The Value of Someone Else's Photographs

One day, Ben and I opted for photograph duty. Photograph duty is divided into two parts, washing/drying and scanning. Boxes of photographs, found in the wreckage, arrive at the Center. A team then washes them gently in water, attempting to separate those that are stuck together, and hangs them up to dry like a row of laundry on a line. Some people say this labor is almost as hard as rubble removal, because you have to lean forward over the washtubs in an awkward position. Dried photographs are taken to the gym, where there are two laptops with attached scanners. Ben and I helped to scan the photographs into folders. I was impressed with the thoroughness of the volunteers- any photo with even a trace of an image had been saved. I remember one in particular, a photo of a houseplant that had gone completely yellow. Only faint white marks showed where the plant was in the photo. I wanted to throw it away, but since another volunteer had already washed it and decided to keep it, I scanned it instead. How can one know the value of someone else's photograph? Maybe it was the beloved houseplant of a little old woman who lived alone. Maybe it was a birthday gift from a son to his mother- the mother survived and the son perished- all other photos of her son were destroyed, and only the plant is left. Maybe. . . while pondering the significance of the partially ruined photographs, I kept sorting them and handing them to Ben, who worked the scanner.

I once read an article by a foreigner who saw a Japanese woman cleaning the gutter with chopsticks. He was amazed she would be so thorough even in cleaning the street. Is it only in Japan that a volunteer would save a picture of some white smudges on yellow, scan it, label it, and put it in a photo album? Or is this part of the ethics of being a volunteer, not to make any judgements on value?

The Island and the Tsunami

I liked this doodle Ben wrote in my notebook (I colored it later). We traveled around the edge of one particular bay where, according to one of the volunteers, "The damage would have been even worse, except that the island took the brunt of the tsunami." Always amidst disaster, there are cases of hope like the island, where one feels (or wants to feel) divine intervention. Will noticed that among the wreckage, somehow shrine gates seemed to be mysteriously spared!

On the other hand, when I visited Wano Kaikan, a small refugee center, and expressed an interest in the rumored "god of the mountain," a man gave me a wry grin.
"Kikanai kamisama desu yo." (That god doesn't listen.) In view of the mess just a few hundred yards down the mountain, I can certainly understand this view, as well.

The Gutter, Part II

Ben and I got tired after the first day, but Will liked The Gutter and opted to continue for another four days. During that time, he got to know "my guy," (from my previous blog) and the guy pictured in the photograph, Mr. Ban. Mr. Ban was good at English, and good-humoredly translated for the three gaijin (foreigners) on the team.

One reason Will liked gutter work was that the filthy water was nice and cool. Afternoons were baking hot, and the humidity was always high, so even chemical-filled water was a draw. At least the day I was there, Will spent most of his breaks standing in the water. "My guy" went to the length of stripping down to his shorts and washing both his body and his clothes in the water (although the foreman recommended against this). The first time he did this, he didn't have a dry towel, so I leant him one of ours. He was remarkably grateful and assured us that he would give us a new towel the next day-- which he did. He also gave us a fan. I should have been used to such good manners after twenty years of present-getting, but I was amazed that even the gift of a simple wash towel required a formal counter(measure). How can I be useful as a volunteer, when no matter what I do someone else does more for me?

Boots

Boots
The first problem was boots. Although I had made sure Will brought his own boots (size 14, all rubber, with metal inserts to protect against nails), I had been counting on picking up two pairs of boots for myself and Ben at the Center. I had some reason to expect that boots would be available, because when I’d last visited a month before they had lots of spares. To my dismay, the system had changed completely in the month I’d been away. Now the extra boots were quarantined on a ledge to the left of the entranceway with a sign proclaiming “Don’t take these!” Hiding my indignation, I approached a businesslike man at the front desk and asked about the situation.
He smiled wryly. “Yes, it was the case that you could pick up the excess gloves, masks and boots that people left behind. But then volunteers started counting on things being available. People came from all over Japan expecting boots and gloves to be provided. So we had to change the system. After all, one of the principles of volunteering is to be self-sufficient. We now expect you to bring your own boots.”
I nodded understandingly. I did not want to be confused with those freeloaders who expected everything to be laid out before them! Reluctantly, I walked away (not without a furtive glance at the rows of boots and a furtive calculation about the possibility of swiping a pair after dusk).
I was stumped. After having bottomed out my budget just getting to Tono, it looked like Ben and I would not be able to work in the disaster area the next day, and I didn’t want to send Will alone. Reluctantly, I decided to ask Mr. Koiguchi for yet more good will. Using a cell phone he had provided, I called and asked if he had any spare boots I could borrow (stink up/puncture/ruin). As he had before, he immediately came through for us. In just 20 minutes he pulled up to the Center with two pair of very nice rubber boots. As I brought the boots in through the entrance, I made sure to signal to the man behind the desk. “I didn’t take these from out front- a friend gave them to me.” I held up the boots.
He nodded. “Do you have inserts?” he asked.
My face fell. I had overlooked the fact that Mr. Koiguchi’s boots did not have metal inserts for working in the disaster area.
The man pursed his lips. “Hmmm. Well, you’ve gone to the trouble to procure your own boots, I suppose we can supply inserts for you.”
“Oh, Thank-you, Thank-you!”
He rummaged around and got out a few metal inserts, but did not find the proper size, 24 centimeters. He cast a furtive eye at the forbidden extra boots, which could be seen through the window, all neatly lined up in a row.
“Hmmm. Well, look. You have obviously made an effort to supply your own boots, and your friend has gone to all of this trouble. It would be a pity to get your friend’s boots dirty. I tell you what. These extra boots have metal inserts already in them. Why don’t we borrow these, just on this one occasion.
“Are you sure?” I asked humbly.
He nodded decisively. “Yes.”
When I next saw Mr. Koiguchi, I told him the whole story. “So you see, your boots were very important,” I said, “Even though we did not use them.” Mr. Koiguchi’s boots had allowed me to demonstrate my sincerity as a volunteer.
As it turned out, the change in boot policy was just one of many changes in how the Center was being managed, one month after my previous visit. Tono Magokoro Net was proving itself to be a “learning organization.” I was amazed at the vitality of an organization that could evolve and adapt, even while the people at the front desk came and went.

What is a Pink Kappa?

Dear All, 友達の皆さん、

I arrived in Japan two days ago, so I am very alert now at 5:35 in the morning. Although I am starting a blog, besides being in Japan I don't really have a theme. I'm the kind of person who writes crazy rough drafts and fixes them later, so any blog by me is likely to be just that, a crazy rough draft. Nevertheless, I wanted to blog (never done it before) for a few important reasons. First, I want to make sure Americans (that I know) continue to think about the earthquake in northern Japan, even if it's no longer in the news. Second, I wanted to blog about volunteering for a disaster, which I've never done before. I also wanted to ask myself some big questions about the act of volunteering for a disaster: Is it really useful for a 42 year old woman with no special talents to volunteer? Do the people in the area really want volunteers, or do they just want money? Why do I have this strong impluse to volunteer? Is there such a thing as altruism at all? Is all volunteering selfish from beginning to end?

Anyway, here I am in calm, pastoral Nishinomiya, hundreds of miles from northern Japan, preparing to find out. Meanwhile, I will be indirectly doing a little bit to help out by replacing an English teacher at Kobe College High School who left because of fears of radiation. Unlike the disaster area, Nishinomiya is perfectly calm, flowerful, and on vacation this week. I snapped a picture of an elderly man walking his dog by the river: