Oblivious

This morning I was reminded of how oblivious Aaron and I are to the events occurring around us sometimes. Its not that we plan on it and its certainly not because we don’t care, we just don’t know enough Japanese. In our day-to-day lives, our lack of Japanese has ceased to be much of an issue. We know enough to get by, enough to know when to ask for help, and we know who to ask for translating help. After a while, it’s easy to become complacent about living in a country where we really on catch a fraction of what is happening. Nobody expects us to understand, and we have certainly risen to their expectations. However, sometimes it can be a real shocker to get some insight into the world everyone else in the village lives in.

This past weekend Hokkaido was covered by a huge storm system. The wind began on Saturday night and didn’t stop until sometime in the wee hours of the morning on Monday. The howling was fierce, rattling our windows and making the sliding wooden doors in our house shake. Aaron and I settled in to watch a mildly scaring movie and I found myself starting constantly, jumping at the wind and rain as it blew through the village. Earlier in the day Aaron had braved the roads to Nayoro and returned home with tales of high water and rushing rivers. We didn’t think much about it because, though there is a river running through the village, the houses are all situation pretty far from danger. So, our little family just battened down the hatches and watched the crazy weather from the warm comfort of our home.

Now, it’s Tuesday and I’ve returned to work (Monday was a holiday). After three days off, I was sitting at my desk, sluggishly finishing the last of my coffee when Mr. Kamaya came into the office. He always likes to tell me about things that have been happening that I might not be aware of. It really helps me to not feel so much like I’m in a vacuum. This morning he shared with me what his weekend had been like. Apparently the entire staff (or at least the male staff, I would guess) pulled what Mr. Kamaya called a “special shift”. They worked for 24 hours straight keeping a vigil over the village. City office workers took turns filling sandbags and placing them in strategic locations all around the village for fear of flooding. He communicated that they had been genuinely concerned about some of the homes being destroyed or the roads washing away. Then he mimed falling asleep at his desk, chuckled, and rubbed his forearms to say that he was sore and tired.

So, while Aaron and I were drowsing in front of a new DVD, the rest of the village was pulling together to keep the roads and homes safe. We had no idea. Keep in mind that we live right across our very narrow street from the city offices. I usually know if there is something going on because I can watch the building from my couch. As Mr. Kamaya was telling me about his “special shift” I found myself in awe of the casualness with which these guys take care of each other. It really is like this village is one big family. Mr. Kamaya didn’t seem to see much special in what everyone had done, he was just telling me he was tired. I think when it’s finally time for us to leave, it’s things like this that I will miss the most; the amazing sense of community prevalent in Nishiokoppe is really something special.