BAB 66 (April 2011)

Being A Broad April 2011 #66

The monthly magazine for international women living in Japan

three/ eleven: where you were, what you felt, and what you’re doing to help

www.being-a-broad.com

image: David Stetson

IN THIS

message from the founder

image: 37 Frames Photography

8 the black mouth

4 things we love that support Japan 6 reflections from a ‘tadaimajin’ 7 writing for Tohoko 8 the black mouth 12 Elana’s earthquake experience 13 animal rescue in Sendai 14 Japan Earthquake Support UK Mission 16 all shaken up 17 giving birth in the quake 18 Room to Read unites for Japan 19 artists come together for Japan 20 1,000 cranes from 6,000 miles away

image: Wendy Epstein

20 1,000 cranes

the broads (and boys!)

Publishers Caroline Pover & Emily Downey Editor & Designer Danielle Tate-Stratton Advertisement Designer Chris May BAB Manager Dee Green Contributors Sabrina Olivieri-Tozawa, Tracey Taylor, Elana Schmidt, Eda J. Sterner, Ulara Nakagawa, Sarah Yamaguchi, Lien Do, Andrea Mctamaney, Wendy Epstein, Annemarie Sasagawa Cover images: 37 Frames Photography, Caroline Pover, Wendy Epstein, PETA Asia-Pacific, Annemarie Sasagawa Proofreading Jane Farries Printing Mojo Print Opinions expressed by BAB contributors are not necessarily those of the Publishers.

3 image: Caroline Pover

We dedicate this issue to the people of Tohoku, and to everyone throughout Japan—and the world—who has been affected by the tragic events of March 11.

Members of our Being A Broad community jumped into action, wherever they found themselves in the world, and in this issue we share stories of their efforts to reach out and help the people of their adopted home. We know that many others are doing so much to help, and unfortunately it is clear that such help is going to be needed for a long time.

It’s also clear that many are finding themselves going through a period of reflection and reevaluation—I’ve been reading some wonderful blogs by people taking small steps to make big changes that perhaps should have been made a while ago.

Here at Being A Broad we’ve decided to make some changes too. The power of the internet in allowing people to process their feelings, connect with others, and gather strength and support during the past couple of months has amazed me.

So for a while we’re going to be channelling our resources into developing our website and online connection with you, rather than the print edition of the magazine. Our most recent survey indicated that only a minority of you preferred the print edition so it is something we have been thinking about for a while—with Dee and myself focusing on our own long-term missions to assist Japan with recovery, this is great timing for Dani, our new BAB Reps, and Tracey, who is the latest addition to our team, to provide information, stories, and events especially for foreign women in Japan as we always have done, but now we’ll be able to provide them as soon as you need them.

Sending much love to all our readers—see you online!

Caroline Pover, BAB Founder

ISSUE

14 Japan Earthquake Support Mission UK

Being A Broad magazine, editor@being-a-broad.com www.being-a-broad.com tel. 03-5879-6825, fax: 03-6368-6191 Being A Broad April 2011

T H I N G S W E LO V E THAT SUPPORT JAPAN

BAB member Sayoko of the Sunlight Corner will be hosting regular yoga and yogalates lessons for earthquake relief throughout 2011. Lessons are generally held in English and are taught by certified instructors in her central Ebisu location. Visit www.meetup.com/ sunlightcorner for more information and upcoming dates.

Anne Randerson spent six years in Fukushima completing her Ph.D. in human life studies.

Following her studies, she completed an 80page photography book, which was originally shown as a solo exhibition in the US Embassy in Brussels. Now, the book, Scenes of Japan, is available online and all proceeds after the costs of printing and distribution will be donated to the Red Cross to support relief efforts. www. blurb.com/bookstore/detail/742755

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Peace by Piece is an organisation whose mission is “community building through artmaking.” The group’s aim is to create mosaics out of pottery donated from across Japan (typically pieces that were broken during the earthquake) that will be used in the rebuilding of the Tohoku region. They say “Our broken dishes coming together again to make their rebuilt cities more beautiful is one way to reconnect our broken hearts.” Donations of pottery are being accepted in Tsukuba and mosaic-making workshops will be taking place in Ibaraki, with the hope that Tohoku-area residents will create many of the mosaics themselves. During workshop sessions, participants will create small mosaics that will then be combined into a larger mosaic in the North. For more information, visit http://cherylokubo.wordpress.com.

Japanese-based recruiting company C.C. Consulting K.K (www.careercross.com) has started http://gaijingivingback.org, whose mission is to unite foreigners in achieving the following two goals: “(1) A steady, sustainable stream of donations of cash and supplies to groups working with victims and (2) a scholarship program for children who have lost their parents to this disaster.” Gaijin Giving Back will support small charities working directly on the ground, such as Second Harvest Japan (www.2hj.org/index.php/ eng_home), which has an active foodbanking program already in place, and Foreign Volunteers Japan (www.foreignvolunteersjapan.org), a newly-created organisation helping foreigners in Japan to volunteer in the most constructive ways possible by disseminating information as to which charities and NGOs are actively looking for volunteers, and showing great ways to volunteer without causing unnecessary strain on organisations already in the North.

Gaijin Giving Back has several t-shirts for sale on their website for ¥3,000, with proceeds going towards their initiatives. To learn more or do some shopping, visit https:// gaijingivingback.org.

LA-based artist Nan Lawson has created a five-by-seven inch print reminiscent of the Japanese flag. The print retails on etsy.com for approximately ¥1,000, and all proceeds go towards the Red Cross. http://tinyurl. com/4y4hxdb

Thirty-eight songs from artists such as Lady Gaga, Madonna, Justin Timberlake, ADELE, and even John Lennon make up the charity album Songs For Japan, which retails on iTunes Japan for ¥1,500. All proceeds will be donated to the Japanese Red Cross.

Pop superstar Lady Gaga is selling Earthquake Relief Wristbands for approximately ¥500 (plus optional additional donation). All proceeds go towards earthquake relief. http://tinyurl. com/48dsnr5 Clothing company Adapt, which says it “recognise[s] and represent[s] the ideas of positive change and personal advancement” has created a series of t-shirts for Japan, with net proceeds directed to Japan through the American Red Cross.

T-shirts are approximately ¥3,000: http://tinyurl. com/4s68uww

Show your support for earthquake and tsunami relief with one of three glass decal designs created by Accent Studios. Decals are nine inches by three inches and approximately ¥800 each, with proceeds going to the American Red Cross. www.decalmywall.com/ p r o d u c t s / R e l i e f - f o rJapan.html.

Skateboarders can support Japan through the purchase of a limited edition set of Japanese Relief Edition wheels produced by the Autobahn Wheel Shop. Approximately ¥3,000 per set, proceeds will go to the Red Cross. For more information or to order, visit http://autobahnwheelshop.com/ bw52aerodis.html.

Artists for Japan are a group of Luxembourgbased artists who contributed work on behalf of the Japanese Red Cross’ earthquake relief. To view the works for sale, and to purchase them, visit their Facebook album at http://tinyurl. com/3b8cuzx.

Designer Joshua Smith from Hydro74 has created a t-shirt to support the Salvation Army’s efforts in Japan. Approximately ¥2,200. The kanji on the shirt translates to “Save World Army.”

Foreign woman in Japan Jesse Green has created a limited edition silk-screened tote bag, with all money raised going towards Second Harvest Japan. There is a minimum donation of ¥1,300 and you can find out more or place an order by visiting her blog at http://tinyurl. com/3kdjabu.

2:46: Aftershocks: Stories from the Japan Earthquake is an e-book borne out of the Quakebook project, a Twitter-based initiative led by @OurManInAbiko. The project brought together dozens of contributors, copy editors, and other volunteers who shared their photographs, personal accounts, and drawings in the book, including a piece by Yoko Ono. Other contributors include an 80-year-old grandfather in Sendai, a couple in Canada waiting to hear if their relatives were OK, and a Japanese family who left their home, telling their young son they might never be able to return.

The book is being sold through amazon. com, and all proceeds will go to the Red Cross. To learn more about the project, visit their website: www.quakebook.org, or go to www.twitter.com and read up on the hashtag #quakebook. You can also follow the project on twitter via @quakebook.

Cosmetics retailer LUSH, who has 145 stores around Japan, has released a limited edition Japanese Aid soap, which has the same coconut scent of I Should Coco. Proceeds from the soap support the work of Peace Boat in Japan. http:// tinyurl.com/3t8wh27

Gwen Stefani, who has long been singing with and about Harajuku Girls, has created a relief t-shirt benefitting the American and Japanese Red Cross organisations. Shirts are approximately ¥4,000 plus an optional donation. http://tinyurl.com/4y6hdk5.

Canadian-based charity Kids for Japan is a great way to help kids in schools or other groups raise funds for earthquake relief through the sale of these cute shirts, which reflect the idea of kids helping kids. Shirts are also available for purchase individually (approximately ¥1,000), and proceeds go to the Canadian Red Cross. http://kidsforjapan.homestead.com Being A Broad April 2011

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TADAIMAJIN

REFLECTIONS

by Arwen Niles

decided to teach as usual and donate my earnings to relief efforts, my students began working overtime or leaving the immediate area and my Japanese Self-Defense Force husband, who was being deployed, worried about leaving me alone.

The comments I read about the disaster online were disheartening. No one knew what was going on. People outside of Japan were suspicious about donating to the country’s relief efforts, while small local groups were ready and active, but struggling for funds. When I see tragedy strike, I always wish I had an important skill to offer; I always wish I could be there to help. And yet here

can appreciate the periodic reminder to stop for a Imore moment and breathe, something I really ought to do of anyway.

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ground. I wondered if I should cry. I wondered if this would turn out to be a silly overreaction or an event that would stand out as one of the great before-and-afters of my life. A junior high school student hopped off his bicycle and stood next to it, asking me if there had just been an aftershock.

I told him that yes, I thought so, and wondered where the heck everyone else was.

It was chilly and since I was without a coat I knew I would have to go back in. I live in a three storey building, but my home is a corner mansion on that third floor, and when I surveyed the damage it showed: the doors of the kitchen cabinets had opened, spilling the contents to the floor; what had once graced the vanity shelves was now neatly deposited into a pile in the sink. There was a heavy filing cabinet shimmied completely away from the wall; a bookcase fallen sidelong; toppled balcony plants; the television on the floor.

I grabbed what I needed, tiptoed over the broken glass, and headed to a nearby park, passing young children in earthquake gear being escorted home from school. Young mothers drifted in, carrying infants. Except for the junior high school students checking out the fissures in the road and playground, it was oddly quiet. Facebook status updates revealed that the quake had been huge, and after one more strong aftershock and still not sure what to do, I decided to walk to the nearby home of two of my young students. Their mother experienced the 1995 Kobe earthquake, and if nothing else, I figured their building was lower and newer than mine. We watched the TV in disbelief as the ensuing tsunami closed in on cars, gulping farms and eventually entire towns.

Throughout the next week, as reports of newly-dubbed flyjin rolled in, I tried to decide my next move. I didn’t want to leave if I could be useful, but I didn’t want to unnecessarily tax an already strained infrastructure. After I finally

I was, just sitting on experience and information that I thought might prove useful.

So on March 18, after my husband left for Fukushima, I took the train to Narita and flew out of Japan.

While back in the US, I hopped on any fundraising bandwagon I could find—baking and blogging, emailing and speaking, and trying to explain the severity of the situation at home

Adorable hanami cupcakes.

Image: Arwen Niles

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put my motorcycle helmet on and peered outside. Nothing. I took it off and studied myself in the genkan mirror. Perhaps I was being extreme, but this earthquake felt different; the swaying was too exaggerated, and I wasn’t going to stand by and watch my belongings pitch to the ground. Aaargh, I knew I should have made better preparations; I should have paid closer attention to where the evacuation area is; I should have definitely learned waaaaay more Japanese!

I went out to the parking lot with my phone and waited. I tried to call my husband and wondered if the shaking I felt was me or the

the internationally lauded “disaster identity” of the Japanese.

And the ‘big one’ that always caused my chest to tighten when I dared consider it? Well, it doesn’t seem so big to me anymore. I’m better prepared than ever, my home still stands, and overall I’m a lot safer than I thought. The aftershocks rattle me and I’m more emotionally vigilant than is comfortable, but I can appreciate the periodic reminder to stop for a moment and breathe, something I really ought to do more of anyway.

’m more aware of my responsibility to be a fully capable Iwhich participant in my community...after all, this is my home, I guess makes me something of a tadai(ma)jin. and the need for immediate resources. I was especially concerned about drawing attention to some of the lesser-known organisations here that were depending on residents to help cross off their wish lists and didn’t need to (or weren’t bothering to) secure permits before mobilising.

International aid is a complicated affair, and as far as I could tell, Tohoku didn’t have time for any more complications.

Though the timing was difficult for most, and I spent a fair amount of time sick, voiceless, and useless in bed, the generous and inventive people around me have raised almost $13,000 so far and their efforts haven’t ended. In addition to the bake sales and benefit concerts, the hat days and penny drives, and in spite of the fact that I have returned to Japan, there are still scheduled events and a Japan Relief Fund donation account that continues to receive deposits.

I suppose it’s fair to say I’d been living in Japan with one foot already out the door. In addition to the struggles of living abroad and the absence of all the comforts and companions left behind, I’ve always found the concept of uchi-soto (‘in’ and ‘out’ groups) to be particularly bothersome, often finding myself on the ‘wrong’ side of the dichotomy. Now, though, I think it is precisely the strength and fluidity of uchi-soto that allowed for

Most of all, while the little linguistic letdowns of daily life have never bothered me much, it was frustrating and heartbreaking to find myself in a situation where, because I’m not proficient, I couldn’t be counted on for help. I’m more aware of my responsibility to be a fully capable participant in my community and have decided to trade in teaching for learning. After all, this is my home, which I guess makes me something of a BAB tadai(ma)jin.

While in the United States, Arwen was involved with several projects including Jammies for Japan, which her sister, who lives in Ohio, helped to create and run. A fundraiser that welcomes children’s involvement, Jammies in Japan let kids wear their pyjamas to school in return for a donation to aid in earthquake relief efforts. Donations were directed towards Shelterbox, who have been providing “durable, weatherproof containers filled with shelter and supplies for up to ten people, including situation-specific goods and special packs for the children involved.” For more information, visit: www. shelterboxusa.org/index.php or ‘like’ Jammies for Japan on Facebook.

WRITE FOR

TOHOKU

by Annamarie Sasagawa

Images provided by Annemarie Sasagawa.

Annamarie is rising to the challenge of helping Tohoku-area victims.

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ike so many others in Japan on March 11, I watched live NHK footage of the tsunami sweeping Japan’s northeast coast and felt both desperately helpless and desperate to help. I have never felt as small and powerless as I did that afternoon, nor have I ever felt as connected to Japan.

I’ve worked in the travel industry in Japan for years, and have travelled often to Tohoku. I was in Iwate and Miyagi just two weeks before the earthquake and tsunami. As I watched continuous TV footage of entire towns destroyed and hundreds of thousands of people living in evacuation centres, all I could think of were the people I’d met and the beautiful places I’d visited in Japan’s north.

My husband, either because he is much smarter than I, or because he just got tired of me

about that project on page 5).

Contributors write about everything from morning commutes to hot spring baths to balcony insects. Some stories are hilarious, some touching, and some simply beautiful. Each writer, in his or her own voice, reminds those of us who live here and shows readers overseas about the hospitality, beauty, and warmth of Japan.

In the e-book, self-described “Americanised Japanese woman” Noriko Kitano chronicles her struggle to work up the courage to hop in a mixedgender hot spring. The tsunami that washed over the Great Buddha of Kamakura centuries ago takes on new meaning for Holly Thompson as she reflects on her life in Kamakura today. Jay Gould, a Canadian who used to live in a small town in Tohoku, writes about his supervisor, Mr. O, in a

asking him every few minutes, “What can I do for the people up north?!” finally told me to get up, grab a pen and paper, and start writing about Tohoku. “Tell people what it’s like there,” he said.

I did. It turns out I wasn’t alone in discovering that simply writing down my memories of Japan helped me feel calmer and more hopeful. Some fellow travel writer friends and I decided to see how many other writers out there had stories of Japan they wanted to share. We put out social media calls for contributors to a charity e-book anthology of non-fiction writing about Japan. Writers immediately started sending in contributions, book designers Hiyoko Imai and Luis Mendo offered to format the e-book, and You Are Here: Writing For Tohoku was born.

This e-book, which was released on April 21, is a collection of over 60 non-fiction stories about Japan from a diverse group of writers. Rather than describe the earthquake and tsunami itself, the e-book focuses on memories, encounters, friendships, and adventures in non-disaster Japan.

(For moving writing about the earthquake itself, check out the Twitter-sourced e-book 2:46, also known as Quake-book. There is more information

way you can’t forget. Kaori Shoji contributes a beautiful essay about her Sendai-raised father.

In addition to personal essays, contributions to the e-book shed some light on lesser-known aspects of Japanese culture. Irish writer Niall Murtagh contributes an excerpt from his book The Blue-Eyed Salaryman on the company’s employee instruction manual. Robert Morel lets you know what kitsune foxes are really up to, Charles Lewis encourages you to sit down and enjoy a glass of Hoppy, and Rob Goss makes sure you appreciate Sapporo ramen.

If you’re in the mood for some good travel stories, read Jaqualine Kurio’s account of her budget travel adventures in Miyagi, Mary Whitsell’s encounter with unexpectedly kind and cosmopolitan hostel managers in Shikoku, or Kelly Luce’s adventure in a soy sauce factory on Shoda-ga-shima island, which contains the phrase, “Excuse me, your boss is in the beans.”

If you’re a fan of eloquent writing about garden bugs, you’re in luck: the e-book contains two of the best Japan bug stories you’ll find anywhere, by Leza Lowitz on cicadas and Anna Kunnecke on beetles.

eing able to read stories by and feel a sense of B community with so many other women in Japan has been a wonderful side benefit of this project for me.

Although we didn’t plan for the e-book to be a collection of women’s voices, it turns out the majority of contributors (over 60 percent) are women. There are some hilarious and touching contributions from women who are newcomers, long-term Japan residents, or Japan-born. While editing the book, I realised I’d never encountered so many stories written by women who are travelling, working, forming friendships, and living rich lives in Japan. Being able to read stories by, and feel a sense of community with, so many other women in Japan has been a wonderful side benefit of this project for me.

The e-book was meant to be a tribute to the people of Japan, a reminder to ourselves of why we continue to live here, and a way to share with overseas readers the beauty of this country. Yes, there is a lot of suffering in Tohoku and rebuilding the region will be a long, difficult process. People have lost so much: homes, families, jobs, and businesses. For many, life will never be the same.

In a small way, we hope that money this e-book raises can help survivors rebuild what can be rebuilt and give them the financial security to grieve for what they can’t get back.

Rebuilding does not just mean restoring train lines, highways, and buildings. It also means rebuilding a sense of normalcy, returning to our daily lives, and looking toward the future. As both types of rebuilding begin, the more we remind ourselves of Japan’s hospitality, beauty, and strength, the stronger the recovery will be. BAB

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You Are Here: Writing For Tohoku is available as an e-book and smartphone application and retails for approximately ¥1,000. Proceeds from e-book and app sales benefit the Japanese Red Cross. For more information please visit www.fortohoku.org or email write.for. tohoku@gmail.com.

Being A Broad April 2011

THE BLACK

MOUTH

by Dee Green and Tracey Taylor, 37 Frames Photography (www.37framesphotography.com) Little was where it should be.

This article is a modified version of a blog entry written following Dee and Tracey’s initial trip to Tohoku. It was first published in March, and therefore many things have changed, though the experiences reported here certainly remain relevant.

For the complete text and additional photos, as well as subsequent trip reports, visit: www. tokyophotographers.com.

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f tears were words, these reflections would have written themselves a thousandfold. We are back in Tokyo after our northbound Tohoku visit to aid with relief efforts and to start the process of documenting what is undoubtedly one of the most horrific natural disasters in recent history.

The words won’t come easily; sometimes having a lens as a filter is a much preferred medium, although I think my hands were shaking too much to be of any good. Hard-hitting journalists we are not. It’s not in our nature, with no avenue of disassociation. Hopefully we can be simple, connected storytellers. I hope to make some kind of sense of the past few days, share our memories as best we can, keeping in mind what is most achingly obvious—that this is all just so raw. A huge, gaping hole of agony. A coastline ravaged beyond recognition.

Families, communities, towns and cities torn apart.

That the trail of destruction led by the tsunami is on a scale you can truly only realise with your own eyes. It is simply massive. And obscene. There’s no real way to even describe it.

We had been warned by the advance team and tireless, incredible workers at Peace Boat, but it simply doesn’t prepare you. I can’t believe my stupidity now…I am so embarrassed by my ignorance that I just have to share it. I was initially worried we weren’t getting there fast enough. It was already ten days since March 11. Seriously. Thinking that even a one-day delay would result in too much of a clean-up to effect a thorough documenting. I

am so ashamed. Not only will there be no clean-up any time soon, except perhaps for the crude shoving of homes, boats, towns, schools, lives, to the side of the road, and the diligent room-by-room mud and debris removal of schools and shelters, but it will also clearly take years and years. While the news might go on to a more recent conflict, a bigger tale of tragedy or celebrity, what remains in Tohoku is nowhere near a recovery phase. At this stage it is merely existing, in survival mode. One thing I know, after spending time among the proud and modest people of North East Japan, is that if anyone can surmount this, they will do their very best with a defining sense of morality and warmth of heart that not even a 9M earthquake, 10-metre waves, or a fatal combination of both can destroy. The love and kindness bestowed on us, the grateful, sobbing thanks sometimes met with eyes, sometimes not, sometimes with hugs, and most often tears, was both humbling and cripplingly sad. The warmth and openness to share in a time of endless mourning was overwhelming. And so was the shock. And they simply need so much help.

In the midst of a landscape now defined by trucks wrapped around traffic lights, fishing boats spectacularly moored into main street buildings, cars elegantly dangling upside down in trees or unceremoniously stuffed in houses, we find ourselves so small and shockingly helpless. There is utter despair combined with the scent of lingering death, bodies not yet found. The local cemetery so defiled that ancestors now shack up with delivery vans, roofs and dinghys. The toxic fumes waft our way from the port and industrial area. It was here on the bridges connecting Ishinomaki with the once-picturesque Nakaze island, by the now tranquil flowing Kitakami River, that we understood. All we can do is make a difference on a human level. Try and help, assist, listen to one person. Touch one. If we could all affect this, volunteer even for a day, reach out to just one person, then collectively tides of survival give way to

those of recovery and life beyond. Well, this is what we told ourselves in an effort to stay sane, get in a mindset to do what we had come to do, become a drop in a 200 kilometre-plus bucket.

Let me start from our start, create an image of a journey with a purpose. To remind the world that a headline one day replaced with another the next is still a life for someone. That the world will not forget and is thinking of Japan and in turn is thanked, and awareness is created.

We left mid-morning after gas runs to Esso and an overwhelming local Japanese response to our departure. We only had time to tell a few, yet from 9pm to 7am the doorbell didn’t stop ringing with friends, neighbours, and acquaintances dropping off relief supplies for us to take: blankets, water, food, toilet paper, and other much-needed aid. Gas money was donated by family and friends and we were overwhelmed by everyone’s generosity and concern. The people of Brisbane especially—even after a disaster like the floods in January, they were still contributing daily and we thank them enormously.

We have also been so touched with messages from local schools, collections in supermarkets, and even at our local bakery and for the little buzz the Photographers Unite for Japan page is creating. So with the shout-outs done for now, we found our 4WD fully loaded and we were soon ready to go.

The decision was made to take our own car for several reasons. The Peace Boat vans had gone up the day before with the second wave advance team.

More trucks were expected by the week’s end. By taking our car, we would have both the freedom to head into smaller areas to look for other shelters/ survivors not yet receiving aid, and also have an extra vehicle on hand. We thought about it—the risks of damage to the car, the still crucial gas issue, security, and safety, but the pros seemed to outweigh the cons. And we were off.

The main Tohoku expressway was at this time still closed to the public, open only to those assisting in relief efforts and aid vehicles. A rumbling train of army trucks, tanks, vans, semi trucks, bulldozers, and utes with portable toilets stacked high continued north. Help was clearly on the way. The outrageous yakuza trucks packed to the rafters, along with trucks from every company you can imagine in Japan kept us entertained with their loads the whole way.

Going up was laboriously slow. Passing by Fukushima, we tried to hold our breath. Trace wanted to text her Australian friends and family about stopping in at the Nuclear Plant to check on the reactors for ourselves. But we both quickly agreed, it was much too soon for such humour. Even hers.

Our usually broken navigation system was going berserk with warnings and for the first time gave us current updates, letting us know an exclusion zone was not so far away. Snow flurries

Unscathed among the rubble. welcomed us to Tohoku. It took some 12 hours to get there, all the while our thoughts directed firmly northward, and at least we knew we were on our way.

We passed through Sendai and arrived in Ishinomaki in the very late evening, for which we will always be thankful. About an hour before we arrived, we could make out the first signs of the destruction that lay around us, hidden in the darkness, even blacker with no power or twinkling nightlights. Before that we had noticed blue sheets covering roofs on Route Four, where tiles had clearly fallen from the shock of the earthquake. Now, further north, we saw crushed compact cars, already removed from their final resting grounds and now lining National Route 45 for miles. More intact cars were lined up in front of closed gas stations waiting for the morning rations of petrol. Steamy windows told us people were sleeping inside. Others were left without their passengers, who would return in the early hours to be sure they kept their place in line. It was eerie and silent, a wasteland now. Less than two weeks earlier it was a major arterial where locals and travellers would have stopped for dinner. Noodle shops and family restaurants were now dark and closed indefinitely. The infamous tsunami sludge was obvious on store fronts and walls.

Roads were closed here and there. In the darkness it was unclear what was blocking our path.

We often had to make our own way as it was very unclear what was a road and what used to be a house. The bitumen on the road had washed away.

At intermittent zebra crossings, fishing vessels now waited where pedestrians should stand. Look right, then left, then right again. No people, just electrical lines dangling dangerously unplugged overhead. We headed a little more inland, a welcome breath away from the coast. But another giant wave would have surely been enough to unhinge us from the road.

Just a few of the countless volunteers in the area.

We finally found Ishinomaki Senshu University, now the base for all volunteer activities in the region.

Just down the road from the Self-Defense Force camp, only a few bridges away from utter chaos ocean side.

Very M*A*S*H. We met the Peace Boat gang in the darkness and bitter cold and they welcomed us with such warmth that we were overwhelmed. Over cup ramen we had our first briefing, enjoyed Futoshisan’s amazing original amasake, and then it was time to rest. We slept in our car, protected somewhat from the sub-zero temperatures. We were not alone in our vehicular accommodation; several other 4WDs like us, vans and cars shared the lot together.

Warm at first, the cool night crept through the car eventually and we basically froze the entire night. We slept with layers and layers and hot kairo plastered everywhere. Not comfortable by any means for this high-maintenance camper, but at least we had a roof over our heads and keys in the ignition to fire up some warmth if needed—all the while keeping an eagle eye on the gas gauge.

Morning came early. And indeed it was a comedy of errors to get dressed and get out of the car. We also soon realised the back car window had been left open all night, which did not make us any warmer by any means. We had been prepared to really rough it, but there were portable toilets on site. No running water of course, but we had bought everything with us and were basically prepared. We knew all the time that we had a home to go back to, while so many nearby did not.

Morning was spent in briefings and a mobilisation to action. The relief supply shed was filling up fast.

There were all kinds of supplies arriving by the minute, awaiting delivery, aid for both rescue and recovery phases. The rows and rows of shovels and wheelbarrows in the supply shed were a sight to see. We weren’t initially sure why they would all be needed. We soon found out. NGOs and NPOs

were arriving, medical teams setting up, a tent city developing that last night was an empty field. We made sure to document it all, then help out where we could before taking off into Ishinomaki to start the process, with another quick and grateful gas station drop in (three hours later we had twenty more litres…)

Ishinomaki town is still in a state of despair and mourning. We had been sent this email a few days earlier to let us know of the conditions, and truly little had changed: “In Ishinomaki City…every day at the SWC (Social Welfare Center) headquarters and the volunteer centres, information is posted of people confirmed dead. At this board we see people relieved to confirm that their family members are alive, or people collapsing in tears upon news of the death of a loved one, and neighbours supporting each other. The sight is just overwhelming. The local government office cannot keep up with the number of people applying for death certificates, and has had to put extra staff on just for this purpose.

There are still so many people whose whereabouts are unknown, so we are travelling around the town by motorbike looking for people still in need of help. The town has been entirely destroyed. There is mud and debris everywhere.

People are now trying to clear roads with bulldozers, but as they comb through the rubble more and more dead bodies are being found.”

Our emotions were working overtime.

It was a cool but sunny day, the frost gone, and if it weren’t for the non-stop helicopters overhead, the army trucks of every shape and size, and the sirens from every type of emergency vehicle one could almost be forgiven to think it was an ordinary mid-March day. Except of course it wasn’t.

As we moved closer to the coast and tributaries, the damage was clear; what was ahead Continued on page 10.

Being A Broad April 2011

9

THE BLACK MOUTH

CONTINUED Kaihoku Elementary School.

10

Continued from page 9. coming into focus. Mud-stained streets, desperately showing signs of cleaning by local neighbourhoods, soon gave way to piles of tsunami-soaked refuse.

Furniture, tatami mats, stuff of every kind. It was all too much to process. Buildings were generally intact for one or two streets, and then we came to the railway crossing. We looked up the line to see cars wedged between tracks, down the line to see homes ripped from foundations. Once in the heart of the Chuo area, we rounded the corner to see large boats now anchored in buildings, cars in places you cannot imagine, stores now floors, homes on top of homes, and other chaotic combinations. The second bridge had just been cleared, but a major concern was the glass, nails, and other dangers still on the ground, which could puncture tires. The full force of the catastrophe was a revelation on that Nakaze bridge. A city of six merged towns ripped apart. Known for its famous manga museum, Ishinomaki also boasted the eastern hemisphere’s second largest fish market. The emblematic Black City Pine Trees were fully uprooted.

The whole town was in shock. We’d seen shock on an individual level before, but not on this scale. An entire consciousness rocked to the core.

It was after continuing on the Onagawa Highway through the town to the sea that we finally understood the scale. It is simply epic.

Beyond comprehension. This was just one place in a coastline of many. Relief and aid was arriving, but what about the coastal villages? It seemed impossible amid the destruction that we could even get around.

Those little fishing towns must be completely cut off.

I am absolutely sure I am making no sense and I do apologise. The words cannot adequately express what is in my heart, so better to let the images say something as well.

We found our way to the Minato Elementary School where Peace Boat is currently working and saw first hand the progress being made. Forget about the car dramatically parked in the swimming pool and the new fence of flotsam misery, the 15 centimetre sludge-caked schoolgrounds; the gym is now a shelter with a working mobile kitchen that serves those evacuees staying in-house and the large number of local residents who remain in half homes. It is cold and dark, the radio playing in the background, the volunteers doing their very best to provide warmth with smiles and meals. Supplies including clothes and toiletries were now available.

Inside the school we met several teachers and local officials who took time to explain where things were at. Our new friend Katsu did such a wonderful job taking care of us, translating, and introducing us when necessary. We were free to document as we liked, but to be honest, the exhaustion and shock on the faces of all those primarily affected by March 11

was enough to get us to leave the cameras down and just talk and connect.

The Minato Elementary School: Here at Minato Shogako the tsunami reached the second floor, the students and teachers taking refuge in the third and fourth floors, where the evacuees live currently. We passed rooms with young and old, the old clearly not doing well. Their medical prescriptions washed away in the waves, and there is now little to do but wait for replacements, if they ever come. We found that the main school shelters in Ishinomaki are receiving aid and relief, but every day the needs change. We were told that with 30 percent of the city’s civil servants killed, local officials are ridiculously overworked. The majority of them have not been home even once since the disaster.

Without knowing the whereabouts of their families, or if they are even still alive, they are working hard for the people of the community. Keeping track of numbers and needs is a job that NGOs are starting to take over, as well as seeking out evacuation centres that have not yet been found. The local authorities still have no sense of the overall situation outside of their immediate area. The overwhelming priority is getting aid to the people living in hidden shelters, in homes, along roads so damaged by either the earthquakes, tidal waves, or both that access is nearly impossible.

The survivors remain mainly calm and composed, but the trauma seeps through on every level. While talking with a local congressman about how we can help to establish some introductions with international institutions wishing to rebuild the schools, at first it seemed he was looking through us, clearly somewhere else, thinking of a more pressing issue, enveloped in waves and grief. Then he simply broke down and fell at our feet in thanks and gratitude. We got down, too, and helped him up.

We then smiled together when he mentioned how beautiful we were—yes, clearly he was completely in shock, for after a few days of no showers we

were anything but. Believe me.

Trace was overwhelmingly and understandably concerned about the issue of orphans. Many children who survived on the upper floors of schools had an agonising wait for their parents to come and get them. Many never did. It’s been weighing on our minds just how many children will go into the system, if immediate family and relatives cannot be located—numbers still chaotic in the twisted jungle of rubble and confusion. But order is coming about little by little. And naturally, on a local level, communities will want to deal with it internally and privately. But still no one seems to have concrete answers. Trace is determined to keep an eye on it and find people to talk to about it, accessing more concrete info as it becomes available.

From the school we then wandered through the streets, trying to capture what our eyes were seeing but never fully sure that it was sufficient. While Trace and Katsu were talking with an animal refuge group, I discovered that some evacuees had formed a bucket line from the now un-swimmable school pool to inside the building. With one small pan the leader scooped water from the pool into three buckets and one by one they were passed down the line. I later found the water was for the Japanese-style toilets.

It was miserable and time-consuming. Balancing on split timber, once perhaps walls of a nearby home, in a basic attempt to maintain some hygiene and humanity, the three buckets continued up and down that tragic line. That was until the snow came down and it was gladly time to knock off for the day.

And for us, too. It was all too much and very hard to remain composed, tears came all too often, but they were a natural release just the same. We wound our way back through the dilapidated town, back to camp and some decompression—all the while knowing we could, while so many couldn’t.

We got busy preparing hundreds of meals for the displaced. We had our own relay line. Container, spoon of rice, ladle of minestrone, lid closed, rubber

band, in the box. Soon they were done and on the way to empty stomachs. Not before a sizeable earthquake had everyone swaying in the Miyagi dusk. The little AM radio was swiftly pulled out and turned on. After a few tense minutes an all-clear was issued on the tsunami front.

The evening was again freezing, and following dinner the nightly meeting discussed, processed, and followed-up on the events of the day. With 50 volunteers due to arrive at the week’s end, the main priority was clearing the relief supplies from storage and getting them to the people, as at least two large semis were on the way with four tons of goods.

As well, smaller vans and trucks overflowing with donations were arriving on and off. The volunteer effort coming together to help plug the leaky bucket of government assistance, were sometimes bogged down by bureaucracy. The NPOs and NGOs that could cut to the chase and fill needs somewhat more expedited assistance on a local level. It was an entirely huge undertaking in its initial stages, with a long-term commitment.

A bitter wind blew through camp and had us scampering for basic shelter. We were back in the car again. With windows firmly shut, we slept for a bit, froze, and remained uncomfortable. Our new alarm clock was the sound of choppers; how quickly life changes, new sights and sounds becoming suddenly recognisable. Early morning briefings had supplies dispersed, maps and courses of aid configured, and trucks packed, among many other actions.

We took off for a little while to do our own deliveries in the early morning light. Locals cycled down battlefield-like lanes and over broken bridges, nodded to us, and said good morning. Often we would see people fixed in a spot, simply staring at what had been, what was lost, missing, waiting to be found.

I followed one man while we searched the debris for a little while, until I realised he was in deep mourning, praying, somewhere in a not too distant memory.

The outlook was so different from just two weeks ago. I think that was the one of the most difficult things to process. Just two weeks ago, the streets would be bustling with life. It was a place people lived, built lives and memories and futures.

Much like the official Ishinomaki citizen charter…

This is what we want to protect: Our people’s life and the rich nature.

This is what we want to convey: Our ancestors’ wisdom and pride in our home.

This is what we want to cherish: Our human bonds and hearts of gratitude.

We live on in Ishinomaki.

Together, let us make a brilliant future.

Ironic, prophetic, hopeful in the midst of present hopelessness.

Route 192, running on the north side of the river, alternates between local roads, now with remnants of the tsunami still barricaded by the wreckage left behind. Passing through massive tidal puddles, dead fish float alongside clocks, tea-cups, and details of daily life ruined. On the left side we passed a home that looked basically intact from the outside, while the surrounding buildings and homes had all but collapsed.

We made our way back to the volunteer centre, where we assisted in loading the trucks and getting ready for the next supply trip. I found trash bags, socks, inner-liners but no underwear, which by the end of the day seemed to be one of the current requested needs. Dirty clothes are bearable with at least new underwear.

We followed Katsu on his run and visited several shelters and schools. The volunteers took note of data collection and what goods were needed and not. In the back streets we found communities not completely devastated, but clearly affected by the tsunami. Mud-stained, in clean-up mode. We passed several water stations where people patiently lined up to fill containers of all sizes. They very willingly chatted with us and were pleased to see us and so grateful that the world was aware of what was going on. While I was talking with locals at the water station, Trace chatted with those in charge of the community centre. When Trace offered water from the truck to those waiting in line, the response from the Japanese lady she was assisting went something like this… “I don’t want to take your water. Save it for someone who hasn’t had the joy of seeing your smiles and holding your hand.” Truly.

We moved on and found ourselves at another very badly affected elementary school, Kaihoku ES. We met the principal, completely shell-shocked, gazing out the window on a life that was, now covered by mud, with cars in pools, and roads so badly damaged there is still no feasible way to drive vehicles directly to the yard. I will never

forget the way he just stared out that window, helpless, hopeless. Other windows in the school were decorated with colourful SOS signs to call for help, to let people know they were there. The children and teachers here waiting for assistance for over a week. He was unable to communicate and deferred to the Koto-sensei, who put it in the most simple, exact terms. “This is hell. It’s just…hell.” No argument here.

In the halls of the upper school, now a shelter, we met a young boy reading. He was beyond surprised to see us, in a good way. A flash of some big, big smiles was heartening. We had Uno cards in our pocket to hand out to the kids, and books in the car. But it’s not even up to that stage yet. Perhaps in another few weeks they will be ready.

At about this time, we also heard about the unspeakable situation at another elementary school in Ishinomaki, Okawa Shogako. Out of 108 students and 13 staff, 84 are believed to have perished. After the earthquake, everyone made it to their evacuation area—the playground.

They were standing on the playground when the tsunami hit, sweeping away all but 34 students and 3 teachers. It really was simply hell.

I think it was around our visit to Kaihoku Elementary School that we realised the extent to which residents wanted to remain in their homes.

If your house was somewhat standing then that’s where you stayed. If it was completely gone then the only choice was a shelter.

The Peace Boat boys pulled up the truck nearby, down a road they could go no further along because it was so damaged. Within five minutes, emerging from the rubble, people came to get what they could, aid clearly not having reached here before.

They were grateful beyond explanation. “When will you be back?” Masks did very little to hide eyes red from tears. Hugs helped for a little while to accommodate the need for human contact and Continued on page 12.

“Locals cycled down battlefield-like lanes and over broken bridges...”

Being A Broad April 2011

11

MY EARTHQUAKE

THE BLACK

EXPERIENCE

MOUTH

12

Continued from page 11. understanding. What struck us was the number of elderly, now having to face life’s end in the bleakest of circumstances. One couple pushed a tiny supermarket trolley with water, socks, and warm jackets from the truck, bent over in unwarranted shame for having to ask for help, but thankful always.

We moved on, this time to a local community centre, where the lineup for bread and onigiri, which occurs once a day, had the residents in a queue at least 500 strong. We dropped off all kinds of aid from Uniqlo towels, socks, and heat-tech wear to water, hot pockets, and daily necessities, which were rationed in a basic kind of flea market. The local elders took care of this. They were friendly and inviting. They gave rousing applause as they opened a box of new socks.

These are just a few of the many experiences that filled our time in Tohoku. We remain committed to going back soon in what is definitely an uncertain time for everyone. We are amazed by the work of the Peace Boat and the volunteer effort as a whole, which is mobilising from all over Japan and the world. The NPOs, NGOs, and their volunteers are all starting to work together.

Just a few days earlier they had all been working independently, but with databases being created, information can finally be crudely coordinated.

Roles are being divided according to each group’s strengths, as well as localities within the city.

If there’s one thing that we took away from this experience, it’s that just the act of reaching out, holding out a trembling hand, a smile in the street, an ear to listen—that emotional aid has been almost as important as the physical relief. Every person we met on the streets of Ishinomaki had lost someone, was consumed with grief. Tiny extensions mean so BAB much. Kindness. Time. Human contact.

by Elana Schmid

I

was at the salon, going about my day as normal, massaging a nine-months-pregnant woman. We were chatting about training and what the best exercises were for her to be doing pre- and post-delivery when the room started to shake lightly. I told her that it was going to be OK, it will stop in a second, but it didn’t. The shaking just got more violent.

The sound of the mirrors rattling on the wall and the blinds banging up against the windows became louder. My client was now sitting on the bed, so I shielded her with my body to make sure she would not fall as the building began to sway. It was at this point that we had to get up and move to a safer place, so I helped her put on a gown and slippers and we both stood underneath the doorway.

I called out to my therapists to make sure they were OK, and then the shaking stopped. I didn’t really have much time to fear for my own safety as my main concern was that the shock may induce my client into early labour and that I was going to have to deliver a baby! However, she was extremely brave and even requested that I continue the treatment to calm her nerves!

Unfortunately, that idea was soon forgotten as the second quake hit.

Calling it a day, my client left the salon feeling a little shaken but unscathed (and still pregnant!).

My therapists and I got together and had a nervous banter about the event and began the job of cleaning the spilled oils and ornaments that had fallen during the first big shake. I was very thankful that the salon is in a new building and is only on the third floor!

We are all warned about earthquakes when moving to Japan, but admittedly, I was totally unprepared. No earthquake kit, no meeting point, and basically no plan at all. One thing I was also unaware of is that phone services all go down.

Fortunately I had downloaded the Viber application on my iPhone, which allowed me to communicate with my brother, who was in Tokyo, and my boyfriend and family back home, to let them know

that all was fine. I think my boyfriend Sam, who was in Australia competing in a Karate tournament at the time, was more concerned than I. It has been extremely stressful for loved ones outside of Japan, who aside from our reassurances have only the foreign media’s dire portrayal of the event to go by.

It wasn’t until later that night that I had realised the actual magnitude of the quake. Seeing footage of the tsunami’s devastation was heartbreaking.

The next morning, my brother and I got together and immediately started discussing how, using our available resources, we could raise money to help the victims. In February, Tokyo Fitness successfully held a charity Boot Camp for the Australian Flood Victims, which was great fun. We decided it was definitely time for people to come together again to sweat and show their generosity! We plan to hold our first Charity Boot Camp this May in Arisugawa Park Hiroo.

Another event we came up with was a Massage Drive. The Elana Jade Salon plans to give 30-minute massages to provide some much needed stress relief, with 100 percent of the proceeds going to charity.

These events are not only a great way to raise money, but also help strengthen relationships in our community. I believe if we all contribute in our own small way, we can help the country in which we live and love.

This experience has solidified the bond I have with Japan and has shown me the true strength and unbelievable humility of the Japanese people. It has made me want to learn more about Japan: the language, the culture, and the people. The amazing support from the foreign community within and outside of Japan has made the world seem like a smaller and better place. Obviously there is no quick fix. There needs to be a continued effort to rebuild Japan and support the true victims of this disaster.

I now have my earthquake kit prepared and have implemented procedures in the salon and with the staff for any future occurrences. I will continue to live, work, and enjoy my time in what BAB is now my home.

Images provided by Elana Schmid.

Remnants of a former life.

For more information about the efforts of Peace Boat in Japan, and how you can help, visit www. peaceboat.org/english/index.php.

Elana Schmidt plans to contribute relief to earthquake victims through boot camps and massages.

ANIMAL RESCUE

IN SENDAI

by Ulara Nakagawa

Image: PETA Asia-Pacific

Ulara with Ashley Fruno and a trunk full of supplies.

Ulara Nakagawa is the associate editor of The Diplomat magazine, and this article is partially drawn from reports she put together for that publication. Almost immediately following the earthquake she travelled north with Ashley Fruno, who is a campaign manager for PETA Asia-Pacific, and Isabella Galleon Aoki, the founder of Animal Friends Niigata, in order to do what she could for stranded and affected animals.

they wouldn’t let her take her dog (Yusuke) along.

She’d promised her daughter she would stay with him no matter what. So she sat with a traumatised Yusuke, just the two of them, in a shaking house for three days. She directed us to the area where she was from and said there might be people and pets who could use supplies and help there.

Finally, she apologised for her emotions, saying that this was the first time she’d heard such yasashii kotoba (kind words) in days and just

had lived there went about their day-to-day lives.

One house had a child’s bunk bed still intact, with a special bed for an elderly or sick person next door.

We first passed a two-storey elementary school that was dark and empty, but still standing, before coming to a facility for the elderly. The door into the building had been ripped open, and I could see inside the dark hallway where pieces of furniture that had been washed along by the tsunami had been piled high by the rushing water.

We also noticed small yellow stickers had been placed on buildings and cars that were still in one piece. On looking more closely, we realised that the emergency rescue teams had put them there to show which vehicles and structures had been inspected for survivors.

A couple of days after I left the area, I received a call from an exhausted-sounding Isabella with a new, touching story. She told me that on her second rescue mission up to Miyagi, she and her team had met a man at one of the evacuation centres in Sendai who’d told them very touching story about his Akita dog, Shane. The man is a pillar in his community and when he heard the tsunami warning, he rushed to warn his neighbours after letting Shane free in the yard. After notifying

hane had never been to the school before, but somehow, S his instincts lead him there. The dog swam through chesthigh water before being reunited with his guardian.

F

our days after the disaster, we travelled to the heavily-affected Miyagi Prefecture by car (me to do reporting, my companions to do emergency animal rescue). We hit Miyagi’s capital, the city of Sendai, first, which is a bit more inland, so you couldn’t see too many signs of abnormality, but it was strange to see people lined up outside supermarkets and gas stations at seven in the morning and convenience stores were closed and shuttered up—all very unusual for Japanese society.

I spotted an older lady walking her pretty Sheltie on a leash from the van, so we pulled over.

I had no idea what was coming—we just assumed she was a regular ‘city person’ who may be able to give us some advice on what the pet food supply situation was in the area.

After I told her I was with an animal rescue team, her composure broke down and, in tears, she told us how she lived very close to one of the hardest-hit areas, Natori in Miyagi, but didn’t relocate to an evacuation centre right away because

didn’t know what came over her. She thanked us again and again for being there to help. It was very moving, her humble and selfless perspective despite the massive trauma she’d just been through. I realised then that I, too, was in tears.

We reached the coastal city of Natori around 4:30pm on the evening of Monday March 14 and knew immediately that it was one of the most devastated by the tsunami. It’s been estimated that the wave that hit some parts of the region was 10 metres (33 feet) high, and reports suggest that the death toll in this prefecture alone will be as high as 10,000. We drove closer to the coast, travelling over the rubble on small roads that had been partially cleared so emergency vehicles could get in. It was very cold and raining, and as night began to set in, the whole place had an eerie, haunting feel. The debris-covered streets, or what was left of them, were deserted, apart from an official vehicle here and there that would pass by, red lights flashing. It was so quiet that even the fluttering of a bird’s wings would echo around.

I felt a mixture of incredible sadness, but also guilt at looking at all these people’s belongings— their lives so scattered and exposed. Houses had mostly been obliterated, but a few were still left partially standing. With their walls completely ripped away, you could see how the people who

his neighbourhood, he tried to get back to his house to get Shane, but the tsunami was rapidly approaching and he was forced to go to the local school on higher ground. He had given up hope of ever seeing Shane alive again. But six hours later, one of the people staying in the evacuation centre said they saw a dog sitting outside. The man went to look, and it was Shane! Shane had never been to the school before, but somehow his instincts had led him there. The dog swam through chest-high water before being reunited with his guardian.

The man took Isabella and the JEARS team to Shane, who was staying at his house several blocks from the school (the water had receded, of course).

Shane must have hung onto debris, as he’d cut both his elbows on something. They instructed the guardian on how to clean his wounds and gave him some ointment to ward off infection. They were able to leave fuel with the local veterinarian, so he could return to check on Shane and provide him with antibiotics to ensure his wounds would heal. BAB For additional information on the ongoing animal rescue efforts in Japan, please visit Japan Earthquake Animal Rescue and Support (www. facebook.com/AnimalRescueJapan or http://jears.org).

Being A Broad April 2011

13

JAPAN EARTHQUAKE

SUPPORT UK MISSION

by Caroline Pover

BAB founder Caroline Pover was in Saipan when the earthquake hit and, driven to do something to help her adopted country, she went immediately to the UK, where she spent several weeks driving around the country collecting donations and messages of support. The following is a condensed trip report based on her blog entries while away. To get the full story, to see how you can contribute, and follow her updates, go to www.carolinepover.info/blog.

M

14

arch 18: As I was tossing and turning, unable to sleep last night, wondering just what to do to help, the answer finally came to me: I am here in Saipan, but can’t stay here forever and new friends have offered me a bed in Australia. I don’t feel that I should go back home to Japan just yet for a wide variety of reasons, none of which I want to be judged for, thanks very much (I’ve been giving myself a hard enough time for not being there and don’t need it from anyone else). If I go back to Japan right now what do I do? Is anyone out there really panicking because my magazines aren’t yet out or my book about Japanese men isn’t finished? I don’t think so.

I can give speeches, I am persuasive, I can write, and I don’t like the word “no.” Those skills have to be helpful in this situation, somehow. This is what I’m doing ….

I am going to drive a truck around the UK giving talks to schools and any other communities about how wonderful Japan is and all the reasons why I love it, and fill that truck with food, clothes, toys, money, and whatever else the people of Japan need in order to rebuild their lives. Virgin Atlantic will help me get it to Japan, and I will arrange for it to get to where it is needed. This is what feels like the right thing for me to do at the moment.

March 25: What a great day today! Hitachi Capital were thrilled to be approached to lend a vehicle for this mission—they had donated 3.5 million dollars to relief funds immediately and were actually having a meeting about other practical ways they could help when my step-mother-inlaw called them yesterday (I had roped her in after three days of rather disheartening attempts to get support on my own). I really couldn’t have hoped for a better result—a fully insured van for three months if I need it! They are making the signs to go on the side as well, and have their own PR team on the case, which will be really helpful, too.

Then I spent a couple of hours with sevenyear-olds at St John the Evangelist School in Newbury, showing them photos of Japan and answering all their questions about the country.

I started by asking them what they already

know about Japan and it was all earthquakes and tsunamis so it was nice to be able to show them photos of the architecture (new and old), traditional clothes, and cultural activities, and also some photos of my Japanese friends—they were all fascinated by Mount Fuji for some reason. They drew pictures of love and encouragement (lots of hearts and volcanoes) and wrote lovely messages to Japanese people. And they were thrilled to learn some Japanese words and be featured in my video. The teachers have taken the list of items needed and I’ll collect them at the end of the trip.

March 26: I don’t have anything booked this weekend so I think I’m just going to pull up in busy parts of Plymouth and simply start asking passersby to help. I’ve roped in my darling nieces and their friends to join me. My mother is worried about me being arrested—I think I have become a constant source of worry to her, as she has spent the last few weeks thinking about me, first travelling to Saipan on my own, then being stuck on high ground during a tsunami warning, long-distance flights with all my blood-clotting issues, and now driving around England on my own. (To be fair, the last time she saw me drive I forgot I was driving a manual and went half a mile in first gear and only just missed one of her neighbours.)

March 27: Now this is what I came here for! I collected my niece, Emily, and headed off into town to find a place to park and open up the back of the van. The Guildhall car park worked for a while—and a big hug goes to the traffic warden who turned a blind eye to me not paying for parking, and also to the lovely police officers who took my shopping list and said they’d get the station on it too, as opposed to arresting me which is what Mum was expecting them to do.

When town started quieting down we headed back to Plymstock and noticed that Morrison’s was still packed. The store manager, Ian Matthews, agreed to let us hang around the entrance for the rest of the day, and what a fantastic move that was! We ended up collecting 25 packets of sanitary products, 35 boxes of toothpaste, 34 toothbrushes, 7 boxes of cotton buds, 7 packs of nappies, and loads of babywipes, pet items, underwear, toys, socks, and food. On top of the 66 children’s toys from relatives earlier in the day this was a great result. I can tell you that this van will be full in a couple more days so I’ve emailed Hitachi to see what they suggest.

One woman actually turned up to go shopping with my website list already printed out—she brought tears to my eyes. Lots of people had been to Japan or had had relatives living there at some point, and everyone loved the chance to wave the Japanese flag and say an encouraging Japanese word. It is amazing how

much the hearts of the people in England really go out to everyone in Japan.

March 30: I visited my old secondary school, Plymstock School, at 8:30am, and now I have a completely and utterly full van. This is only my second school to visit, but to be fair we did collect a huge amount of stuff on the weekend at my unplanned stop at Morrisons. The Plymstock School students and staff were just incredible—as soon as I pulled up kids came running across the roundabout area with boxes and bags for me to put in the van. Then it was off to assembly where my old Head of Sixth, Nick Johns, had prepared a quick slideshow of images of Japan for me to talk through to a hundred Year Seven students.

Then it was off to Laira Green Primary at 11am, where I had about an hour with the 11-yearolds who enjoyed looking at my images of Japan and talking about samurai and Disneyland before writing some lovely letters and drawing pictures of encouragement for people in Japan. This visit was a last-minute arrangement and worked out really well because the students and teachers were inspired to plan their own fundraising and item-collection. This is exactly what I want to do—if somehow I can inspire each school I visit to start their own initiatives for long-term financial, practical, or emotional support for Japan, then this could make such a difference to people and I will make sure whatever they do gets there.

April 1: I did my A Level Maths at Coombe Dean, and it was nice to pop back. Six hundred students piled into the gym to watch my slideshow of images of Japan. One girl asked me if she could give me some money for Japan, which I wasn’t expecting, so I asked one of the teachers to pop out to the van to get my red bucket. Back in the hall, the girl tipped her purse upside down and emptied the entire contents in the bucket. Suddenly about half of the children jumped up out of their places and ran to the front, throwing money into the bucket…it was quite unplanned and I just stood there watching them all with a lump in my throat, trying to absorb everything and somehow hope this moment could be transported back to Japan.

April 2: Today I met quite a few people who had relatives in Japan, and I met one Japanese lady who now lived in the UK. She was with her parents, who live in Ibaraki, and she had insisted that they fly over to the UK because she was so worried about them. We talked for a bit about the earthquake, refugees staying in Ibaraki, and their worries about returning. They said they still have nightmares about the earthquake every night. I told them about all the love and support the people of England had for Japan, and how everybody wanted to help. Japanese people tend not to hug, and I know this, but I am a big hugger, and I had to give them all big hugs, which

Caroline with primary school students eager to support Japan.

Image provided by Caroline Pover.

they seemed not to mind. I am so glad they had seen how much English people cared.

April 5: I heard something that really amused me about one of the schools I visited last week. One of the photos in my presentation show the “free hugs” people in Harajuku—it turns out that a couple of rugby-playing sixth form boys spent the next day walking around school with signs offering free hugs, to the bemusement of the teachers who had not been privy to my presentation. I know that teenage boys will try pretty much anything to get close to girls (and actually I’m surprised their signs didn’t say “free snogs”) but I found this hilarious. And the idea that a non-hugging country like Japan can somehow encourage people in the UK to hug more really tickled me too.

April 6: “Here’s something to put in your underwear, dear” said a lovely lady in her seventies to me, as she handed me £20 just before I went to bed last night. Let me explain...

As I spent the last week and a half driving around the South West of England, visiting schools, and collecting financial and practical donations, I had very little time to get myself to a bank. Before I left Plymouth last week Mum had managed to change the roughly £800 of donations I’d collected at that point into notes, and I had to find somewhere safe to put them. You can guess what’s coming next...I didn’t want to put them in my suitcase because what if that disappeared?

My camera case, my computer, my own purse— they could all disappear too. If that money had disappeared I would have been devastated. Now that I have put the money in a totally safe place I can share with you that for the best part of last week I was wandering about with £800 taped inside my underwear. There, I’ve said it. (And it’s not there anymore so don’t ask to check!)

I spoke to some sixth formers at St Johns Marlborough today, who were interested in learning more about Japan. It’s a really interesting school — very state-of-the-art and dynamic both in terms of its facilities and students. You could sense the energy as soon as you stepped into the building. Near the main entrance is a space that is used as a dining hall, in the middle of which I saw a tall triangular “wall.”

On one side was the word “WORRY” and another “WONDER” and students had been encouraged to write about things that made them look at the world in wonder, and things that were worrying them. Sure enough, one student had written that they were worried about Japan. Another one of those many moments that have brought a lump to my throat during this trip.

I’ve been asked to visit some schools in Sendai to tell their communities about my trip and share with them how the people of England are supporting them. I’m looking forward to getting

back to Japan and finding all sorts of other ways to help. It’s time to start thinking about the logistics of getting what I estimate will be about eight vanloads of items back to Japan. I think we will end up having about three tons of stuff and the nice people at Virgin have introduced me to a very helpful chap who will be able to guide me through all the procedures. I can’t wait to load it all up and get it over there.

April 8: I’ve got the go ahead to start dropping stuff off at Heathrow tomorrow! Virgin have arranged for me to work with Vantec who sort out all the details of getting stuff on and off planes and through customs. Within minutes they sent me a confirmation that I can start loading stuff for them—I hadn’t expected it to be so simple!

So I am now in Twickenham and ready for my final school visit tomorrow—with five- and six-yearolds so we should have great fun looking at cultural pictures but also pictures of Disneyland, fireworks, puppies, and sumo wrestlers’ bums(!), which always makes the little ones giggle. I had to leave a vanload of stuff in Leighton Buzzard this morning so that now means three loads in Plymouth, one in Gloucester, two in Newbury, the Leighton Buzzard one, plus another load tomorrow, I expect. Eight in total. Not bad! I’ll go back and forth between each location and Heathrow over the next couple of days.

April 9: I was expecting my last day of school visits to be a bit emotional, but I hadn’t expected to be on the verge of tears four times before mid-day.

First was when Tokyo friend Sam turned up with a hundred bags she had actually made by hand, containing toys, pencils, notepaper, and a postcard upon which she had drawn the Union Jack—so thoughtful. Immediately afterwards a lady turned up with an envelope full of letters another school in the neighbourhood had written, and then it was chaos as bags and bags of donated items were handed over to us by smiling children and their parents. All really set me off, and I wasn’t the only one.

I feel really strange when Japanese people thank me. It’s kind of the same feeling I have with some of the media coverage about this trip—I am not usually uncomfortable with media interviews or anything (you can’t afford to be when you run your own business and simply have to be PR-savvy) and I know it is really necessary for the people of Sendai to remain in others’ thoughts, especially while people like Wayne Rooney take the top spot (feel free to insert your favourite expletive here with lots of exclamation marks). But I’m not comfortable with the attention being on me here—I feel no sense of pride or achievement really in doing this; there is nothing to celebrate, whereas with my books or awards there has been cause for celebration.

No, I have learned to respond to Japanese people who thank me with a simple “Please tell your friends in Japan that England cares” and I well up every time I say it.

April 12: I drove between Newbury, Leighton Buzzard, and Heathrow today for a total of five hours, and can now happily say that there are exactly 50 boxes of donated items at Heathrow ready for Japan, and still more to come! And I’ve worked out the total of money I’ve collected on this trip—£2,055. Thank you to everyone!

April 16: I just want to say a great big thank you to everyone involved: those who fed and clothed me, gave me a bed to sleep in, coordinated things with their schools, lent me a phone and a satnav, let me collect at their businesses, filled the van with petrol, donated cash or items, made my tshirts, provided media coverage, helped count and pack everything, are getting it all (as well as me) on a plane at the best possible price, gave me the lovely Japan van, and encouraged me on every part of the journey. Thank you and please look forward to the next stage of the mission—getting it all north.

To both sides of the world — I’m coming back BAB and I love you!

Being A Broad April 2011

15

SHAKEN UP

IN TOKYO

by Eda J. Sterner

stared blankly at each other as we tried to keep our balance. And it went on and on. It felt like we were standing on the deck of a ship swaying in the waves.

There have been lots of quakes in the 24 years I’ve lived here. There are two types, the bouncy type that usually jolts you out of bed and only lasts a second or two, and the rolling type that we had this time. They usually only last a few seconds, too, but I think they said the first one went on for about three minutes. When things finally calmed, I tried to call home but the lines were jammed. I was too shaken to ride my bike so I walked the rest of the way home, where everything was fine…until a few minutes later when the second quake hit. We opened windows and held onto doorways and just stood there feeling helpless. And it went on and on.

That was Friday afternoon. Now it’s Sunday morning. There were smaller aftershocks for the rest of the day, then two new quakes the next day in Nagano, and another one this morning off Chiba. We were lucky; I keep finding things that fell over but nothing got broken. Our utilities are

our utilities are all working; we have enough food. In the larger sense, we don’t know, and I almost wish people would stop asking. I’m sure that the Nuclear Powers That Be are doing absolutely everything they can to avoid further disaster.

I can tell you that I’m one of the luckiest people I know. My flight left Christchurch half an hour before last month’s quake. (People who know me know about my magical superpowers to control the workings of the universe, but they also know I would never use them to cause something like that. It might be wise, though, not to piss me off.) What amazes me is how radically your perspective can change and how quickly. Just a few days ago, we were with friends planning my husband’s birthday party. That’s not going to happen. Yesterday, he managed to find a store that had milk and came home very pleased with himself. I celebrated with a Pop-Tart.

All jokes aside, the outpouring of concern and sympathy is much appreciated. We take it one day at a time.

Update: April 11, one month post-quake There’s still a lot of concern about radiation

A long-time resident of Tokyo, Eda started a blog following the earthquake, and has been recording her experiences ever since. Blogging as a way to update friends and family back home, and get her thoughts and feelings on ‘paper,’ Eda’s been updating regularly ever since.

To read more, visit http://platosaurus2011. wordpress.com.

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could take a leading role in Asia and even worldwide in rolling back the razzle-dazzle. Whether Jorapan not that happens remains to be seen.

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The tree Eda sheltered under during the earthquake.

Image provided by Eda Sterner

arch 13: Thanks to everyone for your concern. We’re OK, at least so far. The body count keeps rising; there are threats of power outages and possible nuclear meltdown; people are hoarding food. The general mood I’m getting is subdued; everyone is wondering if the quakes have finally stopped and just how awful the fallout is going to be. There’s nothing on TV but shots of utter devastation and talking heads making dire predictions; the loss in terms of life and property is incalculable.

For those interested in gory details, I was on my bicycle waiting for a traffic light to change when the first quake hit. I noticed some power lines shaking and thought, “That’s odd. It isn’t that windy.” Then I noticed that everything was shaking, including me. And it went on and on and on. There weren’t any tall buildings near me so I moved under a big old sakura tree to wait it out.

A couple of ladies and kids joined me and we just

working and except for the occasional aftershock, things seem to be back to normal, as long as I don’t look at the TV. Rescue workers are arriving from around the world, but mostly they don’t know where to start. The tsunamis destroyed the railways and roads and the mud is thick. The death count is up to 2,500 and it will go higher.

Mostly I just feel horribly sad, and I have to admit, scared, and it’s hard to live with that kind of fear. I shouldn’t whine. I don’t think I know any of those people, but I’ve lived here a long time and have come to love and hate this culture. Warts and all, this is a great place to live, or at least it was until Friday afternoon. Today is warm and sunny and I’m grateful for that, but can’t help wondering how much worse it’s going to get.

Update: March 17 I finally worked up the courage to leave the house and go to the gym, which was functioning normally, albeit with most of the lights turned off. One of the trainers said he was in the pool when the quake struck. It was just after a kids’ swimming class had ended and they were in the showers. He said, “That guy over there is the real hero. He ran over and shielded their bodies with his own.” I had to ask, “What did you do?” He said, “I stood there waving my arms around and looking stupid.” Ah, well. At least he had the courage to admit it.

People keep asking if we are safe. We are, in the here and now sense. Our house wasn’t damaged;

and I don’t know what to make of it. The TV is full of nodding grey-hairs who throw around words like millisievert and becquerel. I don’t know what they mean. (Neither does Word. They both got red squiggly lines.) They say that except for the immediate power plant area, the radiation we’re experiencing isn’t even as bad as what was floating around in the ‘60s, when everyone was testing nuclear bombs. I guess that’s some consolation. We don’t have any way of knowing if the government is telling us the truth about the situation. Nobody trusts TEPCO, and for good reason. They don’t have a very good record of coming clean about their operations and have proven their safety standards to be below par again and again. I’m no fan of nuclear power, but to be fair, they were given the nearly impossible job of providing enough safe, steady, and affordable electricity to feed Tokyo’s insatiable appetite and we shouldn’t be surprised if they come up short. Last month’s quakes were the biggest ever recorded, so I don’t know if we can put all the blame on them for not planning for the unimaginable. Some are blaming them for building a plant on a fault line, but also to be fair, most of Japan is on fault lines, and useful land is scarce.

Remember that Japan has half the population of the entire United States, is only slightly bigger than California, and 70 percent of that land is uninhabitable mountains. Still, like I said before, a quieter, darker Tokyo is a nice thing. Asian cities are mostly loud and garish. Japan could take a leading role in Asia and even worldwide in rolling back the razzle-dazzle. Whether or not that happens remains to be seen.

On the other hand, the sakura trees are in full bloom and as glorious as ever. When the wind blows, the petals fall in clouds so thick it looks like it’s snowing, then they cover the streets with a delicate pink carpet that muffles our footsteps. Meguro River is lined on both sides with very old sakura trees that lean out over the water. One night a few years ago, I was pedalling home from work and stopped on a bridge. There was a full moon directly over the river, perfectly framed with pink blossoms dancing in BAB a breeze. It was breathtaking.

BORN IN THE QUAKE

Images provided by Sarah Yamaguchi.

by Sarah Yamaguchi

Sarah and a newborn Keigo.

I

t has already been over a month since I gave birth... yes, my little guy came early!

Here is my birth story. It’s a long one.

It all started March 11, 2011. I was 34 weeks pregnant, huge, and pretty darn happy.

As you all know, March 11 was the day the big earthquake hit Japan. Well, due to the earthquake and the chaos of that day, my baby suffered too much stress and almost died inside me!

Immediately after the earthquakes hit, I started to have contractions and then started to bleed very badly a few hours later.

Thank goodness at the time I was with my dear friend. (She was my bump buddy and also pregnant at 21 weeks. She is also OK.) During the earthquakes, we held each other and helped to calm each other down. We were extremely lucky to be together at that time and to be in a safe building.

Well, when I saw the blood, I had no idea why I was bleeding but knew something was terribly wrong. I immediately told my bumpbuddy and she calmly let me know that I needed to get to a hospital as soon as possible. We contacted the security officers in the building and they brought us to their office—they called for an ambulance, but we all knew it would take hours. We waited there and tried numerous times to contact our husbands, but it was hit or miss because most cell phones didn’t work that night. So we waited and waited.

It took hours for the ambulance to arrive and figure out where to take us. I am a patient at Seibo Hospital and that was the only place they were willing to take me! I was very frustrated and angry because my bump-buddy was also feeling pain and we just wanted to be seen at the closest hospital ASAP. We found out very quickly that was not an option. Even in that extreme situation,

Proud dad Takeshi and dog Kuta greet Keigo.

they would not take us to a closer hospital—I was going to Seibo and my friend was going to her hospital, there was no negotiating.

We had no choice but to say goodbye and wish each other good luck—we were put into separate ambulances and headed in opposite directions. They raced me all the way across Tokyo to get to Seibo. The ride was intense—my contractions were getting worse and with all the traffic it took over an hour to drive there. I was in so much pain—I kept passing out and was in shock, confusion, and constant fear for the baby.

Once we got to Seibo, the doctor checked me right away and told me that the baby was in great danger and was going to die!

We had an emergency c-section within the hour. The staff, nurses, and doctors all worked quickly. They were very kind to me and did anything they could to keep me calm. I begged for them to call and wait for my husband or at least wait until the morning, but they all insisted that it needed to be done immediately. My c-section was very scary and painful and lonely. Yet—thank goodness—moments before the surgery I managed to talk to my husband from the bathroom for a few seconds—to let him know that I was having the baby.

into an incubator and needed lots of medical attention around the clock. It was so hard not to be able to hold him, and my heart was breaking every time I saw him with tubes, cords, and wires all over his tiny body. It was hard because all I could do was touch him through a small window with my fingers...I talked to him all the time—I told him stories and sang songs. I told him all sorts of stories. I just wanted him to know I was there with him and that he was safe. Over the next few days I was able to hold him and started to breastfeed.

On the operating table, I cried—I was in such shock that my husband wasn’t going to be there. I was in shock that I was having a c-section, in shock that I was all alone. The entire surgery was very scary. That was until I heard the first cry from my son. At that exact moment, my heart became so light and I was filled with such a rush of happiness, love, and pride. They let me hold him for about one minute on the operating table. I touched his hand and he grabbed my two fingers so tight! It was the best moment of my entire life, meeting my son for the first time. It was the truest love that I have ever felt.

He was born safe and sound at 34 weeks on March 11, 2011 at 11:22 pm, weight 2,732 grams. Together the baby and I made it just fine, just in time.

My poor, sweet husband was upset that he missed our son’s arrival. The night of his birth, as all trains, roads, and buses were a mess—my husband ran home from work, jumped on his bicycle, and rode all the way across Tokyo—it took over three hours to arrive early the next morning to meet his son for the first time. I asked him later if it was hard getting to the hospital and he told me it was nothing. He just kept smiling the whole way and couldn’t wait to meet his baby!

Immediately after his birth, my baby went

After a week at Seibo, I was released and went home, alone. My baby had to stay until he was 37 weeks old—two more weeks. It was a very hard two weeks for me emotionally and physically after having a c-section and only having a week to recover. I had to travel every day to Seibo, which is pretty far from my house—almost two hours by bus and train—but I did it every day to feed him with great happiness and pride. I was so happy. I was a new mommy!

We named our son Keigo Siem Yamaguchi and he is such a fighter. I know he will grow strong and become a good man with a warm heart. He is such a gift from heaven, a survivor from all this chaos, death, and disaster.

Every day I kiss my little baby and tell him that I am so lucky to have him.

It has been over a month since his birth and our Keigo is home, healthy, and happy.

I am still not feeling 100 percent recovered from the surgery yet, but I’m sure over time it will get better. One other thing that has made me smile throughout this past month is the love and support that I have felt from my friends here locally, from work, through Facebook, Tokyo Mothers Group, Tokyo Pregnancy Group, and my friends back home in the States. Thanks to BAB all for the love.

nce we got to Seibo, the doctor checked me right away and told me that the baby was in great O danger and was going to die!

Being A Broad April 2011

17

ROOM TO READ

UNITES FOR JAPAN

by Lien Do, photography by Andrea Mctamaney

O

n the evening of April 9, 2011, 100 Friends of Room to Read gathered at La Bisboccia Restaurant to help raise funds for Ashinaga, a well established nonprofit organisation based in Tokyo. For over 40 years Ashinaga been providing education-focused financial and emotional support to children who have a parent or guardian with a serious disability, or who have lost one or both parents or guardians due to illness, accident, disaster, or suicide. The timing of the earthquake at 2:46pm on March 11 meant that many school children were separated from their parents at that time. To date, there are now 82 confirmed orphans who have lost both parents. With 15,000 people still missing, that number is estimated to reach between 200 and 300.

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Each year, Ashinaga provides financial support to more than 6,000 students in need; total academic loans and scholarships disbursed exceed $22 million annually. Ashinaga has set up a special project to specifically address the needs of the recent disaster.

This project includes: • Establishment of one-time relief payments for children (from infants to graduate school students), ranging from ¥100,000 ($1,250) to ¥400,000 ($5,000).

• Grace periods for repayment of regular Ashinaga educational loans.

• Dispatch of staff members to affected areas to identify children in need of psychological and emotional support. These efforts are based on the 16 years of experience and know-how accumulated through the psychosocial care

activities of the Kobe Rainbow House, which was established subsequent to the 1995 Great Hanshin Earthquake.

That evening, April 9, was originally the date of the Room to Read Gala, which has now been postponed to the fall due to earthquake. However, friends and volunteers of Room to Read did not want this opportunity to pass without helping Japan in its greatest hour of need. The event raised more than 2.7 million yen, with almost half of that from an exciting live auction of a trip to luxury resort Amantaka (in Laos) generously bid upon by Timothy Berlet.

For more information about Ashinaga and the work that they do, please visit www. ashinaga.org.

UNITING ARTISTS

FOR JAPAN

by Sabrina Olivieri-Tozawa

realised that the disaster was completely forgotten by European Imedia because of the nuclear crisis in Fukushima...

M

arch 11, 2011, 2:45pm: I had just finished eating a sandwich at my office in Akasaka and was talking with my colleague when the building started to shake. We were standing next to a bookshelf and were looking at each other with surprised faces. We were waiting to see if the earthquake would become stronger, because only two days before the same happened and the earthquake faded.

But this time, it was different. I had never experienced when an earthquake becomes stronger and had always asked myself how this would be.

Well, I realised quickly what had happened and we moved away from the shelves as the first books started to fall out. My colleague (surprisingly calm) told me to hide under the table because I guess she saw my scared face.

After minutes that felt like an eternity, the earth stopped shaking and we evacuated outside in order to wait for the aftershocks. I never entered that office building again.

Indeed, after a week of uncertainty and

aftershocks, my husband and I decided that for the sake of my health I should return to my home country for a while. Back in Luxembourg, I realised that the disaster was completely forgotten by European media because of the nuclear crisis in Fukushima. Every media outlet was focusing on radioactivity and only marginally mentioned the fate of the victims.

I was so sad and angry at the same time that shortly after I contacted the regional cultural centre in my hometown and asked them if they would help me organise a charity event for the 300,000 people who lost their homes in seconds and the almost 30,000 dead and missing people.

It was tough, as the only available date was two weeks later! But a lot of people helped. The bands played for free, artists donated artwork, and the Luxembourg Red Cross (I chose the Red Cross to financially support, as it was on such a short notice and they are one of the biggest and reliable organisations) volunteered.

The following two weeks were stressful, but clearly an enriching time for me, because I

needed to do something and this was the only way for me to help the victims because I was not in Japan.

The event was a great success (at least for such a small town). Around 500 people attended and we collected ¥1,500,000 in donations! The realisation of this event helped me a bit to handle what happened.

However, I also think that the victims need even more help and with the event we were able to awake a feeling of solidarity among people from Luxembourg, which seems to be lasting, as other organisations also started to hold events.

I returned to Japan at the beginning of May, with my husband. I am happy to return and I hope that I can have a normal life again.

I also hope that the victims will be helped and that the international community, sees what has happened to these people!

Perhaps another fundraising event in Japan will bring the victims’ fate one more time back to peoples’ minds...

BAB Being A Broad April 2011

19

1 GIRL. 30 DAYS. 1000 CRANES

FROM 6735 MILES AWAY

by Wendy Epstein

Images provided by Wendy Epstein.

Wendy with the cranes completed as of day seven.

S

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ix am, March 11: My brother rushed in, waking me. I knew I didn’t have to be up for another hour, but he insisted I go and look at the TV. This can’t be real, I thought, this has to be a bad dream.

But it wasn’t. Now wide awake, I ran downstairs to my laptop and scanned through pages of mixi and Facebook updates about the earthquake and tsunami. Everyone was terrified. The Japan I knew had come to a complete standstill, and I was half a world away.

Back in the fourth grade, I became enamored AUTOMOBILES: with Japan after reading Sadako and the Thousand BEAUTY: Paper Cranes. Chasing my passion has landed me in Japan five times: once for a year-long study abroad program, during which I joined my host university’s ouendan, and more recently this past November, when I went to participate in more ouendan events and do some impromptu job hunting after a visa issue derailed my plans for technical school enrollment. After earning a BA in Japanese and spending my third summer working at a Japanese immersion summer camp in Minnesota, I am back in Massachusetts, living with my parents and planning my “next step.” Just days before my last Skype interview for a summer training program at a large Tokyo company, one that I have been after for the past year, disaster struck. Everything was up in the air: my plans were delayed, of course, but more importantly, many things I loved from afar were thrown out of balance.

For the next week I forced myself to live simultaneously on US and Japan time, waking up early in the morning and refusing to go to sleep until I could catch my friends during their morning in Tokyo. Even before Verizon began offering free calling to Japan, I made it a point to call every one of my friends. It wasn’t until I heard their voices telling me through Skype and over the phone that they and their families were safe that I could gradually transition from a state of constant worry to one where I could begin to think of how to proceed.

More than anything I knew I wanted, no, needed to help, but I felt like the odds were

stacked against me. Some 6,735 miles away, no disaster training, no job that would enable me to donate...I’d never felt so powerless in my life! I needed to find something meaningful that I could do to help, something that could draw on all of the experiences I have gained over the past 13 years in my flirtations with Japan. I had to find a way to use my current position to my advantage.

Eager to contribute to the disaster relief, I originally made a sumi-e-themed custom My Little Pony toy, however it had not sold for as much as I hoped it would in an online charity auction.

Looking for another option I browsed Facebook the afternoon of April 3 and saw one of my friends asking for sponsors as she prepared to do the “Walk for Change.” Jokingly I thought, “Wouldn’t it be great if people would sponsor me to fold 1,000 cranes?”

Much like a Walk-A-Thon, I am asking for sponsors to contribute a fixed amount of their choosing per crane, to be donated to the American Red Cross on May 11 (“Donation Day”). A minimum pledge of $0.01 per crane will become a donation of $10 when I reach my goal of 1,000 cranes at the end of the 30 days (with the number of cranes capped at 1,000, though of course I can’t stop anyone from donating more should they wish to do so).

I am hoping to have each crane represent a final net worth of one dollar over all the pledges, which would mean the total sum donated would be $1,000. Each sponsor is, of course, only pitching in their pledged amount, but it is strength in numbers that can help reach this goal. As of this writing, one week in, I’ve folded over 260 cranes that each represent a collective $0.39 pledged toward relief efforts—unquestionably a great start considering that this is essentially a one-woman show. I have Facebook and Twitter pages that are updated daily, and occasionally upload videos to YouTube in the hope that more people will perhaps be inspired by the project, or at least my enthusiasm for the cause, and pledge. I hope that as I continue to fold and spread the word through both electronic and non-electronic social networking, those who have taken notice (60+ on Facebook as of last count!) will pledge and hopefully let more their own connections know in an ever-expanding web of altruism for Japan.

While crane-folding and website management will be my world for the next month, I know that

hese drops—one penny, one crane, one wish—will accumulate, and it is this accumulation over time T that will ultimately help restore Japan.

For me, folding 1,000 cranes isn’t as impossible a task as you might think. Inspired by the story of Sadako, I’d done it once during the summer of 2000, folding 10 cranes a day for 100 days. I had been considering folding another thousand after the disaster, but stopped myself because I knew the last thing the Tohoku region needed was a bunch of paper birds clogging up the infrastructure.

Personally, I’d just about had it with misdirected online awareness movements that overall had no effect on the situation abroad—cranes for the sake of folding cranes, Facebook badges on profile pictures, the whole “Pray for Japan” slogan—so I began to think more seriously about the logistics of my spur-of-the-moment fundraiser idea. By dinner I had a name, and by the time I went to bed, the Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube pages for “30 Days to 1,000” were live.

Since April 11, one month after the earthquake, I have been working to fold and string 1,000 paper cranes in 30 days (that is, until May 10), each one carrying a bit of my wish for Japan’s recovery.

it’s still a very small drop in the bucket. However, these drops—one penny, one crane, one wish— will accumulate, and it is this accumulation over time that will ultimately help restore Japan. Thus, I fold on!

If you’d like to pledge, or just want to see how I’m doing, please visit http://facebook. com/30daysto1000 before May 10. You can also subscribe on YouTube and follow me on Twitter at 30daysto1000.

BAB

Being A Broad Resources

AUTOMOBILES: BEAUTY:

RELOCATION: BEAUTY:

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BUSINESS: BEAUTY:

Being A Broad April 2011

Being A Broad Resources

FOOD & DINING:

COMMUNITY:

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ENGLISH TEACHING:

ASK CAROLINE:

TAILORING:

SPORTS & FITNESS:

RELOCATION:

CLEANING:

RELOCATION:

PRINTING:

Being A Broad Resources

FOOD & DINING:

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Being A Broad April 2011

Being A Broad Resources

PHOTOGRAPHY:

COMMUNITY:

FAMILIES:

GUIDE TO INTERNATIONAL

SCHOOLS

IN JAPAN www.internationalschoolsguidebook.com

FAMILIES:

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Being A Broad Resources 25

Being A Broad April 2011

Being A Broad Resources

HEALTH & BEAUTY:

PAMPERING:

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DENTISTRY:

laurel springs