My Sheltered Existence

Food

We ate by candlelight and solar lamps every night. Most of the food was provided through donations within the Japanese Christian community. A river runs through Kamaishi City so when the tsunami engulfed the port area, the river acted as a buffer for the other side. Luckily or unluckily, half the city was destroyed while the other side remained pristine. There was a large supermarket chain on the unaffected side and it still received some food deliveries. We could even get imported fish and fruits but it just wasn’t feasible to feed a volunteer base with supermarket food. We tended to eat what was cheap and filling: noodles, rice, canned fish, curry and all sorts of snacks.

Shelters

After finishing our evening curry, it was time for the medical rounds at the shelters with Sensei’s team. Although there was a hospital in Kamaishi, it was swamped and couldn’t be used. Evening rounds were vital to maintaining the health of the victims since most were elderly people. The team usually split up into two groups to maximize time. We usually went around to two school-based shelters per night.

Imagine a PTA meeting, a sports festival and Open School Day all happening at the same time (every night) and that is what the shelters are like. Parking lots were full to the brim. The parked cars acted as mobile storage containers with a family’s last remaining possessions stuffed in like the family was going on a week-long camping trip. Inside the shelter, volunteers ran various services like a hotel’s concierge. A TV in the hall showed baseball games and was usually surrounded by middle-aged men. On the other side of the shelter, there was generally a lineup for the ladies toilet. Kids were glued to their DS games in random nooks and crannies of the building.

The first time I entered into one of these shelter-gymnasiums, I felt that it was surprisingly quiet for such a large gathering. Lots were drawn on the floor and some places had cardboard walls to separate each plot. Inside, a family would be sprawled out on their futons. The father would usually be reading the newspaper, the mom chatting with the neighbors across the cardboard fence, kids glued to their Nintendo DS games, the elderly quietly contemplating around solar lanterns and heaters.

On my first visit, Sensei immediately got to work, wasting no time in going from block to block asking about the state of the residents’ health. Like a scouting party, the nurses fanned out and did what they could do on their own. If someone required more attention Sensei would come and assist. I carried Sensei’s medicine bag and helped him distribute drugs and other necessities. When some of the elderly complained of muscle pain I gave them massages and talked to them. Soon I developed quite a clientele for my trade.

As months went by, the government began to encourage people to leave the school gyms, especially as many schools were waiting to reopen. In fact, even after students returned to school, there were still many families living in the gymnasiums.

Kasetsu Housing

After requesting that people leave the gymnasiums, the government spent a lot of money building ‘kasetsu’ (portable temporary housing), which were often located right next to the schools. Living in a kasetsu allowed the much-wanted privacy and some personal recognition of independence. At the same time, utilities for the kasetsu housing still needed to be paid. Many evacuees lost not only their homes, but also their offices, coworkers and salaries. Some people who lost their whole families could not stand living alone in a quiet little box-shaped room. Elderly people depended on constant conversation with neighbours to pass their days. Not too soon after the implementation of kasetsu housing, rumors began floating around that those inhabitants were more prone to suicide. For all these reasons, some people stayed in the school gymnasiums for as long as they could.

Going back home

Some families opted for returning to their original homes if the home was deemed structurally safe. While wandering around the disaster zone, one would come across many colored flags. Red flags meant the house was slated for demolition or had already been washed away by the tsunami. Yellow flags marked the desire of the owner to keep the property and structure.

I was highly impressed by those families who moved back to their empty neighborhoods. Neighborhoods without 2am barking dogs, kids practicing piano on sunny Sunday afternoons or the vroom of the mailman’s vintage motorcycle. I can’t imagine coming back into a house where everything is covered with sludge. Most returnees spent a fortune on renovations and countless hours cleaning out the house. That’s where volunteers came in, upon request, to help owners with their cleaning. We washed their mud-covered dishes in rivers, packed their possessions into cardboard boxes for transport, or searched their homes for missing documents (photo albums, family treasures, passports, graduation certificates). Volunteers all felt like they were really helping people get back up on their feet.

Rummaging through people’s private possessions and working alongside them, I sensed an immensely personal connection. “This could have been you,” I thought to myself. Luckily, I was thousands of miles away in Nepal at the time. That said, an earthquake did hit Nepal in September, while I was in Kamaishi, killing 16 people.

Click here to view images of the shelters. You can also read the first and second blogs in this series on the 3/11 disaster.

If you happen to be in Toronto, you can check out some more of my photos at the GOD Loves Japan exhibit at the Museum of Contemporary Canadian Art from February 4-April 1, 2012.