Homestay, Radio Broadcast, and Misconduct

First off, I’d like to start this with a huge and belated thank you to my parents and my friends’ parents who drove me around in middle and high school! I had a wonderful time with my host family, a mom and her 13 year old boy. One of the more enlightening points of our time together was when we picked her son up from his friend’s house around 9:30 at night. She’d been waiting for his call since the early evening, and when he finally was ready to come home, we rushed out to go get him. Then we waited a bit while he hung out with his friends outside the apartment where he’d been hanging out all day. Two got in the car with us, and we drove one home. Most of the way back to my host’s house, her son finally told her that the friend’s mom was not coming to the house to pick him up. We needed to drop him off at his house. We turned around and drove back to his house and dropped him off. Then we finally went home. This took a little over an hour in total. I’m sure it was just noise as usual to everyone who spoke Japanese, but all I could do was pay attention to the intonation and volume of the voices. These teens were loud, frequently pushing each other enthusiastically and breaking out into song. I wanted to video, but it seemed somehow inappropriate. It was great to see everyone so animatedly interacting and definitely a fun car ride, but I could see how it might wear on someone to always be the driver. And I didn’t hear any “thank yous” (a word I recognize) when the friends got out of the car. I’m betting that I didn’t say thank you either, so here it is, 15 years later. :)

Sumako had never hosted anyone before, but she had been so touched by the kindness of her host family when she studied abroad in Australia that she wanted to give back now. Because of the year she spent in Australia in college, she was mostly fluent in English, something not true among many of my group members’ host families. We were able to talk comfortably, and I was more worried about whether I was asking questions that were considered probing or inappropriate than whether I was understood. (Of course, she started off our meeting with “You look so young; how old are you?,” a question I’ve been asked countless times by the students and teachers on this trip. Which isn’t usually how you start a meeting in the US…) I feel so lucky to have met her and to have the experience to be welcomed into a Japanese home. Overall, it was a pretty emotional experience; her husband was recently killed in a car accident, and I was able to witness some of the mourning process. I think it’s the most meaningful experience I’ve had, and I’m tearing up just thinking about it. If you’re interested, I’ll tell you more in person, but it was very personal and intense, and I don’t think that a public forum is the appropriate place to share.

I will say that Okinawa is a culture with a strong system of ancestor worship. The picture book that I was given by the librarian is about respecting ancestors (it has a drawing of the particularly Okinawan style of grave, a family grave built into the hill shaped like a womb). This is what wealthy families have, as well as families who have lived on Okinawa for many generations.

At the homestay, Sumako was the most gracious host, and she shared everything she had. When I mentioned my interest in the environment, she took me to the mangroves and the bird sanctuary, and since her son’s first grade teacher now works there, we got a personal tour into the wetlands. We also visited the caves where the Okinawan people hid during the war and where many of them died in attacks, Shuri castle, an UNESCO Heritage site, and a parade of traditional Okinawan dances and songs. On Saturday night, she took me to the most incredible restaurant. She said that it was like a house, and she wasn’t kidding. An older woman decided she wanted to cook, and she set up a restaurant in a house on a hill. There are three rooms and one dinner seating a night. It’s a set menu, but Sumako had arranged ahead of time for a vegetarian meal, including checking on ingredients with me earlier in the afternoon. The setting was beautiful, sitting on tatami mats surrounded by art and woodwork. An hour and a half flew by, which normally would seem like a long time for a meal but wasn’t in this place. We were served trays of small dishes, many of which I’d never tried before, but the meal was more about fellowship than food. It’s hard to describe, only that it was an excellent meal.

I ate persimmons and dragonfruit (the latter of which I had previously only seen on the trees at The Land in Epcot) and both were delicious. If I could sneak either into the US as souvenirs, I’d do it in a heartbeat. And onto my second to final story of the day, the one that will guarantee that I shouldn’t share the blog address with JFMF officials. :) When we went to the grocery store, I bought two dragonfruit to eat during the remainder of my stay. Since dragonfruit have quite the protective covering, you need a knife to cut through the cactus-like peel. I packed a (dull) knife in my backpack for the plane flight back to Tokyo, and as my backpack went through security, the machine beeped. So they ran it through again. Same result. They asked if I was carrying a knife, and I shrugged and said I was living out of my backpack and didn’t really know all that was in there. (Believe me, it is packed solid!) They started going through it manually and found the knife. I quickly pulled the dragonfruit out of my bag, and pantomimed cutting it excitedly, as though I wasn’t standing under a big NO sign with knives, lighters, and boxcutters. They ran the bag through security again. This time, no beep. The security man carefully placed the knife back in my bag, saying, “Please don’t use on the plane.” I share this story to illustrate the differences in the US and Japanese systems. I told a friend from my group about security, and she said that when she arrived in Japan, she couldn’t find her passport at Customs. The agent said, “I trust you. Find it later.” Wow!

The radio broadcast went well, with only one main surprise. During the rehearsal, I was told that there would be two question and answer sessions, one for me and one for Karen, the other member of our group chosen to take part in the radio broadcast. I would talk about life in America, and she would talk about our experiences in Tomigusuku. Each session would be about 15 minutes, 7 minutes of talking interspersed with 7 minutes of translating. Five minutes before the broadcast, I asked what questions I was likely to be asked, and the radio personality in charge of the show smiled at me uncomprehendingly. The translator repeated my question. She said, “I told you. I will ask you a question about life in America, then you will talk for 15 minutes.” Oh……hmmmm, that wasn’t quite what I was expecting, so I was more than a little playing it by ear as we started the program a few minutes later and I opened the show. They had also asked us to think of two songs we like to have played as they transitioned from our Q and As to their sponsors. We immediately thought of this one popular Okinawan song we’d been hearing all week and also wanted to come up with a popular American song. But you know how it is when you’re on the spot. And despite the claim that they had 10,000 American songs, they wouldn’t give us the name of any, and I kept running through my music collection and thinking that the songs I listen to most frequently are probably not ones they would have. We finally hit on the idea of 1980’s Madonna, quintessentially American music that’s fun to listen to. ‘Holiday’ seemed like an appropriate choice, so after much laughter and deliberation, we chose that. Yet what happens when my talk time ends? The radio personality says, “Now Christina, would you please request your favorite song?" Hahaha-perhaps now Holiday by Madonna, little did I know...

(If you're wondering about the Peter Rabbit teacup photo, I included it because it was one of the first things I saw upon entering the house. And the only other place I've seen that mug is at my parents' house. My mom used to drink out of an identical mug every day when I was younger. I thought it was a sign that I should feel comfortable in Sumako's home.)