Fusion Stories - 3. Fragments of Japan (Part One) by Guest Blogger: Andrew Eglinton

Andrew was born in London and grew up in France. His background is in theatre, particularly playwriting, and he has just returned to London from five years away in Japan to complete an MA degree at Goldsmiths College in Writing for Performance. Visit his blog here.

Andrew writes:

I returned to London in 2005 after an ‘extended’ séjour in Japan. Like many foreigners in Japan, I worked as an English language teacher. At first I was based in Yokohama but then I struck lucky with a Monbusho scholarship offer and I moved to Arakawa Ku (north east of Tokyo). I studied Japanese language at the University of Tokyo for six months before going on to do research on minority issues in contemporary Japanese theatre. I choose to focus on a specific theatre company based in Osaka, called Gekidan Taihen (you can read more about Taihen here).

Upon my return home I was a little worse for wear, lessons learnt and when meeting old friends I felt stripped of my youth. In fact, my youth, is probably still there now, wandering the streets of Tokyo, waiting for life to happen. London has become the adult in me, and trite though it may sound, I’ve come to appreciate the ‘here and now’ of life in this city, more so than the ‘bubble’ that was sometimes life in Japan. What follows here, are certain fragments from Japan, episodes from a trip that lasted almost five years.

Shinjuku

I remember stepping out of the hotel onto a boulevard flowing with orange taxi cabs, pavements lined with bare black cherry trees and women carrying umbrellas like shields from the sun. I stopped at the crossing to see the Shinjuku skyline taper off to my right. Its high-rise offices, commercial buildings and shopping malls, a familiar scene shown ten times over in recent films and photographs. What caught me off-guard though, lay just a few yards behind this grand façade and I call it the ‘labyrinth’ of pedestrian Tokyo: a criss-cross mêlée of dark and narrow streets, wood against concrete, gentle shop banners (nōren) in soft aubergine and the entire canvas punctuated with shocks of neon light. And in the stream of bodies, each with its own tone and cadence, I could hear the sound of waves – not water of course – but thousands of feet echoed in the cracks and gutters, peaceful not chaotic. I spent a good deal of time observing people walking in Tokyo and the sensation I had that evening in Shinjuku would return several times as the years unfolded.

Whale Music

Y. Junior High School, seemingly just another suburban school aspiring to national standards: the same old 1980’s prefab concrete, the same old dusty baseball ground, the well-ordered staff car park, the morning chatter by the shoe lockers, but on the inside it was gang land. The worst was the second floor, home to three 3rd year boys, one of whom was supposed to have connections with the local yakuza, although that was never confirmed, not that it mattered because the myth thrived and the more intimidating the story the wider the influence. These boys were not your average school bullies, they were organized, militant and they devised elaborate plans to topple the establishment. Quite a few of the teaching staff openly admitted to being afraid, and on several occasions, like this one, it was fear with just cause. The irony, of course, is that these youths were in school to learn – not math, history and chemistry like everyone else – but the art of crime.

One morning in winter, I was happily preparing for class over a cup of coffee when the shout went up and three male teachers (including the two gym teachers) burst into the corridor and ran up the stairs only to return minutes later with the math teacher trembling in tears and one of the infamous trio restrained and bundled into the principal’s office. Much to the horror of his fellow class mates, he had threatened the teacher with a knife. The police arrived and the boy was ‘officially’ sent home for the day, and in accordance with school rules he was back the next morning – strange though it may seem, in Japan teachers are deemed responsible for minors rather than parents or police.

Following that incident, the art teacher, in an attempt to restore some sense of normality to the place, suggested that for the first fifteen minutes of every school day ‘soothing’ music should be played over the tannoy system. When asked by colleagues what kind of music, she replied: “whale music”.

Banzai

15th July 2003, 4:30 pm: my last day at school after two years of teaching. I was at the main entrance to W.N. Junior high school. I removed my indoor shoes and stood awkwardly on top of them while trying to put on the outdoor pair from the shoe locker. The entire teaching body was lined up at the threshold watching me. With my footwear finally sorted, I looked up at the row of smiling faces and in my best Japanese extended my thanks and appreciation one last time. The general hubbub of greetings was cut short by the stern voice of the head teacher. He invited his colleagues to partake in what he called a ‘traditional’ farewell greeting, and I was suddenly watching fifteen people swing both arms in the air and shout ‘banzai’ three times over. Time seemed to stop at that point, the body of teachers froze, arms extended and mouth open, and all I could think of was how little I really knew of Japan.

Written by Fusion View Guest Blogger: Andrew Eglinton

Part Two will be posted in two weeks time on Thursday 20 July 2006 after 8.30am.
You can contact Andrew via his blog Desperate Curiosities - click here

Next week, Fusion Stories takes the form of a podcast, with an interview with Pey Colborne, aromatherapist and poet.

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To find out how you can contribute your cross-cultural story to the Fusion Stories Series, go to my post “Tell Us Your Fusion Story” in the Announcements section of the middle sidebar on the Fusion View homepage.