JAWing On – Life on Okinawa

One thing that most locals take very seriously is the recycling of trash. Paper products, such as magazines, cardboard, and magazines are separated and collected once every two weeks. Recyclable plastic is picked-upon another day, by another company, once every two weeks. Cans and bottles, which must be separated from each other and well-rinsed, are gathered by yet another company again once every two weeks. Metal products are separated from everything else and collected by still another company on still another day once every two weeks. And finally, there is the “regular” flammable trash, which must be placed in a specific trash bag supplied by the city government and purchased at local supermarkets, picked-up twice a week. There are no exceptions to these rules, place the wrong item on the wrong week and it will sit there until the next collection day. The trash collectors take this system very seriously. Once we had a B-B-Q party and three bottles accidentally ended-up in the middle of loads of paper plates, cups, and napkins in the regular trash. We had no idea the bottles were there. One afternoon following trash collection, someone came knocking on my door. I opened the door only to find two men standing on the front porch with a torn-open bag of trash. One man grabbed a piece of trash from the bag that had my name and address on it and stated, “This is your trash isn’t it!” I confirmed that it was. At which point the other man grabbed the three bottles from the bag, while frowning and shaking his head. The two of them then proceeded with a twenty minute lecture, along with a chart, on the proper manner of trash disposal on Okinawa. I think this may have been this best example of the over-exaggeration of many situations that is so common on Okinawa. But I also must admit that it worked to a point in that we have never made the mistake of mixing our trash products again. I really don’t want to have to spend twenty more minutes getting lectured by the Okinawan trash police!

ShimaNaicha is a term used for mainland Japanese residents who decide to make Okinawa their permanent home, and is usually automatically declared when they change residence to the island. (It literally translates to island Japanese, but means transplanted Okinawan.) This is only one of many terms used in the local language to categorize people. Most Westerners romanticize the “noble reference” of the linguistic structure, declaring it as one of respect. However, it is mainly used to indicate what social position a person holds, having more to do with money and image (which equates to power over here because of the marketability) than age or accomplishment. This class system stems from a time when Okinawa was the Ryukyu Kingdom. In this system Westerners are merely declared as Gaijin (foreigners). After the Westerner has lived on island for a time and begins to go through the “islander” phase (a phase indicated by the person automatically responding to social settings in much the same manner as the locals) they are declared a HennaGaijin (strange foreigner). I have never heard any other phrase used in reference to a Westerner who has lived on island, even if it has been for an extended period of time. It is always the HennaGaijin term used by the locals to maintain a social class indication of how the person should be treated. Recently, I jokingly decided to declare myself, and a few other American women that have resided on Okinawa for more than 20 years, ShimaGaijin. Although the locals might not get the joke, most of the other resident Westerners do, and get a good chuckle at the inference.

If there is one thing Okinawans like more than eating and drinking, it’s the fine art of conversation. Most visitors to Okinawa never have the chance to experience the Ryukyuan tradition of story telling. The majority of people are whisked-off here and there as predetermined by the numerous packaged tours. These people are really missing out, because the art of conversation is not lost on Okinawans. Whether the tale is about great adventures, designed to instill a sense of awe towards the story teller; or sagas of great woes and misfortunes, designed to arouse cries of sympathy from the listener; or humorous anecdotes about a the mishaps of a fellow resident, designed to bring out choruses of laughter (usually followed with a shake of the head and some snide remark on the ignorance of the unfortunate resident, which, to me, dampens the pleasure of the anecdote) locals are masters at evoking emotions through their story telling. So if you get a chance, go off the beaten path and enter one the Mom and Pop type of drinking establishments – not the local hostess bars (the average man’s equivalent of a Geisha house). Order a drink and try breaking the ice by saying”Chaaganjuu, how are you?” (which will probably bring about a great amount of finger pointing and laughter). With some luck you’ll be able to spend time talking with and listening to these ever-vocal story tellers.

In May each year, Okinawan weather officials proudly announce the official rainy season has begun. This usually occurs two or three weeks after a daily onslaught of torrential downpours has pelted the island until it resembles an over-saturated sponge. And each year, around the beginning of July, they pronounce the”official end” of the rainy season. Still, Mother Nature with a mind of her own tosses several tropical cyclone systems our way to remind us mortals that we have absolutely no control over her power. At the end of each rainy onslaught, the creatures and critters that have been in hiding return. The air fills with a symphony of bird and locust duets. Along with these more pleasant reminders of nature comes Okinawa’s native dive bomber, the gokiburi – more commonly known to Americans as the cockroach. The local variety of this ever-present species is so large even Texans would be proud to claim it as their own! I remember my first encounter with these locals. I saw one scampering across the wall of our first apartment. With nobody else around to take care of it, I bravely (or at least I thought I was being brave) grabbed a broom and swung at the wall. This particular gokiburi must have found the whole thing extremely amusing, because just as the broom was about to make contact with it and the wall, the thing came swooshing down at me. There I was a grown human, ducking and screaming like a mass murderer was attacking me! Although I despise the native dive bombers, I’ve learned to accept that they are a part of living on Okinawa. So each year, after the rains, I grab my collection of gokiburi weapons and the battle begins.

Continuing on the subject of food, much has changed in the past 30 years as far a local cuisine. There are so many gourmet ethnic restaurants, I bet someone could dine-out for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for well over one year and never use the same establishment once! Numerous mainland Japanese companies have brought their well-established restaurant chains to Okinawa in the past 10 years. Also, quite a few local chefs have shared their culinary talents, spiced with original local twists, by opening independent restaurants. Many of these eateries provide full-course dinners that make your mouth water at the thought of their delicacies. Several of the items offered by the chefs are not even available at local super markets. (The chefs grow their own herbs or have contracts with local farmers for the produce.) With all of this “gourmetization” Okinawans have seemed to have forgotten one of the truly scrumptious staples of local cuisine from the ’70s, Obaa Curry!!! Not the boxed type, the kind that is made from scratch with yellow curry powder and is crammed full of chunky vegetables like potatoes, carrots, onions, and bell peppers. It used to be found everywhere on Okinawa. But like many of the smaller Mom & Pop stores in the Midwest U.S., it is almost impossible to locate a restaurant that serves the staple anymore! It may not have the glamorous image projected by fancy steak and lobster dinners. It doesn’t even have the marketability of the ever present goya—you can’t make obaa curry juice for export, or obaa curry maracas for Japanese tourists, or even cute little obaa curry animated characters for TV commercials—but to see this particular item go the way of the dinosaurs would be, in my opinion, a great loss indeed.

One of the good things about living on an island in the middle of nowhere is it teaches you to appreciate the little things in life. Take Kraft’s macaroni and cheese, for example. Coming from the states where every convenience is available at one’s fingertips, now-a-days that’s literally one’s computer mouse, many of you think finding this particular item is a no brainer. But over here, even in the 21st century, unless you have on-base commissary privileges, there is only one place where it can be found, sporadically. Some of you may think, well just have a friend buy it on base for you. But, I come from a time when friends don’t use friends, especially if it means the possibility of getting that friend in trouble. (Having someone buy commissary products for me could risk that person’s privileges.) But I digress. And even in the 21st century, the island lacks most other basics that make-up part of daily living stateside–wide-open roads, ample parking, a good zoo, amusement parks, decent camping sites, the theater (stage), big-name rock concerts (or big-name anything for that matter). So when I was finally able to find Kraft’s macaroni and cheese, I learned to savor the experience.

As I was posting Koza (1974) pictures to the Ryukyu-no (Okinawan) Rock ??????? website, I began thinking about how some things go full circle. In those days on Okinawa, we would get out of Club Fire at about 5 in the morning. As we walked down the street, we would have to be careful not to step the wrong way. If you did misstep, your foot and half of your leg would end-up in a benjo ditch (sewer). We don’t have to worry about benjo ditches very much anymore. Now when we walk home, it’s regurgitated food, broken bottles, yakitori (B-B-Q chicken) sauce, and passed-out beggars that compose the confidence course. Of course, in 1974 there were a few GIs that always blew off a little too much steam. After all, it was during the Vietnam era. In the past few years Gate 2 Street has, once again, developed into one of the main areas where GIs come to let off a little steam. This year is the first time since the ’70s that I have seen groups of Japanese police patroling the street on foot. One big difference is now there are many locals, young and old, mixed-in with the GIs and numerous American civilians that call Okinawa home, for one reason or another. Maybe twenty years of having the Gate 2/B.C. Street area to theirselves, has made the locals a little less willing to give-up the area. Perhaps, twenty years of basically peaceful communication has created a new generation of locals that are more open-minded to the differences in cultures. Or perhaps, they all just want to have fun!!!