March 26, 2020
Tuesday, March 31, 2020
I Called It
When I read that the
International Olympic Committee had forced Japan to postpone the 2020 Summer Games,
my first thought was, “Maybe now they’ll be more serious and transparent about
battling COVID-19.” And don’t you know, the very next day borders closed to
incoming and outgoing international flights. And all of a sudden the official
number of cases shot up because there was no longer reason to suppress them.
The Olympic Games & COVID-19
The COVID-19 situation here is not as alarming as China’s or South Korea’s,
but the word on the street is that the government has been underreporting cases
because they’re afraid that the real numbers will cause the 2020 Olympics to be
moved away from Japan. Yeah, let’s lie about the current health crisis and
potentially put thousands of world-class athletes at risk.
Meanwhile, unfounded internet rumours have sent people into panic buying toilet paper and sanitary napkins causing shortages at some area stores. Also, we’re dealing with a respiratory disease, why are they preparing for diarrhea? My Black girlfriends are like “They need to be panic buying SOAP. And USE it!” I totally agree. They act like they’re allergic to soap and water, but expect a little face mask to work miracles.
Why did this have to be the year I finally broke down and taught elementary? Love the little kids, but they’re a germy bunch. And they love to touch me. It’s difficult to reject their little affections.
February 29, 2020
COVID-19 Racism
Lately there have been a lot of borderline and straight up racist comments
and jokes coming across my timeline about Chinese people and the Wuhan virus.
I remember how butthurt Black people were when these sorts of jokes were making the rounds during the Ebola virus outbreak four years ago. How quickly we forget.
Bonus: I was living in Asia, where all Black people are considered African. Fun times.
February 9, 2020
2020!
Today was my first day teaching at School B since we returned from winter
break. At the beginning of class I always ask the students questions as I write
the date on the chalkboard. Yuna was super-eager to let me know what year it
was.
Me: Good morning, boys and girls!
Students: Good morning, Ms Guaria!
Me: Happy new year!
Students: Happy new year!
Me: What day is today?
Yuna: 2020!
Me: What DAY? Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday…
Other students: Tuesday!
Me: Let’s spell it together.
Students: T-U-E-S-D-A-Y!
Me: What is today’s date?
Yuna: 2020!
Me: As in January, February, March…
Other students: January!
Me: Let’s spell it together.
Students: J-A-N-U-A-R-Y!
Me: January what?
Yuna: 2020!
Me: Not yet!
Other students: 14th!
Me: Thank you! What year is it?
[silence]
Me: Now’s your chance, Yuna!
Yuna: 2020!!! [shouting and jumping up and down]
Thank you, Yuna. What’s today’s weather?
Yuna: 2020!
[I point out the window.]
Other students: Sunny!
Gotta love this kid’s exuberance.
January 14, 2020
Monday, March 30, 2020
Good-bye Gunma
This summer I left my mountain village in Gunma and moved to Saitama. After two years, I decided it was time to move on and get a taste of life in a less rural part of Japan.
The July morning sun was streaming through the windows pleasantly onto the teachers and students. The end-of-semester ceremony was like all the other ceremonies: speeches, certificates, more speeches. In other words, boring. Then Terayama-sensei, the tall, barrell-chested, jovial P.E. teacher, who was serving as master of ceremonies calls to me. “Guaria-sensei. Speech!” Japanese folks love their ceremonies and speeches, so I knew I wasn’t going to get away without giving one. I’d prepared a six-sentence speech. I walked to the front and faced the student body. First, Shogo, one of the ninth graders presented me with a bouquet of flowers. Then, Yoshinosuke, another ninth grader read a letter he’d written about his best memory of me as his teacher.
“Good morning, girls and boys,” I said my usual greeting as if it were the beginning of class. “Good morning, Ms. Guaria,” they answered in unison. In a millisecond the realization came over me that this was the last time we would exchange greetings like this. I was overcome by emotion. Immediately my eyes filled with tears and my throat tightened. I had to pause twice during my brief speech, tears streaming down my face, to regain my composure. I managed to get through it without becoming a complete blubbering mess and stood at the back during the rest of the ceremony.
After it was over, Kozue approached me, “Ms. Guaria...” I could tell she was searching for words to say. Finally, she said, “Thank you for two years.” And the waterworks began again. I thanked her and patted her arm. I would have given her a hug, but Japanese people are not huggers. And I’d seen some of the painfully awkward hugs people were giving each other at the last two graduations. But the kid wouldn’t budge! She just stood there staring at me meaningfully. Finally, I mumbled something and made my way down to the staff room. I felt hot and spent. There, the Kyoto-sensei (the vice-principal) presented me with a farewell gift of large, square hanko, which read “Lindo-sensei” with my name in kanji (Chinese characters). That was brief, so I was able to hold it together.
I had made coasters on a sewing machine in the home economics room as farewell gifts during my free periods. One side was traditional Japanese fabric and the other, African wax print. I placed one on each desk in the staff room with little cakes I’d bought from Shizuoka. They loved it. The principal was especially impressed. He kept saying “Lindo-sensei blah-blah-blah, handmado!” Apparently, Kyoto-sensei didn’t think what they’d given me had been enough because he started having discussions about me with the secretary and principal. He came up for air to ask me about my official last day (it was Tuesday). The next week, he brought me a gift bag with local hand woven gifts, a mini-album with photos from the current semester and other goodies.
Then Kozue and Airu, two ninth graders, both, separately gave me letters. Kozue wrote a letter saying that she disliked English, but after two years with me as her teacher, she like it and wishes she hadn’t been shy to practice with me the first year. I was such a touching letter that it started me crying all over again. Not only is she smart, she has a type of kindness and compassion that is often characteristic of children who grow up with a disabled sibling (her sister has a developmental disability). She is also super-caring and patient with that boat-load of dorky boys that is her homeroom class. After I read the letter I went, found her and did give her a hug. And it wasn’t awkward at all.
**Will add photos later.
December 25, 2019
How I Unintentionally Became the Cool Teacher
Everything was going along fine until the day I noticed a boy use the urinal, turn around and walk straight out of the restroom without washing his hands. I hadn’t meant to see it, but the boys’ room door was always open, and the urinals were lined up opposite the door. My mind began making connections. Those are the same hands I’ve been high fiving! Aside from general little boy germs, I had baby penis germs on my hands!
When that six-month contract came to an end and I got a job at an English village, I made a point to encourage kids with fist bumps instead of high fives. Knuckles are a bit less germy than palms, I figured. Most of my students were junior high schoolers (ages 12-15). I was unprepared for their response to fist bumps. The boys, in particular, thought it was the coolest thing EVER. I was supposed to stamp their class participation passports, but some of them preferred getting fist bumps over stamps.
One boy from Bucheon asked “Teacher, you have boyfriend?” I answered, “No, do you want to be my boyfriend?” This response usually made the asker blush and retreat, but this bold kid said, “Yes! Wait me! Wait me five years!” I was not ready. Was it my fabulous wit and beauty or was it the fist bumps? Outside of class they’d find the smallest excuse to approach me in the hope of getting an extra fist bump. Then they’d look back at their friends as if they’d just fist bumped a famous NBA player. Considering that most of my high school students in the U.S. thought I was the very opposite of cool, this tickled me to no end.
Fast forward to my first school in Japan, both the students and teachers thought fist bumps were super kakkoi. The social studies teacher put a photo of me on the front page of the eighth grade homeroom newsletter. In it I was fist bumping a student. Months later, while checking out the teachers’ shared drive, I came across dozens of photos of me fist bumping students which had been taken by the tenth grade homeroom teacher during my first couple weeks there.
Who knew that, in my quest to encourage nervous students AND avoid their germs, I’d stumble onto the magic key to coolness in Asia? The students I teach now love it, probably because it’s new (to them) and because they’d only ever seen it on television. Whatever the reason, I’m going to ride this wave of coolness because if I return to teach in the U.S., I’ll go back to being the strict,
nerdy, uncool teacher.
March 4, 2020
Shiri-Tori with the Sunflowers
For some unexplained reason, elementary schools in Japan give their special education classes names other than ‘the special ed class.” So at my C school, they’re called tampopo (dandelion) and at my B school they’re called himawari (sunflower). I asked several elementary teachers and they most said the special education classes at their schools have names of plants, flowers or cute animals. I imagine it has something to do with the Japanese compulsion of giving cutesy names to things they perceive as unpleasant or embarrassing.
Today I had lunch with tampopo class. It has seven students ranging in age from eight to eleven. One was absent, so there were six of them, plus the teacher and the two teacher’s aides. I sat between Nozumi and Kira, the two eight year olds. I suspect Nozumi’s issues must not be learning disabilities because, academically, she’s high functioning. Kira, on the other hand, I don’t know. While I’m teaching the others, he rolls around on the floor in the corner. He’s usually quiet, so my hope is that while he’s rolling around, he’s also absorbing some of the vocabulary (or at the very least, the songs) the others are learning.
Kira asked me what I was eating. “Yasai supu des (vegetable soup),” I answered. He went on to eat his omelet, curry rice and mixed vegetables (which he had drenched in creamy sesame dressing) while chatting with Nozumi. When we finished eating there was still plenty of time left in the lunch period. Kira asked Hayashi-sensei something, who responded with “Ask Guaria-sensei.” He turned to me and said something I didn’t understand. Nozumi reassured him that it was okay. He went on to say other words that I understood, but made no sense to me. There didn’t seem to be any connection between them. I shot in the dark and answered with random words, which he and Nozumi thought was hilarious. Finally, I heard Nozumi respond to one of his words and I realized what was going on. They (we) were playing a word game called Shiri-Tori.
The way it works is one person says a word, then the next person must say a word that begins with the same syllable the previous person’s word ended with. For example, if the game were to be played in English, the first person might say hunTER. The second person would say TERriFIC. Then the third person would say FICtional, and so on, until someone gets stuck or says a word that’s not allowed. I had played it before with my students in Gunma, but they had explained what we were doing, so I had a fair chance. This time, I had no idea what was going on until I made the connection between what they were saying to each other. No wonder they were laughing at my initial responses.
Once I knew what we were doing, I was able to make more sense. I know a fair bit of vocabulary, but, of course, when I had to produce it under pressure, I kept drawing a blank. Or, just as bad, I kept coming up with words that end in N. The one rule is that words must not end in N. So, although I now knew what we were doing, they were still laughing at my responses. At least now I could laugh along with them.
Most of my professional life I’ve worked with teenagers. Although my certification is for grades 7-12 (ages 12-18), I have almost exclusively worked with grades 9-12 (ages 14-18). This school year was the first time I’ve worked in elementary schools. And, I must say, it regularly brings me joy in ways that only occasionally happens with the upper grades. The simplest little interactions are so heartwarming and sweet.
March 6, 2020
Japanese Language Class
One of the advantages of living in a city, as opposed to a very rural area like where I first lived, is that there is a higher likelihood of having access to Japanese language classes. They range from pricey intensive courses taught by professionals to free ones taught by volunteers. The one offered closest to my apartment is two hours long and meets three times per month. It’s not free, but super-cheap and is taught by volunteers who are almost all retirees.
Here’s how it works: You show up, wear a name tag around your neck, sit at one of the tables and wait for an instructor to be sent to you. After the first hour, the new students go up front and introduce themselves (name, country, occupation, nice to meet you, bow). Then lessons resume. Most students are from Vietnam and China (Speaking of which, last week none of the Chinese students attended. I wonder if they’re nervous to venture out because of Japanese attitudes against Chinese people because of the current the Wuhan virus crisis.) During the second hour of class, they serve cold green tea in little paper cups, and pass around a tin Donald Duck canister with a slot on the lid so we can pay our weekly fee.
December 8, 2019
While I was thrilled to find an inexpensive class that was only a 20-minute bike ride away, that soon gave way to frustration. The volunteers come from all walks of life, but not education. Simply being a native speaker does not automatically make you an effective language teacher. Also, many of them want to practice English, so you end up wasting a lot of time on getting-to-know-you small talk (there’s a separate post on that topic).
Worse still, they all assume that you’re starting from zero, so they begin by telling you basic things that are common knowledge even to people who’ve never set foot in Japan. But they know from the initial exchange that I’ve been living here for more than two years. Do they think I’ve been living in some English vacuum? Maybe if I lived in Tokyo, but certainly not in the mountain village where I was the only Westerner. Then they are utterly astonished when they realize that I can read and write hiragana and katakana and that I taught myself. They ask incredulously, “How?!!” [Because you cannot learn anything unless someone teaches you. Autodidacts are unicorns.] I tell them that I bought kindergarten level workbooks at the 100 yen shop and methodically practiced at home. “But Japanese is so difficult!” No, it’s not. [If a five-year-old can learn to read and write, why would it be difficult for me? I’d like to think that I’m at least as intelligent as a kindergartener. Japanese people think everything is difficult, especially for foreigners.]
February 2, 2020
The most irritating aspect of how the class is organized is that the instructors rotate, which I didn’t realize at first. When they gave me a different instructor on the second week, I wasn’t worried, because he wasn’t that great. Then the third week I got Takagi-san, an awesome teacher who explained things well, gave me a chance to practice new concepts and was funny, to boot. I reviewed my notes at home, wrote a page of sentences for her to check, and eagerly looked forward to my next lesson with her. The next week I even brought her raspberry jam-filled heart cookies from a Swedish store in Chiba. Imagine my chagrin when they sent someone else to my table. After about half an hour, I had to gently steer him to the textbook. It took that long because it’s not his fault that I hate small talk in general, and small talk with Japanese people, specifically. He’s just a nice octogenarian trying to stay active.
How are students expected to progress when the instructor is constantly changing? How are we to have any continuity and flow in the lessons? Then, again, I’m thinking like an educator. The people who organize and run the program are not teachers, and are, therefore, clueless about best practices. I could just sign up for a class in another city, but I don’t want to have to travel 40 minutes on train to get there. So I continue attending even when it rains and I have to take the bus, because I do learn a little something every week. And next week might be the day when Takagi-san rotates back to me.
February 16, 2020
Today I had a whole different experience. I went to class and sat down to wait for an instructor to be assigned to me. A man with messy salt and pepper hair soon came over. He read my name tag and said “Lindo-san, yoroshiku onegaishimasu (nice to meet you).” Then he held his name tag out for me to see “Suzuki-san?” I read the hiragana slowly. “Yes, Suzuki is one of the most common surnames in Japan.” He waited while I showed him where in the textbook I’d left off. “Connecticut?” He asked. “Hai,” I said. Then he dove into the lesson. No getting to know you preamble, no small talk! And when the lesson touched upon food, he didn’t ask me if I like Japanese food. At one point he began to say something about pork and stopped himself and chose a vegetable. He’d obviously been talking to one of my previous instructors. Ha!
He corrected and explained as I went along completing the drills. When we got to the end of the unit, there was a quiz. I had to make sentences using the grammatical concepts I’d just practiced. This was not a set drill, so I could create sentences using any vocabulary as long as it was in the featured grammatical framework. As I went through the quiz, Suzuki-san kept exclaiming “Sugoi!” and “So clever!” I guess he was astounded at the fact that I wasn’t just reproducing the sentences we had drilled, but making entirely new ones. It was a bit embarrassing when he’d clap after each of my new sentences. First, the room was quiet. Second, when you’re complimented you’re not supposed to accept it because it makes you look too proud, so I just smile and nod. I appreciate the praise, but don’t want to draw anyone else’s attention.
During the break, they passed out information and spent 15 minutes talking about the Wuhan virus and telling us about wearing masks, handwashing, alcohol wipes and sprays, and sneezing into tissue/handkerchief/one’s elbow. Then I went to the toilet and the woman in front of me (one of the instructors) came out of the stall, barely wet her fingers and walked out. Business as usual. So much for wasting time talking about handwashing. Of course, how effective is handwashing if soap is never used and the water is ice cold. Speaking of the Wuhan virus, all of the Chinese students were absent today again. I hope they’re okay.
Then we started the new unit which was about giving directions for things around town. For example, “Where is the post office? It’s near city hall,” and “How far do you live? I live 30 minutes away on foot/15 minutes away by bike.” Again, he was amazed at the variety of ways I answered his questions despite the mistakes. At one point he said, “Your brain so smart!” And just to make sure I didn’t get too puffed up, he added “Sometimes,” which cracked me up.
Learning with a video and book is boring. I enjoy being in a class interacting with other humans. Now I’m finally in a class and I’m soaking it all up, but my language level would have been so much higher, if I’d applied myself more to self-study while I was on the mountain. I was only conscientious enough to teach myself to read the two writing systems.
I was so happy riding home. Now I’ve had two instructors that I wouldn’t mind having again.
March 1, 2020
Went to Japanese class to be told that classes have been cancelled for the month of March. They will resume in April. Thanks a lot, Wuhan virus. I really enjoyed my classes and was learning so much! It was a sad, sad ride back home.
March 5, 2020
Typical First Conversation with a Japanese Person
Where are you from?
U.S.A
Oh, America where?
Connecticut. [Nobody’s heard of Connecticut, so I always draw a map of the U.S. and show them where it is. If there’s nothing to draw on, I just say it’s between New York City and Boston.]
What’s famous in your hometown?
My state is beautiful in autumn because all the trees change colors. People from other states come and take photos. Also, my state has the best women’s university basketball team in the country.
Then they tell me that they vacationed in Los Angeles years ago, or that their cousin studied at a university in Minnesota.
How’s Japan weather?
It’s very similar to what I grew up with.
Really??
Yes, we have four seasons.
Eeeeh?! [Why do so many Korean and Japanese people believe that theirs is the only country on planet earth with four seasons? It is basic geography that if you live on the same latitude line as another country in the world, you experience similar weather. What are they teaching in social studies classes?]
How long have you lived here?
Do you speak Japanese?
Then comes the dreaded “Do you like Japanese food?” (There’s a separate post about this topic.)
How tall are you?
176 centimeters.
Do you play basketball?
No.
What sport did you play in school?
Guess.
Track.
No.
Volleyball.
No. I’m a swimmer. I was on the swimming team.
Eeeeh?! Oh, long arms and legs! Good for swimming fast!
No, I wasn’t a sprinter. I was an endurance swimmer. I swam the long races.
What is your job?
I’m an English teacher.
How are Japanese students? Okay?
Yes, they’re okay.
If they know that I’ve taught in the U.S., they want to know if Japanese students are more hardworking than American ones. Nope, they’re a mix of diligent and lazy just like everywhere else. Y’all ain’t special.
If they know that I’ve taught in the Korea, they want to know if my Japanese students have a higher level of English than my Korean students.
Korean children usually have a higher level of English than their Japanese counterparts, not because they’re smarter, but because Korean schools begin teaching English earlier.
**********
Korean variation
Very similar to the above, but add the following:
Do you know kimchi?
Yes.
Do you like Korean food?
Yes, some dishes.
If they hear me speak Korean, one of the following will happen:
a) uproarious laughter
b) amazement and adulation at the utterance of one simple word or easy phrase
c) “You should speak better.”
March 5, 2020
Don’t Erase Guaria-sensei’s Skin!
When I first arrived at my school in Gunma my co-teacher, Sakamoto-sensei, was apprehensive. I was very different from all the other foreign teachers he’d worked with. 1) I had more years of teaching experience than he (he had been shown my résumé), while most were new university grads for whom this was their first real job. 2) I am taller than him by at least ten centimeters. And he has a complex about his height. 3) I am older than him. In the Confucian scheme of things, the older person has the upper hand. Then again, also according to Confucius, men are superior to women, so whatever. And 4) I am Black. New territory for him. So, until he got to know me and got more comfortable, Sakamoto-sensei was extra-careful not to offend.
The special education class at that junior high school only had two third grade (same as grade nine) students. Early on, I noticed that my co-teacher made an absolute minimal effort to teach their classes. He was content to let them do the same exercises and play the same games over and over because “They’re not taking the entrance exam to get into one of the better high schools, so they don’t need English” (as if tasking an entrance exam for a competitive high school is the only reason to learn foreign language). So, although we planned and taught all the other classes together, I took over planning and teaching of this class, and he was happy to let me. He’d show up late to class, do grading for another class, and sometimes leave early.
I told him, in the most diplomatic way I could, that if I were the mother of a child with a learning disability, I’d want his teachers to put forth their best effort. Both students happen to be only children of single mothers. I even brought that up. These boys are precious to their mothers. We should do our best for them. It was like talking to the wall, so I quit trying to convince him and channeled my energy to working with them. I was dismayed to discover that this is not an uncommon way of thinking among educators, in general, and my co-workers in particular. Japan is a place where uniformity is of utmost importance, so if you learn differently, you aren’t going to find a whole lot of understanding or accommodations. For the most part, the Japanese educational system is one-size-fits-all, and if you don’t fit the mold you’re considered mendokusai…troublesome, bothersome and not worth the extra work.
Instead of standing over the boys, I’d sit between them so I could help them with their assignments as needed. One morning, in my first month there, I sat between Junki and Kotaro as they did their work. At one point, my arm got tangled up with Kotaro’s and he accidentally marked my forearm with his pencil. He promptly grabbed his eraser and began to rub my arm with it. Mr. Sakamoto, who hadn’t been paying attention to us, looked up in horror at that moment and, not knowing the context of Kotaro’s actions, immediately commanded him to stop and to apologize. I tried to tell the man to calm down, the kid wasn’t trying to erase my brown skin, he was only erasing a pencil mark, but he was so busy scolding him that he could not hear me. The confused boy apologized to me and didn’t know why. Being new to the country, I didn’t even know how to say “It’s okay,” in Japanese. So I said it in English and hoped that, he would understand my tone, if not my words.
March 5, 2020
Japanese Students Clean Their Schools!
Based on videos depicting Japanese students during お掃除 (osoji jikan), their daily school cleaning duty, many Westerners have come to the conclusion that school children here are the very model of diligence and good citizenship. Others have argued that this is wrong and tantamount to child labor. Whenever I came across these sorts of videos I always roll my eyes. Hard. As someone who works in Japanese schools, I can say that these videos are nothing but propaganda. They seem to scream, “Look, World, Japanese people are so cool and different!”
Firstly, the schools do have custodians, but they spend most of their time doing maintenance and taking care of the heavy duty cleaning around the school. Secondly, osoji jikan usually lasts about 20 minutes. No significant cleaning is going to take place in such a short amount of time. Thirdly, everyone knows that if you turn on a camera, the people it’s being pointed at, will begin to behave differently. I’d be willing to bet cash money that the day the camera crew visited, students cleaned the school like never before (or after).
The first school I taught at in Japan, osoji jikan was after the last period of the school day. Now I live and work in another district. The schools in this city do it after lunch! So they clean the classrooms, offices, hallways, stairwells, and other public areas, then have three more periods of classes and go home. That means that the next day, you start off the morning in a not-so-clean school. Makes zero sense. Who thought this was a good idea?
Let me give you a snapshot of what osoji jikan really looks like. It’s Friday at School C. I’ve just had lunch with the fifth graders. I arrive at my classroom and the nine third graders assigned to clean it are already there making a ruckus.
Some girls are sweeping dust in every direction. Some boys are having a wrestling match. One girl is doing jump-twirls as if she were a figure skater. Other boys are flinging around their wet cleaning rags. One boy crawls under a chair. I begin moving the tables and chairs to one side of the room and instruct them to help me. The boys’ rags become grimier as they wipe the barely-swept floor with them. Yuki choses one 30 x 30 centimeter tile on the floor and rubs it with his cloth for a full ten minutes.
Some girls congregate near the chalkboard discussing some highly important topic. After a few minutes, I start to move the chairs and tables to the other side. Okabe, genius that he is, pulls instead of pushes and manages to get himself stuck between tables. Hiharu dances with her broom. Two boys sword-fight with theirs. Another boy throws himself on the floor and wriggles around like a deranged salamander. A little pile of dust has formed in the middle of the room. Everyone ignores it. I grab one listless sweeper, lead her to the broom closet to grab a dust pan, and back to the dust pile. Her friend sweeps the dust into the dust pan. Now, I start setting the furniture back to where it originally was. I must work fast to do the center section so that they can use it as a guide to do the left and right sections. A boy wipes the desks with his blackened rag. Out the window, I spot Haru hiding behind a bush in the courtyard. No cleaning for him.
There are always two or three diligent ones who dutifully clean, but the rest, if not watched, will leave the room dirtier than when they started. Even in junior high school, osoji jikan is time for general goofing off and clowning around. Getting them to half-way clean the room is like wrangling ferrets.
In conclusion, I think osoji jikan is a good thing because it teaches children to be responsible (as long as they’re being properly supervised).
March 1, 2020
March 1, 2020
Teaching in the Time of COVID-19
Usually, when I ride onto School B’s campus, the students and teachers are in the school yard doing their morning calisthenics. Today, nobody was in the school yard and all the teachers were in the staff room. There was a 20-minute meeting. I usually hide out in the English room if there’s going to be a meeting, but this one was unannounced, so I was trapped. All I understood was that something important was happening on Monday because kocho-sensei (the principal) said getsuyobi in every other sentence. When it finally ended, I went to my classroom to set things up and get ready for my morning classes.
Nakada-sensei, the fourth grade teacher came by trying to say something. He blinked and started and stopped several times, trying to find the perfect words to convey his message. I waited patiently. “Is there a special schedule?” I finally asked. “Yes!” He said, relieved. All of today’s English classes were cancelled except for his. Okay. “In Japan…all school in Japan…from next week…are…yasumi…” He started blinking and stuttering again. He has these long eyelashes that most women would envy. “Because of the Wuhan virus?” I asked. “Yes! And maybe the next week and the next-next week.” Okay. “Yoroshiku onegaishimasu,” he bowed and left.
My mind started racing. The school year ends in March. There are only three weeks left. It’s unlikely that they’ll close schools and re-open them so close to spring break. That means that I won’t be working or making money for the month of March. I should go on a trip! Hokkaido? Okinawa? Taiwan? Thailand? But should I be spending money if none will be coming in? I need to start packing and getting ready to return to the U.S.
The first two periods were spent cleaning out my desk. Then I taught, the fourth graders. The next period, I started working on the spring bulletin board. Next, lunch with the fifth graders. Then back to the English room. The nine third graders assigned to clean it were already there making a ruckus. Getting them to half-way clean the room is like wrangling ferrets. Fifth period Haruki, a sixth grader presented me with a letter she’d written in English. I was so touched! I remembered her saying that English was her favorite subject, but I didn’t think much of it, so I was caught totally by surprise by this gesture. Such a sweet surprise. She’s one of the girls who often wears a mask, so I don’t even know what she really looks like.
Arai-sensei is always leaving his teaching materials in my room, so I gathered up everything he’d left in the last couple months and took it to him. Then back to the staff room to work on the bulletin board. Kocho-sensei had just returned from a meeting at the Board of Education, I could see another meeting getting started, so I went to work in my room. By the time I returned to the staffroom to make photocopies, the meeting had ended.
I got a call on the school phone. It was my company saying that, as of 03/03, all grade 7-12 schools would be closed. Elementary students must stay home if there is a parent or grandparent at home. Those whose parents work, can go to school, rather than stay home alone (most women quit the workforce when they get pregnant, so I don’t anticipate having too many of those). Instead of going to each of my elementary schools once per week, I was to go three days to one and two days to the other. So this morning I thought I would have no work because of the COVID-19 and now it turns out I have more work. It’s a blessing. Now I can pay my Japanese taxes without hardship, make a contribution to my Roth IRA and, possibly, save up enough to replace my ageing laptop.
February 29, 2020
“Do you like Japanese/Korean food?”
Japanese and Korean people desperately want to know that foreigners like their cuisine. Is it Western validation that they seek? I don’t know. But if I had a dollar for every time this question was asked of me during my time in Asia, I’d have a healthy little fund tucked away. When I lived in France nobody ever asked me if I liked French food. In my travels in Italy, Germany, Morocco, Hungary, the Caribbean, and the Czech Republic and elsewhere nobody cared to ask. Then I move to Asia, and, nine times out of ten, whenever I meet someone for the first time, this question will be asked.
Do you like Japanese food?
Yes, some dishes.
What Japanese food do you like?
Norimaki, umeboshi onigiri and yasai tempura.
“What about (insert meat dish)?”
I’ve never had that. I’m vegetarian.
Eeeeeh?! No meat-o?
Yes.
How about chicken? How about fish?
If it grows out of the ground, it’s okay. If it flies, walks or swims I don’t eat it.
Wakata [I understand]. How about eggs? How about milk?
I don’t eat eggs or drink milk, but I’ll eat a piece of cake which is made with both.
It must be so difficult to eat here!
No, I cook all my meals.
You can cook?
[Ignore stupid question.] Big cities like Tokyo and Osaka have many vegetarian restaurants, so I can eat out when I go there. Some Buddhist monks run restaurants. True Buddhists are vegetarians.
Really? How do you find them?
On the internet.
Oh!!
Do you prefer tea or coffee? [They’ve been told that all foreigners prefer coffee, so they’re surprised to hear that I’m a tea drinker. If they knew that I was born in a place where coffee is a major export, they’d lose their minds.]
Do you prefer rice or bread? [Again, they’ve been told that all foreigners prefer bread over rice, so they’re absolutely flabbergasted when I tell them that I grew up eating rice every day. Rice is a major staple of diets in Latin America, the Caribbean and parts of Africa and Asia, but Japanese people think they’re the only ones.]
In case you haven’t noticed, many Japanese and Korean people prefer to think of foreigners in generalizations and absolutes. So I often find myself having to correct these erroneous perceptions.
Korean variation
Do you like Korean food?
Yes, some dishes.
What Korean food do you like?
Kimchi bokkumbap, kombijijigae and dobu jorim. (They’re amazed that I’m familiar with something other than kimbap, ramyeon and bibimbap.)
Korean food is very spicy.
Yes, I like spicy food.
Really??
Yes. Not too spicy?
Korean food is not the spiciest I’ve eaten.
(dumbfounded silence)
Thai food is very spicy. Indian food once brought tears to my eyes, but it was so good.
Korea food is better. More healthy. Foreign food is very greasy.
One word: twigim.
That’s not Korean food.
Yeah, okay…
February 16, 2020
Peace Out*
It had rained in the early morning, so the roads were still wet when I left the apartment. As I rode the fifteen minutes to the junior high school, I prayed that I would be in and out quickly. I’d timed my arrival for when my antagonistic co-teachers, Shibuya and Kojima, would be in class administering tests.
I greeted the handful of people (three teachers and the vice-principal) who were in the staffroom at the time. No response. Okay… I went to my desk, took my personal items and put them in my backpack. Just as I was going to write thank you notes to the two staff members who had shown me kindness, the secretary came to tell me I had a phone call. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the principal and vice-principal watching from the front of the room.
It was Ochiai-san, the owner of the dispatch company I’m employed through. She said that the vice-principal had called her asking why I was at school. I knew that warthog wasn’t going to let me leave without any drama. “You know why I’m here. Yesterday I told you that I’d come to pick up my things.” She said something I didn’t understand. “I’m leaving in a few minutes, so there’s nothing to worry about,” I said annoyed. I was trying to leave before the period ended and here they were wasting my time. “I will tell them you’re leaving in a few minutes,” she said and we hung up. I finished writing the cards and went to deliver them to Takeda-sensei, the school counselor. She was kind to me from the first day.
I told her that I would no longer be working at the school, and that I wanted to say thank you for her kindness to me. When she asked why, I told her that Shibuya and Kojima were bullying me, and working there had become unbearable. I now understood why the teacher before me had quit after only three months. She murmured sympathetically and opened up her arms and hugged me. A real hug, too! I was utterly astonished. I bowed and said “Osewa ni nari mashita,” which loosely translates to “Thanks for the care you gave me.” She bowed back even lower. I asked her to deliver the card I’d written to Ishikawa-sensei, the other person on staff who had shown me kindness. She agreed. The bell rang. We bowed again, I ran off, gathered my things and went to the principal’s office.
The principal had not actively antagonized me like the co-teachers and vice-principal, but he was aware of what had been going on and just stood by allowing it to continue. A real leader should have squashed all the nonsense so we could get on with the business of teaching and learning. But he did not do that. Nevertheless, so as not to make my company look bad, instead of walking out without a word, I went to formally say goodbye.
I bowed and said “Osewa ni nari mashita. I recognize your lack of leadership.” He stood from his desk, thanked me and shook my hand. He asked where I was going, to which I responded “Home.” He nodded. I exited his office through the hall door so as not to go back into the staffroom because there is absolutely no way I was going to go through the same charade with that hateful vice-principal.
I put on my outdoor shoes, hopped on my bicycle and rode off. Fewer clouds were out. The sun shone on the barren rice fields that surround the school. I rode home feeling much lighter.
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Background information: Goaded by the co-teachers, the vice-principal had been making complaints to my dispatch company and to the Board of Education about me since Day One. The BOE was aware that there was a problem from before I ever arrived because my two predecessors had quit (three teachers in less than 12 months). They will not, however, do anything about it (classic Japanese avoidance of confrontation at all costs).
The BOE had gotten tired of receiving constant complaints about every petty little non-issue, so the head of the department in charge of foreign teachers suggested that I do one of two things. A) Apologize to the co-teachers and unquestioningly do everything single thing they say, no matter what, until the end of the school year in March, or B) Stop working at the junior high school and only teach at my elementary schools (my pay would reflect the reduced schedule).
Being a Westerner, Option A was out of the question for me. Believe it or not, most Japanese people in my situation would go for Option A…and not just for a few months, indefinitely. This, to a certain extent, explains some societal problems in Japan like binge drinking, mental health issues and high suicide rates. At any rate, I chose the latter option. My physical and mental wellbeing are much too important, to put up with such abuse. Besides, I live simply and have no debt, and therefore won’t go hungry if I switch to part-time. Also, my company offered me a position in a nearby town starting in April if I choose to stay.
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*alternate title: Sayonara, Bitches!
January 15, 2020
Harpies’ Hat Issue
On Wednesday, January 8th, the two co-teachers at Chujo Junior High School, Ms Shibuya and Ms Kojima, complained to Ms Ochiai that I wear my neck warmer and ear warmer during class. They said students cannot wear them, so I shouldn’t either.
The next day, I did not wear either thing in class. However, I did wear the hat during lunch with the Class 1-2 because they had the windows open. About 15 minutes into the lunch period, Ms Shibuya came into the room and asked me to go out into the hall. She and Ms Kojima scolded me for wearing the hat during lunch. I reminded them that they had told me not to wear it during class lessons. They said, they meant for me not to wear it in the building at all. They said that if I didn’t take off the hat I should eat in the staff room. I said, fine, starting the next day I’ll eat in the staff room, but I had already started lunch, so I was going to stay in the classroom. They continued arguing for about five minutes. Finally, I told them that my food was getting cold and we can discuss this after lunch. They followed me back into the classroom and continued arguing. Ms Kojima raised her voice at me (in front of the students and their homeroom teacher). I told her to lower her voice because she would not like it if I shouted at her. They left.
At 15:55 the co-teachers called me to continue with the issue of wearing the hat outside of class. They had an audio recorder, so I also recorded the meeting on my phone. I explained to them that where I grew up in the U.S. is further north and colder than Saitama and Gunma, however, all buildings, have central heating. Therefore, one only feels cold when outside. In Japan, schools rely on space heaters and wall-mounted heating units. Since they grew up here, they’re accustomed to being cold while indoors. I am not used to being cold while indoors. They said, it’s not Japanese culture to wear hats in the building and I need to follow the rules that all the teachers have agreed to in April. I asked to see these rules. They said they are not written. I said that it’s unfair to wait until I break a rule to tell me that the rule exists. If they’re going to be such sticklers about enforcing rules, then it’s only reasonable that they be written and provided in advance so that people know what is expected. Ms Shibuya told me that I should go work in another school.
They want me to not wear a hat at all anywhere in the building. I want to wear a hat all day because the building is cold. Not only is it poorly heated, the doors and windows are often open, letting in cold air. However, I proposed a compromise to not wear a hat during English lessons. They refused my proposal.
The meeting ended at about 15:15.
The last week of classes in December I was sick. I spent half of the winter vacation recuperating. I do not want to risk getting sick again.
I had a good relationship with my co-workers at the school in Gunma. I also have a good relationship with those at my two assigned elementary schools. These two women are the only ones who have a problem with every little thing I do.
I feel unsafe. I’ve never worked in such a hostile environment. I want to stay until the end of the school year, but I do not know if I can endure this bullying and emotional abuse until March.
January 13, 2020
Answer Two Questions Correctly & Win a Date With Me
Whenever some guy tries to chat me up I’ll ask him two key questions. Do you have any children? Do you want any (more)? How he answers determines if a first date will even happen. By the way, [mounting soapbox] I don’t believe in going on dates just for the free food. There is food in my refrigerator and money in my wallet. So if I’m on a date, it’s because I think the man is interesting. Better to spend my own money than to waste time with some boring dullard just to get a free meal [dismounts soapbox].
Some dudes think they’re clever and try to tell me what they think I want to hear, not realizing that the opposite answer would’ve been better. Say, for example, I’m shopping at Tokyo’s Ueno market, which has many Nigerian vendors. I’m always happy to see black and brown faces, so I greet them. Invariably, one will stop me and ask me the standard questions. Where are you from? What’s your name? What do you do? How long have you been in Japan? Eventually they get around to asking for my LINE, WhatsApp or telephone number. “Why?” I’ll ask. They’ll give some variation of “I want to be your friend. You’re beautiful. I want to take you out.” I hit them with the questions. Here are the correct answers: “Yes, I have children. No, I don’t want any more.”
They’ll size me up and figure that I want a man with no children, and lie about having any. Wrong. Or they’ll miscalculate my age and figure I want to have some and say that they do want more. Wrong again. They eliminate themselves without even realizing it. The truth may have given them a chance. FYI, most of them are married to Japanese women anyway, so proceed cautiously.
The one man who answered truthfully: Divorced. Two children and doesn’t want any more. Hit the jackpot. We met up most weekends and spent the summer and autumn trying new restaurants and checking out festivals. He also happens to be intelligent and interesting to talk to.
January 9, 2020
I Did NOT Kill Myself
Three months before I moved to Japan in 2017, a teacher from my dispatch company checked into a hotel and committed suicide. Everyone was quite shocked because, by all accounts, he was a cheerful guy always ready with a smile. He had been featured in some of the company’s promotional videos. When I was applying for my job, I saw him on the website not knowing that he had just died.
Apparently, this has scarred Ochiai-san, the company owner. Every time she calls me and I don’t answer right away, she freaks out. She calls my neighbor, my school, my friend, anyone who she thinks might know where I am. Yesterday I woke up to five missed calls and a text from her. Since it was winter break, I’d indulged my natural night owl tendencies and had gone to bed late. Of course, that meant that I was still sleeping when almost everyone else was out and about. Also, I don’t sleep with my phone. It’s left charging in the living room. I had barely finished peeing when my doorbell starts ringing. I can see it’s her on the intercom screen. Before I made it across my small place to the front door, she had already started banging on the door and yelling out my name.
Turns out, it was the first day back to school. I’d misread the schedule and thought that it was the next day. I saw no classes on the schedule (the first day of a semester is just ceremonies and meetings), so I thought there was no school. “The school is worried!” She said. “Really?” I asked on the verge of sarcasm. This is the school where they’ve been hostile to me since day one. She was the one worried, not them. She told me to get dressed and she’d drive me to school. I told her that I needed to shower first. Okay, twenty minutes. She’d wait in my building’s parking lot. I looked at the clock as I undressed. Ninety minutes had passed between the first missed call and her showing up at my door.
Please know this: I love life. There is so much that I want to do and learn. So many places that I’d like to see. So many wonderful people I want to see again, and so many amazing ones I haven’t met yet. My death will NOT be self-inflicted.
January 9, 2020
Names for my Antagonizers
Since my role at the current JHS is so minimal (which sort of makes up for very busy, hectic days at the elementary schools), I have plenty of time to think when I’m there. One of the things I do to kill the boredom is to come up with names for my three antagonizers.
The vice principal has a huge belly that juts out. When he stands sideways he looks like an uppercase letter D. One of the co-teachers is wrinkled and scrawny, yet always on a diet. The other one is the perfect example of how someone can be both silent and hostile. Which is actually preferable because she has a shrill voice that grates the nerves.
Here’s what I’ve come up with:
Jabba & his Harpies
Las Tres Viejas Amargadas
The Three Mean Girls
The Wicked Witch of the East and her Monkeys
Haggis & the Hags
El Gordo, la Flaca y la Odiosa
El Panzón y sus Brujas
Skeletora & her Lackeys
The Liar, the Bitch & the Warthog
The Battle-ax, the Crone and the Shrew
The Horrid Harridans
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My boss met with my two insufferable co-teachers yesterday. Afterwards, in the car, she said, “They are old women who do things old fashion Japanese way.” If someone in her 70s calls a pair of 50-somethings old and old fashioned, you KNOW they must be some miserable broads.
January 9, 2020
The Negative Side of Living & Working in Asia
While most of my posts about living and working in Asia are positive, I want to dedicate one post to the negative side of things. Everything isn’t hunky dory.
Living and working in Asia can be frustrating because of the language barrier and because of certain cultural norms. And because of blatant sexism, ageism and xenophobia.
Being the only foreigner in a small village can feel very isolating. When I first moved to my little corner of Gunma, I didn’t see any Black people for four months. When I finally did, I wanted to run up and hug every one I saw. They must have thought I was mentally defective the way I was smiling and waving.
While many men are taller than me here, I’m almost always the tallest woman. Being a tall, Black woman in a land where most women are petite can affect your sense of femininity and attractiveness. Having to wear men’s shoes because the stores only sell up to size US8-/EU38 in women’s shoes doesn’t help. Yes, one can make online purchases, but I need to try on shoes before buying them and international returns are a hassle.
Not being able to blend in means that everyone is always aware of where you are, what you’re doing and with whom. The most insignificant thing you do can become the subject of conversation.
Dating is more difficult if you’re foreign, and exponentially so if you’re over 35.
Also, in
societies like Japan and Korea, where confrontation is avoided at all costs,
people tend to rely on passive aggressive behaviors and communication at a much
higher rate than in the West, which can be really irritating and
exhausting. Being a product of my
environment, I prefer to just deal with things directly rather than waste time
beating around the bush.
It’s painful to miss out on weddings, funerals, baby blessings, birthday parties, and other major family and friend events. It makes me sad to watch my beloved niece and nephew grow up from afar. I’m afraid of my parents are growing older and, thus, closer to death.
I’m no Pollyanna, but I choose to post about positive things because those are the things that make it all worthwhile. Also, if I say five positive things and one negative thing about my experiences in Asia, there is always going to be someone who ignores to positives and latches on to (and only wants to discuss) the negatives.
Life here is life. It’s not some extended fairly land holiday. It has its ups and downs. Good days and bad. I pay rent, utilities and taxes. Do my job. I have to get along with co-workers and administrators. Likewise, when I lived and taught in Connecticut and Washington, DC, every day wasn’t wonderful.
Living abroad isn’t a party every day.
January 1, 2020
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