My brother Po is going to Kenya to build latrines. Its part of a big crazy philanthropic engineering project club he’s involved in. Kenya’s a third world country in every sense of the term, a big ‘danger’ on the travel warning list. It’s just utterly amazing, my brother is saving the world one shitter at a time. When he returns he’ll intern at a company to design nuclear power plants, which is kind of a shitter. But that’s another story.

To illustrate the third-worldness of Kenya, he told me that they have fiber optic cable and cell phone service in the village he’s going to, but no running water or latrines. I somewhat coarsely speculated what a cell phone call would be like in this village:

*ring ring*
“Hello?”
“Hey Matunde, it’s me. I’m fucking thirsty.”
“Yeah, I hear ya. Hang on a sec, let me bury my crap in the sand.”

Go lend a hand, Po MaN!

So after the excursion, I got home and realized the weather was still too fantastic to waste inside defeating Kraken in the depths of the sunken water temple (thereby restoring the light to the Water Crystal).

So I packed my bag, hopped on my bike, bought some ready-to-eat pork cutlet and pasta at the grocery store, and rode my bike seven or so kilometers to Iwaya Magaibutsu park (the one with the ancient buddhist cliff carvings where I bring everyone. Its my number one favorite place here). Inside I staked out a place next to the pond, laid out a sheet to sit upon, and ate my foods while watching the sun dip below the clifftops. It was so pretty, prettier than your prom date was, I’d say.

When the sun did vanish, something strange started to happen. These strange animal sounds started sounding out. They were really loud, and my first guess was that there were some kind of crane or stork call from the river-creek that was beyond my sight. However, soon there were at least half a dozen sources of this really loud sound, all calling out and competing with each other. It was then that I realized it was not coming from some distant large bird, but from the pond in front of me. These big ol’ frogs were poking their heads up between every nook along the edge of the pond, and were bellowing with berserk volume.

I listened to their cacophony for awhile, and then decided to get a good look at these frogs. They ought to have been enormous based on their croaks. I slowly crept up to the pond edge, stepping on a rock that jutted out of the water. Either the sight of a huge looming shadow or the shockwaves of a footstep upon a rock was enough to send dozens of thumb-sized tadpoles scurrying in all directions away from me. I leaned out a little further and jumped when a frog that must’ve been within a yard of me to my right saw me gave a sharp croak-burst before splooshing into the water. I didn’t see it, but I knew it was there.

From my vantage point, I looked around the edge of the rest of the pond, and saw, underneath another rock, a big whitish shape sticking out of the water. Suddenly, it croaked, and I saw its throat expand. It was sizable, but I couldn’t quite figure it out without getting closer.

So, slowly, I made my way around, until I finally peeked around another rock to stare it face to face, about four yards apart. The thing was easily the size of two clenched man-fists, and it was a strange pale green-grey that looked almost white against the brown water. It stared at me, and then with the same bizarre alarm-croak-gasp, it disappeared under the water to swim away.

It was quite an amazing experience, listening to their symphony of weirdness. I’ll have to return for more sunsets to hear them sing again.

I reluctantly hauled myself out of bed yesterday morning. I was going to visit my junior high, one of three total visits before my contract ends. Usually I had a blast with that group, but the situation was a bit different now. The teacher I had before had been reassigned over spring break to somewhere in the city, so I’d have to be working with a new teacher. This knowledge combined with the fact that I wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted to do for the lessons left me feeling kind of nervous about the day.

Hopped into the car and drove the fifty minute drive, stopping along the way for a small sandwich, and otherwise enjoying the breathtaking ocean view that was along the way.

I pulled into the school lot, and noticed my cell phone was vibrating. That wasn’t something that usually happened so early in the morning. Pulled it out, and saw it was my supervisor at the education office. Flipped it open, and after the typical awkward exchange of broken japanese and his broken english, I had ascertained that lessons at the junior high were cancelled because the new english teacher had some kind of family emergency… his mother or wife or someone was in the hospital, so he wouldn’t be there, so I should go back to my main high school.

Well shits, that’s an hour’s drive back! I quickly called up the head english teacher at Kawanabe and let him know I was coming in. He responded, “Well, today is school excursion day, so there will be no students.” I told him it was alright, it couldn’t be helped. So crud, I was gonna come back and sit in front of the Intarwebs all day. On such a nice day. What a serious waste.

I stopped for a few minutes on the way back at a seaside park, one of my favorite spots that I only visit when I go out to the Jr. High, and soaked in the sight. The water was exceptionally clear today, and I could clearly see the gradations of blue corresponding with the depth of the water. Brilliant. This country is so beautiful.

Anyway, finally got back to the high school, and saw all the buses lined up in the front, full of students. I parked the car and started hauling my stuff inside, when a japanese language teacher, a sweet, tiny old lady, saw me, and looked panic-stricken. She grabbed me and basically shoved me onto a bus full of first-year students.

Seems like I was going on an excursion. The kid setting next to me was absolutely petrified that he was next to the foreigner, so I didn’t want to make it worse by trying to talk to him. Unfortunately, I was left completely unaware of where we were going. It certainly took awhile to get there.

Imagine my surprise and pleasure when I climbed out into a beautiful park full of happy trees and green grass, and the kids all just went their own ways. Basically its just a day to make memories with your new class, and to frolic and play with absolutely no obligations.

So I climbed around the playground, sat under trees talking to students, drove a ridiculously tiny go-kart, and absorbed enough sun to make my nose and cheeks go pink . And I got paid to do it.

Had I shown up to my high school but ten minutes later, I would’ve discovered a building that would’ve been completely barren. Woulda probably found a patch of grass to lie around on. Either way, the cancelled jr. high classes made me the luckiest boy… the luckiest boy… in the WHOLE WORLD!

I hope my teacher’s family is alright :p

A friend of mine wrote a spring poem. I liked it so much, but it needed some polishing to reflect spring in Kagoshima.

The air is drenched by
The scent of fertilizer and rotting
Garbage. The sounds of something
Skittering across the kitchen,
As if to say,
“Spring has begun!”

The antennae tease the air,
Tossing, brushing, tickling
Playfully, searching for dust and
Discarded skin and dropped food
To eat with its horrific mandibles.

The cockroaches–
Large bugs you can fear.
A smear of dark brown
Or chitinous creatures
That some call pests
But I call pets.

Their wings stretch and open,
Greeting the cloaking darkness.
Black eyes glisten like the night sky
Relecting the nightlight

And below the refrigerator,
New food lays, ready to eat
A gift from the landlord
Delicious, poisonous

The dying roach whispers
“Spring has begun.”

————————————
There is another trapped cockroach under my pink bowl. It has lived there for almost three weeks, presumably eating dust and its own excrement. It lies unmoving until I nudge the translucent bowl, and I watch it skitter a lap around the rim of the bowl, searching for a new exit. There is none. Its antennae twitch in frustration.

Upon sighting another cockroach near the sink, I opted it was time for poison. Purchased a set of little roach-troughs. The top is transparent plastic so you can see the tasty little bright red poison cake. It looks like some kind of cherry and peanutbutter candy. The roaches eat a bit, then stumble back to their nest, or hive, or commune, or whatever roaches live in, and die. There, the other roaches rejoice at the free, self-delivered meal. The consume their fallen brother, and along with his spirit, they absorb the poison.

Everyone dies.

But what happens when your cockroaches are still adolescent? When they eat enough to slowly kill an adult, without being adults themselves? Clearly the poison works more quickly, killing them faster.

Killing them too fast.

They manage to get a foot away, into the middle of the kitchen, before somehow maneuvering themselves onto their backs, to die a slow, twitching death. I had to wait a couple days after finding them to sweep them up, because as the broom neared, they would start flailing their limbs, trying to desperately grasp the straw. I had to wait for them to weaken enough that they wouldnt grab the broom, wouldnt take flight, and I chucked them outside.

If the roaches dont win a physical victory over me, they certainly have won a war of morale. The thought of their death disgusts me. The thought of their continued presence disgusts me. They’re HORRIBLE.

A few weeks ago I got a call earlyish on Sunday (okay, so sue me, 11am is early on a Sunday). What was strange was that it was my landline. I rarely received calls on my land line. It was even more startling when I picked up and got an english voice asking me what was up. It was intensely familiar, but it wasn’t one of the local ALTs.

It was my brother! Seems his girlfriend found airplane tickets to Japan for half price, so my parents were going to fly out during my mum’s spring.

Hurrk. What?!

It was all fine and good, ultimately, provided they understood I didn’t have any paid leave to spare and would have to work through the week. And that was that.

A few days later the shock set in. My PARENTS are visiting me in JAPAN?! I can’t take time off! How will they navigate, how will they survive, what will they do? They can’t speak the language, they won’t wanna drive on the left side of the road, they can’t hike up kilometer-tall mountains. Hell, I don’t even own coffee-making stuff, where will they get their coffee, the coffee that grants them sentience and bipedalism?!

My stomach was churning while I waited at the airport on a Friday night, waiting for them to fly in. I was really looking forward to seeing them, to having people to come home from work to, but I was so worried about them. My old man had never even left the North American continent before! The most foreign place he had ever been was CANADA!

But, fortunately, now that their week has come and gone, I can see they had a rather enjoyable time, and I had little to worry about. When I was free I showed them around, taking them to the cool local places I had shown my brother. The weekends had pretty good weather, though the evenings all week after work were a bit more miserable. They amused themselves by walking around and observing the local neighborhood, the stores, the houses, and the surrounding area.

I have about 4000 photographs to sift through that mum took, I’ll be posting some of them. I have to say the most unique event was the Pony Races at a local equestrian park. Little ponies raced around a track, often losing control or tossing their small riders before taking off in a random direction. At intermission a huge group of kids played taiko drums, and we swatted at horrific-looking but harmless black flying ant-bugs.

They certainly enjoyed the food. They were delighted with tempura, the fact that there was fried stuff all day, all the time, wherever you went. And a couple of nights they cooked for me, resulting in feasts I hadn’t known in months.

It came and went rather quick. They replaced the weight of food and gifts for me with food and gifts for people back home, and returned safely to Chicago yesterday, thoroughly satisfied and satiated with their visit. My apartment is completely empty again, and pretty depressing, but the weather improves with every passing day so I’m sure I’ll get over it soon.

Thanks for coming out, guys! I’m glad you saw somewhere really really exotic, probably not a place you ever expected your child would draw you to! Myliu!

Ugh, I feel sick. I have a stalker.

It all started at the beginning of the year, where after a lengthy weekend seminar I returned to my town with my suit needing to be dry-cleaned. I stopped in the shop to drop it off and talked to the shop owner and his wife forever, even though I didn’t understand anything. I think they invited me to eat udon or something. It was kind of really long and bordering on irritating, but whatever, it was happening a lot in Japan.

Never went back since, had no reason to.

Then on Sunday I went to the supermarket. I was walking by and I heard someone say my name. Looked up and it was an older woman with a strange placid expression… the woman from the dry cleaner’s half a year ago. I wasn’t completely sure ’til she asked about my hawaiian friend (Lisa, the other ALT in town.) I smiled, said hello, chatted for a moment, and continued shopping for cheap cup ramen. She went her own way.

A bit later she approached me again in a different aisle and started asking questions… wasn’t really sure what she was saying. Zero english, zero attempts at making it easier to understand her… she would just repeat things over and over again when I claimed to not understand. She was not deterred… suddenly she was starting to ask about where I lived… the name of the neighborhood, Tabeta. No big deal, her store was in the same ‘hood, I’m sure I’d mentioned it before. Basically, though, I had no idea what she was going on about. The whole time she was just staring at me with the strange kind-of-friendly, placid face that was growing increasingly creepy to me. I literally started walking away and saying goodbye to break free. Pain in the ass, but i realize being here makes all interesting to the locals, and I stick out. These things happen.

But the fear sunk in as I pulled into my apartment lot after work. It was a miserable rainy day today, with the rain really bearing down at random intervals. It was raining as I pulled in, and standing next to my building under an orange umbrella was the Dry Cleaner’s Wife. My face froze in fear as I pulled into my spot. She was already upon me as I climbed out of my car.

We stood under our umbrellas, me trapped between cars and a wall, the woman blocking the only exit. I believe she was requesting that I eat udon noodles with her and her husband. Her face had the same placidity that had become nightmarish by this point. I told her in broken japanese that I was meeting a friend for dinner (which was a lie). She asked if it was the Hawaiian, and I said no, a different ALT. She said I could bring him, I think. I told her I was busy. She asked about tomorrow, which fortunately I had an actual prior engagement to use as an excuse. She sort of got the point that I was busy for a bit. She then looked over her shoulder at my apartment building and asked which room was mine. I just said “Yes.” She pointed to the second floor, second window, which was mine, and asked if it was that one. I didn’t answer. She started walking away, then turned around and asked for my telephone number. I faked like I couldn’t understand, even though the word for phone number is unmistakeable, “denwa bango.”

Bad move. If i don’t understand, its her signal to just keep repeating the words over and over and over again. She wasn’t going to stop. Finally I said, “Ooooh, denwa bango,” making a phone with my thumb and pinky finger. I said very rudely, “Himitsu desu.” “It’s a secret.” She nodded and walked away.

HOW LONG HAD SHE BEEN STANDING IN THE RAIN OUTSIDE MY APARTMENT?! I come home much earlier than other workers, at like 4:30. Most other japanese teachers work ’til at least six, or later! Was she going to stand out there for another two hours? More? I felt really nauseous.

After talking about it briefly online with Lisa, we agreed that she was probably just trying to be friendly and hospitable, but overly so. Lisa agreed with me that it was creepy that she knew where I lived, but ALTs had been living there for years, so really I think its common knowledge in the area. But that she was standing there… waiting… *shudder*.

I hope I don’t see her again. I hope she got the hint, or was offended. I don’t want to create a bad name for foreigners; however, I don’t want to sacrifice my privacy and sense of security, either. Blech.