37 Frames : Great Tohoku Earthquake & Tsunami 2011 Japan… Dark, Heavy & The One about the Drum…

“Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.” ~ Edgar Allan Poe

We debated at length whether to go ahead with the remaining two posts of our recent visit to Tohoku. We wanted to finish on a positive note, to reflect the hope and pockets of change we met, the positive moments and smiles lovingly extended. Be uplifted. So perhaps we should have just closed the door after leaving the elementary school and come home. Left with the Minato Boys and Lady Gaga farewelling us. Make it a feel-good point of departure. With the children in our hearts, helplessness dialled a little dimmer, moving forward. But that is simply not the case. This is not the end game right now in Tohoku, as much as we can all wish for it. This post is not meant to provoke, it is simply just an extension of how things really are, or were when we passed through. The reality remains extreme and as such there is no way to neatly tie it all up, in a way we can be satisfied with, to find a center, some way we can justify to get on with our lives and carry on. In an effort to compartmentalise, there is simply not enough storage space for this assault on reality. Just a little over an hour from Ishinomaki we visited Ogatsu. Here, time had stopped, life vanished. The tsunami simply tore up the valley in an horrific black whirl pool, with nowhere to go. Round and round, on torrid rinse cycle.  In this little village of 4000, known for it’s famous ink-stones and scallop festival, the news remains inconclusive on how many are dead or missing, the town itself obliterated. This is Ogatsu.

The visit to Ogatsu, came about as we were asked to document one of the Peace Boat teams on a relatively new “takidashi” drop-off. Volunteers on days off would often go looking for hidden shelters and those in need and had come across this area. Hidden high in the hills, a world away from the shoreline and dead-zone below.  “Dark and heavy” – how it was explained to us. We were all briefed to be very sensitive, quiet and not to be intrusive. Of course there is no other way. The people staying there we were told were mostly government workers. They were working hard each day at their jobs. Many of them were so overworked and exhausted that they still had not been able to return to their homes and begin the search for their own loved ones and family. The idea to provide them with a hot meal at the end of their days was the very least that could be extended. When they arrived, it was indeed just so sad. A completely different feeling from every other place we had visited. The road to Ogatsu was beyond temporary, just a few weeks before completely washed away. Following the Kitakami River, the road is now slabs of steel fashioned together with whatever mud below remains. Bulldozers and road works continue around the clock now. We were told the road was going to be “bumpy”…well, that was the case, when there was a road. I now fully understand why it was so difficult for survivors to be rescued. There was simply no way to get to them. Eventually the road runs out, and we make the right turn into Ogatsu, over the pass, down into the little town. And it is gone. In the late afternoon sunlight this is what we found. So many weeks on.

We left the team as they set-up the “takidashi” to document the town as dusk approached. Roads cleared, the only progress so far.

On this day we pretty much had the roads to ourselves. Only passing one or two other cars, barely seeing anyone, not meeting anyone in the town proper.

The force of the water so strong that concrete homes were uprooted, uplifted and deposited. We found this one on it’s side. A peek in the door to see the bathroom exposed. The shower and bathroom a new kind of vertical.

The view from the hill, leading away from town, up into the mountains where survivors stay. We find blankets wrapped around what were trees. At least 20 meters up.

Incredible that the floorboards remain. The home simply gone.

The Tsunami trees of Ogatsu. Simply epic that they remain upright, and clear the force of what they endured to do so.

Details of daily life dangle and astound the senses. Here a vacuum cleaner remains in tact, hanging by it’s cord, crudely from a second storey window. The home, half in tact, is elevated slightly from the town, at the base of the hill. Not high enough though to escape the tidal path.

Tiny details, delicate fragments. Random was never, ever so random.

By the time we discovered this photo album laying on a bare concrete foundation we were broken. It had suffered minimal damage with the treasured wedding photos in tact. Handmade. Bound by love. Milestones and moments surviving the blackness, the terrific amounts of water and earthquakes.

Where are you now? Who do you belong to? What is your story?

Finding that red album was everything and nothing. An impetus to move forward and at least for us something we can tangibly do, beyond documenting this way through words + images.

Moving forward, one of the projects we are working on is photo restoration. We have a team in place, with volunteers in Tokyo ready to move on this as we coordinate with local shelters to collect photos and set-up a system to do this kind of work long term through Photographer’s Unite for Japan. We often saw at shelters people, particularly army guys, rescue workers handing in photographs and mementos. Taking time out from the search for bodies to collect special items and remember and respect the life before. More on these restoring efforts to follow and for anyone who would love to be involved please do not hesitate to contact us. There will be much need here for such a long time.

With the photo album doing us in we returned back to the shelter, high in the mountains, following a windy one lane road. It was cold, getting dark and just past 6 o’clock. The feeling from the volunteers though was entirely warm and inviting. On today’s menu was Oden and fruit salad.

The team bought everything with them, the large pots, all the food, a mobile meals on wheels. Looking around the shelter there were certainly supplies. But cup after cup after cup after cup of cup noodles can probably get to be too much. While we waited for the workers to arrive an earthquake – heard way before it hit us – had us move out from under the shed. It was one of those “bang” earthquakes. And then just as soon as it happened it was over.

The workers came and they gratefully, introspectively, quietly took their meals, not paying much attention to us. About 40 in total. Mostly men, just a few women. Focused on the next task at hand – some kind of nourishment. Twilight soon gave way to night and a fire was created in an old drum by one of the workers, a tall, late 40ish very charismatic looking man. We went to warm our hands. Did he mind? No, please come and share some warmth. We talked about that and the weather to start. Small talk paving the way for some communication. Soon enough others came to join in. A little circle trying to kindle some warmth in the coldness surrounding all of us. It was unlike any other experience we have had and even trying to explain it here I will certainly botch it up. There was absolutely no way to talk about what any of them had been through. It was simply all around us. In their gestures, in their clothes, in their hands and sad, sad eyes and attempts to smile. They had seen so much and endured more than any of us can imagine. So rather than that we just talked about everything and nothing. It was subtle chit chat not quite forced but desperately a lifeline of sorts. Australia, Japan, Tohoku-ben featured. So much being said, while it remained unsaid. The little 70ish man next to me, so gentle and kind, thoroughly Japanese unable to meet my gaze but doing his best to be distracted by our banter. He so reminded me of my Dad, my heart just breaks. I could only imagine that he was now alone, his wife and family gone. I could only imagine, but I am almost certain that was his case. When we skirted around this he indicated that his situation was the same as so many others. It was vague. In that one answer I understood. If he talked about it, it would elevate his problems. There was no need to draw attention, his fellow workers were suffering similarly.

I decided to ask them what kind of work they were doing, in a very general kind of way. They said they were taking photos. We had something in common. We all smiled and we asked if they needed any help, we would be more than happy to assist. They said that would be wonderful, but if we help then they have no job to do. They laughed at this, as sad as it all was. We all understood what that meant. They said their job was to take photos of everything, record it all, for what purposes remained unstated. For whatever reason it was certainly too much to have to do day after day, sifting through lives and trying to record it for governmental reasons. This small group was from Sendai and working in the area for 3 days or so, then moving on, perhaps. It was all unclear.

When the last worker had been served and seconds were either refused or accepted it was time for us to go. It was very reluctantly for all of us. But the act of moving on was just as needed as the circle of warmth and distraction around the drum. I will never, ever forget that twilight, high in the hills, stars out, safe but vulnerable trying to provide some comfort high above the velodrome of emptiness and chaos below. Trying to make some sense of it all. Failing miserably and pathetically.

We drove back to camp. High-powered lights from the nearby road works eerily illuminated the tsunami houses by night. It was unspoken but we wondered about the future here on the return trip.

Could Ogatsu even be rebuilt? Clearly removing what remains will take an indefinite amount of time. And what of the rare Ogatsu ink stone? This stone is quarried from 200-300 million-year-old layers in Kitakami Mountain near Ogatsu town. Ogatsu Ink Stone is one of the main utensils needed for Japanese calligraphy. Speaking to the essence of Japan. So many questions remain, waiting and hoping for some clarity…

Arriving at the university, we dropped into the headquarters and to see what goes on at night. It was a hub of activity. Fully mobilising for tomorrow. So thankful that people can. Teams, various NPO’s & NGO’s met, co-ordinated, courses were planned, strategy implemented, actions developed and enacted. A different kind of world again. So many kinds of people, ideas, thoughts. It was overwhelming. This goes on round the clock. All are volunteers.These efforts are so needed and admired.

And then we find our way back to our little tents. Well, this one is Corry & Jane’s. The view from ours. We are emotionally, physically exhausted. Always a little guilty for all that we have.

I am now forever taken back to that shelter high in the hills over Ogatsu. Every time I close my eyes. Whenever it is cold. The long, lonely hours at night, waiting for daylight to come. Thinking about the darkness even when the sun shines. Wondering about the workers and how they are doing…Did they find their families? Did they move on? What photos are they taking now? How do they get through and wake-up again to the reality? I, we have much to learn. It was, as such, a sleepless cold night in our little tents.

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…