Recently the editor of the OkiHai Society website sent out a request to members to submit any information which might be of use to people living in Okinawa, or on their way to Okinawa. A variety of topics were asked to be addressed and while I could easily have offered a little insight on many of the topics mentioned, I decided to write instead, about a topic which I rarely see discussed: culture shock. The following story is what I submitted to OkiHai (and due to its “lengthiness,” I’m almost certain it won’t be published). Grab a cup of coffee for this one…….

Dear Okinawa Hai Readers,

I recently saw on Okinawa Hai Society, a call for members to open up their lives to other members/readers and share details about various aspects of their lives in Okinawa. I’m a Marine spouse, here on Okinawa with my husband and two girls, ages 5 and 14. We are currently on our second tour in Okinawa, although our first tour did not begin in the traditional (or usual) way. What I mean to say, is that I actually met my husband here in Japan; we did not PCS here as a military family. I was initially in Japan working as an English teacher on Yoron Island (just north of Okinawa), and it was in Yoron that my husband and I met. With that said, I want to take a slightly different approach if I may, and talk specifically about my time in Yoron. Bear with me as I explain why. I’ve always felt kind of perturbed, or saddened I should say, by people who have come all the way to Japan yet refuse to get out and explore, or allow themselves to be a little adventurous, simply because things are “different” here. I remember being back on Marine Corps Base Camp Pendleton in California, and talking to some neighbors who were so excited to be back in the States after completing a three year tour in Okinawa. I understood their enthusiasm about being home again, as who doesn’t like going home after a lengthy time away, however when we got further into the conversation it became clear that their excitement was more about leaving Okinawa. The family had been stationed on Camp Courtney and I was shocked when the wife told me that she rarely went off-base without her husband, and because her husband was often away she and her children remained within the confines of their home and immediate surroundings. Who wouldn’t hate Okinawa if that were the case? And while this woman’s behavior is obviously not the norm, I still occasionally come across spouses who are miserable here because they’ve closed their minds to the possibility that life can actually be enjoyable in Okinawa. On the other end of the spectrum you have people who come out here with a list of places to go and things to do, as well as specific goals they hope to achieve while they’re here, and they’re ready to start checking off that list before their household goods have even arrived. These people are easy to recognize; they’re the ones who seem to have friends everywhere, they never seem to be home, and they can pretty much answer any “new-comer” questions. The majority of people who come to Okinawa however, tend to fall in the middle of the spectrum and that is, they come with a willingness to try new things, and without the expectation that they must embrace the Japanese culture and lifestyle. That in my opinion, is a healthy attitude to have when visiting a foreign country and I hope by sharing a little about my experiences in Yoron, that I can convince those of you who are not so positive about being here, to let your guard down and allow yourselves to have a little fun.

My first six months in Yoron were an extremely difficult time for me. I arrived in Yoron all fired up and ready to take on whatever challenges were thrown at me, so it hit me like a ton of bricks when I realized that it might not be as simple as that. I like to think that my over-zealousness and free-spirit if you will, was a fairly normal response to where I was at in my life back then, but I’ve since been told by close friends that young, single Mums generally don’t pack up with their kids and go situate themselves in some foreign land somewhere. Maybe so, but nevertheless, I took my five year old daughter Chantal to Japan with me and together we managed to survive two years on a Japanese island where few people speak English, and where survival isn’t an option without adapting on some level to the traditional values and customs that are still upheld.

My first major challenge had to do with Chantal, and her first few months at the local “hoikuen” (preschool). While the kids accepted her and wanted to play with her, they were quick to abandon her as soon as she showed signs of not understanding. It was heartbreaking for me to pick her up at the end of a work day and see her sitting all alone at the center and sometimes in tears. As the weeks passed and Chantal appeared to be more miserable than ever, I began to question the benefits of keeping her in Japan, away from grandparents who loved and missed her dearly, as well as the comforts of everything she ever knew. My concerns grew even greater when I came home from work one day to find that she had run off from the school and was hiding in a corner of the house with tears streaming down her face. Meanwhile I began to encounter some personal struggles of my own. My job was great for the most part (I taught at the three elementary schools, the junior high school, on occasion at the high school, and once a week at the community center), but my official employer was the Board of Education and like all the other government departments on Yoron, the Board of Education was a male-dominated section. Apart from one other lady who handled some of the more basic administrative tasks, I was the only other female in the department. I’m not saying this was a bad thing, but it certainly took some getting used to. For example, the day Chantal and I arrived in Yoron, we were picked up at the tiny airport and driven to our modest home where approximately twenty men were waiting on our front lawn. They were sitting on a large tarpaulin which had been laid out on the grass, and they were drinking “shochu,” alcohol derived from the local sugar cane plants. I was given just enough time to freshen up before I was called to join them on the tarpaulin and participate in the drinking festivities. One of the first mistakes I made was to sit cross-legged, even though I had long pants on; my supervisor immediately gestured for me to sit with my legs to one side. I quickly corrected myself and proceeded to exchange gifts with both my supervisor and the head of the department. I presented to each man, two bottles of expensive, good-quality New Zealand wine and was somewhat taken aback when my supervisor gave me in return a case of beer (it came in handy however as it helped numb my senses on those days when I thought the culture shock was going to get the better of me). The rest of the evening basically involved the men drinking themselves into a drunken stupor and staggering off down the road to their respective homes, and me wondering what on earth I had gotten myself and Chantal into. Incidentally, there were only two women present at the party (they cooked and served the food), and this was typically how it was at almost every work function I attended.

Other problematic areas for me included not being able to read food labels or recognize food items at the nearby supermarket. Our diet initially consisted of just bread, eggs, milk, and a few other easily identifiable items, and we soon grew tired of eating the same foods day after day. I eventually learned how to read food labels, with the help of one or two of the teachers I worked with, but a lot of my understanding came about through trial and error. Spiders were also something that took some getting used to. The thing one needs to keep in mind when living on a tropical island, is that the creepy crawly creatures we’re used to seeing in the comforts of our urban, city homes, are like the dwarf cousins of those that you will inevitably stumble upon in your island shacks. Spiders, cockroaches, and stick insects are enormous on Yoron, and I say that without exaggeration. And not only are they enormous, but they tend to prefer indoor dwelling as opposed to outdoor dwelling, which if you’re like me, is not okay. But spiders and food issues aside, perhaps one of the most difficult things I encountered, was the feeling of being isolated and not having anyone to talk to, at least not on an intimate level. Most of the people living on Yoron can speak a little English, but only enough to exchange basic greetings and maybe ask/answer some very easy questions. Chantal became my only source of English conversation, and as such I tended to overload her with information that was typically beyond the ability of a five year old to comprehend. I was able to offload my thoughts and feelings to Chantal but obviously there was little reciprocation and so it wasn’t long before the loneliness settled in.

The good news, and I’m sure you were wondering if the good news was ever going to come, is that six months or so after we arrived, Chantal and I both started to settle into our new home. By the time Chantal entered kindergarten she was able to form simple sentences in Japanese, and by the time she was in first grade she was not only fluently speaking Japanese, but she was also very much in tune with the culture and way of life on Yoron. As for myself, I spent my free time studying Japanese and spending as much time as possible with many of the local women who were keen to build a friendship with me. With the help of these wonderful women, who spent countless hours conversing with me via the use of English/Japanese dictionaries, I was able to learn how and why certain things were done and eventually feel as if I were a functional member of the community. My point in all of this, is that I could have chosen to give up and return home, or worse still, isolate myself and Chantal outside of work and school, but had I done that we would have missed out on so many of the wonderful memories and friendships that we were able to build. The two years we spent living on Yoron are undoubtedly two of the most incredible years of my life, mostly because it was a time in my life which took me so far out of my comfort zone that it stretched me further than I could ever have imagined. Life in Okinawa is easy when I compare it to life in Yoron, but I also understand that for many of you Okinawa presents just as much anguish for you as Yoron did for me. I believe however, that happiness is a choice and wherever life (or the military) takes you, the possibilities are endless if you’re willing to reserve judgement until you’ve actually ventured out and lived a little. As a runner, I’m very aware of the discomfort I often feel during the first few miles of a run, but the longer and further I go the steadier my stride and breathing becomes and eventually the discomfort subsides altogether. Granted, it may come back every mile or so, but as long as I regain control of my breathing and slow my pace a little, I can usually fall back into a comfortable rhythm. And that’s how it is for many of us when we’re in a foreign place feeling alone and frustrated; my advice to you however, is to take your new surroundings, learn all you can, and push through the frustrations - they’ll eventually go away and you’ll reach a point of not only contentment, but hopefully, also enjoyment!

A sidenote for those of you who are considering Japanese schooling for your child/ren; it’s important that you understand what the consequences of such a decision might be. I am thrilled that my oldest daughter had the opportunity to learn Japanese, and I am even more thrilled that we are back in Japan so she can pick up where she left off and continue to develop her Japanese language skills. But it’s crucial that you realize the extra burden that is placed on a child when they are expected to learn two languages. For the past nine years or so, Chantal has had to put in extra hours after school studying either English or Japanese. During her elementary years in Japanese schools (from kindergarten through fourth grade), Chantal was home schooled in English for a minimum of two hours three or four evenings a week; this was neither enjoyable for her or for me but it was absolutely necessary. In her fifth grade year, she went to school in New Zealand and coped reasonably well with the transition from Japanese to English schooling, however her sixth and seventh grade years in California were a little more demanding as she struggled to catch up with her peers. One of the disadvantages of Chantal being in a Japanese school during her younger years, was that I could not speak or understand Japanese and so I was never able to help her with her schoolwork or communicate effectively with her teachers during parent/teacher conferences. The consequences of not really knowing how Chantal was doing in school and not being able to assist her with her homework, is that she now struggles in some of her subjects because she never really understood some of the foundational concepts of what was taught to her when she was younger. Furthermore, the extra hours of study never ended when we left Okinawa; in New Zealand we found a Japanese lady who was able to tutor Chantal twice a week after school, and in California Chantal attended a Japanese school on Friday nights for two hours. Currently she is studying Japanese III at high school and she also sees a private tutor one afternoon a week. Chantal has often expressed resentment at having the extra workload placed upon her and we have spent many hours over the past few years disputing the need for her to continue learning both languages, but hard work and feelings aside, I’m hopeful that in the years to come the sacrifice will pay off and she will be able to appreciate her accomplishments.