tinkling laughter and smiles of children as well as through quiet conversation and time spent reaching out. There are just so many levels to all this.

An image that will forever haunt, is this one. It was hard to catch her exact sentiment, but the gist is clear. This young mother comes here every day. To this point. To look. Because, as she said “I just don’t understand. I see it but I don’t understand.”

We left, heavy hearted and changed forever. A landscape beyond comprehension. Leaving, the road winds up then down, up and down and again we find ourselves following the tide. Water spills over the train line, the land so clearly, evidently sunk even here.

I stopped to take this photo of a sunken shrine in the distance. In my haste to get the shot I had no idea that I was trespassing through someone’s yard. No one seemed to be around.  So I just took off to the back to get a better look. That’s when I met Takeda-san. She was a glorious oba-chan who was equally as surprised and titillated to find my lumbering blond hulk mucking about in her vege garden. “Hello, this is my house”, she said at the top of her lungs, suddenly appearing on the scene. I replied bowing and gesticulating ridiculously…”Oh!!!! I’m so sorry!!! I’m here documenting and volunteering….blah, blah, blah… saw the shrine in the distance and just had to take a look and take a photo…. I am soooo sorry!”

“Don’t mind… I’m here”, she said. She seemed so pleased for the distraction and the novelty and for some ears, that she just launched into her story. Before I had even asked. While I was still firmly, profusely apologizing and rabbiting on about her lovely, intact home…. Here’s the gist of her commentary:

Yes, she was here through the earthquake and tsunami, she lives on her own you see. Yes, she is a very strong, independent old lady. Her home backs on to the water, some way from the coast, the tide came up about half a meter. She was so scared.  Together with her neighbor they clung on to each other as the water swirled around them. It was so scary. All this was said concurrently at rapid speed. “But I am ok!” “I live here on my own.” “Do you want to come in?” “I have food and I cook everything myself”. “Come and look at my garden”.  We looked and admired at length.

“Do you need anything?”, I ventured. “No!!! I live here by myself, I have everything. I’m fine.” “Thanks so much for stopping by!” “Do you want to come in?”

I’d love to, I replied, but my friend Trace is waiting down the street for me. You see, I was just stopping to take photos of the beautiful view from your garden. You have a lovely home.

“Yes, I live here on my own.” She said something about her children being in Okinawa but it was a bit too fast to catch. I asked her could I take her photo. She almost had a heart attack. Lots of widely flailing hands. I am quite sure if we had one together she would have been totally up for it.

She welcomed me back to trespass anytime. With my friends. I said it would be a pleasure. And we will be sure to check in on my new favorite oba-chan the next time we’re in the area.

I turned around to wave to her again from the distance, but she had already shot off. Silently returning inside just as fast as she originally appeared. Back into her beloved muddied home. Where she lives on her own, you know.

The road eventually makes it’s way back to Ishinomaki. And it is here that the mind plays dreadful tricks. Layers of horror start to filter and process and find their own way to compartmentalize. You look around. Take it all in. And start to think… well things don’t seem so bad here now after Ogatsu and Onagawa. These were the kinds of thoughts seeping through. We caught ourselves. Seriously. And stopped. Differentiation can take a back seat for a bit.  How soon we assimilate, absorb, appeal to a sense of order. Please kick in, show us the way. Make sense of it all. We simply cannot. So instead we just let some dreadful irony take over. Unfortunate signage and tidal coupling. Parking metaphors for life.

And finally some words we would normally, on any other given day, giggle about, roll our eyes at the lunacy of the phrasing. Today we didn’t. “We always try to contribute your healthy and beautiful life.” Today we got it. There was no sense to be made. At all. It was a perfectly imperfect sentiment on every level.

In an effort to leave Tohoku with some closure, a futile attempt all things considering, we dropped into the school for one last time. Actually to drop off a couple of requested items, some hairdressing goods and remaining supplies. Here we caught up with other NPO’s & NGO’s. We heard with much emotion and heart that from the next day, one group would set-up a permanent area dedicated to supporting the children and care-givers of the area, with games, play, activities, a TV and other programs right there in the gym. They welcomed us all back to help, join in anytime as they continue their much needed, vital work. Thank you, truly. Thank you truly to all the volunteers. Young and old. Japanese and interntional. Peace Boat especially – the passion and drive to help. So inspiring on so many levels.

So a visit peppered with pockets of change, flutters of progress, simply unforgettable characters. The aftermath has started, the recovery barely underway, the scale as big and as shocking and as obviously unwanted as it ever was. Help so needed for such a long time. In reading, sharing and reflecting there is a voice. This is still awareness and much work to be done. We will do all that we can, then a little bit more. That’s all.

Hope with a little “lessness”. Almost 2 months on, life hurtles forward. While the moments and the time in between, lingers and remains long.

“There will come a time when you believe everything is finished. Yet that will be the beginning.” Louis L’Amour

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…