Rurousha 2

Happy birthday, Mum!

2018-08-21T13:31:00.002+09:00

Here's an August flower for you. Not your beloved cherry blossoms, but your favourite colour. I miss you.

Call it remorse

2018-06-22T18:28:00.000+09:00

Something out of memory walks toward us,
something that refutes
the dictionary, that won’t roost
in the field guide. Something that once flew
and now must trudge. Call it grief,
trailing its wings like a shabby overcoat,
like a burnt flag. Call it ghost.
Call it aftermath. Call it remorse
for its ability to bite and bite
again.

—	Don McKay, from “Angel of Extinction,” Angular Unconformity: Collected Poems 1970-2014 (Icehouse Poetry, 2014)

Dear Dad, this one's for you

2018-06-22T18:10:00.000+09:00

Dear Dad,

You would've been 100 years old today. I didn't do anything lawyerly on your birthday, but ... I've never told you ... but three years ago, when I was on holiday in the United Kingdom, I spent a day in the Temple area of London, visiting the Inns of Court and the Royal Courts of Justice. It was so easy to imagine you there. I would've enjoyed your company, and I wish we could've popped into a pub to talk. Or argue. Probably. Happy century, Dad. I hope you still have tennis, and rugby, and books, and a veld for a walk.

Miss you!

The daughter who was born last

South Africa is not a safety country (hallelujah)

2018-02-11T20:49:00.001+09:00

I did. Smile. Nonstop. Al die pad dwarsdeur end-uit.

What do you do with your toilet if there's no water?

2018-02-09T18:37:00.001+09:00

This is a follow-up to my previous post about apocalyptic waterless Cape Town. "Toilets! What do?" I asked my friends. Ah, you apply a little rhyme that's now doing the rounds. You apply it everywhere, even in public toilets.

if it's yellow
let it mellow
if it's brown
flush it down

I'm continuing my own water-saving experiment, partly because I'm curious, partly out of sympathy with my beloved Cape Town. It's all very un-serious in my case, of course: yesterday, for example, I put a teabag in hot water and then -- as I do so frequently -- forgot about it. Usually I would've thrown it out. Yesterday I drank tepid tea. Every drop counts.

En as dit nie anders kan nie, is daar altyd Japannese whisky (al die pad saamgepiekel SA toe) en Klippies en plaaslike wyn.

Ek mis die niks

2018-02-09T18:18:00.000+09:00

As jy van ver af aankom, sê maar van Skilpadtepel se kant af, dan sien jy eers niks, en na ’n rukkie nóg niks, en dan die kerk se kliptoring, en naderhand ook die troppie huise daar rondom. Hulle staan soos ’n klein skaretjie om ’n ongelukstoneel – almal wil bý wees maar niemand wil dit té naby waag nie. -- Oom Kootjie Emmer, André P. Brink

Dis goed om my eie taal te lees. Daardie paragraaf herinner my so intens aan Kamieskroon, die Namakwalandse dorpie waar my ouma gewoon het; en die talle klein dorpies op die platteland in Suid-Afrika.

Day Zero: when Cape Town's taps are turned off

2018-02-02T15:51:00.000+09:00

Sleet in Tokyo, 0 degrees Celsius, possibly colder in my north-facing apartment. Opened tap and warmed hands under running water until I remembered where I'm from. Cape Town. A city without water. They will run out of water ... soon, April, perhaps sooner, and there I was, indolently watching water spiraling down the drain.

South Africa: rich in natural resources, poor in water. Japan: zero natural resources, So Much Water.

I took these two photos of the Theewaterskloof Dam in January 2017, when there was still some water left. Now there's virtually nothing.

Capetonians have been asked to limit their water consumption to 50 liters a day. Here's how it breaks down:

Only a minority is currently following these guidelines. The rest: ignorant or selfish or stupid or all three.

"I can get my head around drinking water: you transport it by truck," I told my family. "I understand that you can do a hospital bath with Wet Wipes instead of a bath-bath. I accept that laundry isn't really necessary: a few sweat stains won't kill you. What I can't comprehend is life without a modern sewage system. What do you do if you can't flush toilets? Long drop in your garden? Go medieval and chuck it out of your window into the street?"

(Terloops, ek het pas, in 'n oomblik van suiwer nostalgie, die Kindle-weergawe van Oom Kootjie Emmer gekoop. When I was a child, we visited my grandmother in Kamieskroon in Namaqualand. That was years ago, long before Google and washlets, when the village still relied on chamber pots and long drops and night soil removed with the help of a small donkey-drawn cart. Don't laugh. Japan still has squat toilets. OK?)

Anyway. "What do you do about sewage?" I ask my sister. "Dry toilets," she says: a waterless chemical toilet that is often used at campsites.

"It's all very exciting," she adds, applying that dry, mocking, irreverent, so very South African humour that I was raised on. "It's all very exciting: we can't wait to see all the new engineering solutions." Meantime, she says, there are "water entrepreneurs" in the coastal village where she lives with her family. It's mainly a resort town with a very small permanent population. Houses are empty and outdoors taps are unguarded. So they come: the "entrepreneurs" who steal water, transport it to Cape Town and sell it at a massive profit. More lucrative, my sister says, than the booming illegal trade in abalone. (Once again we can thank China for destroying Africa's wildlife.)

Cape Town's crisis is complex: a three-year drought, uncontrolled urbanization and population growth, ugly national vs provincial politics. Yes, they're building desalination plants.

You remain the most beautiful city in the world, Cape Town, and you will always be the city of my heart. I hope the rain comes soon.

PS: Port Elizabeth, where my other sister lives, now also has water restrictions. Today, one year ago, I was in PE with my sister. And a cheetah.

Water crisis? But ... you've got a big lake!

2018-01-22T13:05:00.002+09:00

I should be used to ignorance about South Africa -- or South Shithole, if you prefer -- but my students never fail to shock me into silence.

Office worker in her late 30s. Where are you from? Cape Town. Where is that? Cape Town in South Africa. South America? No, look at this map: this is South Africa and this is Cape Town. How about Cape Town? The latter is studentspeak for "I don't know anything about Cape Town; could you please tell me more; do you like it; if yes, what are you doing in Japan?"

I explain a bit. "Is it very hot?" I explain a bit more, and mention the current water crisis, which means my beloved city will run out of water in April.

The student looks at the map. "But," she says and points, genuinely puzzled, "you have a very big lake!"

A year that's already gone to the dogs

2018-01-08T16:48:00.000+09:00

2018 is the year of the dog. I photographed these ema at Hie Jinja, which always has big variety of designs. Indigenous species such as the shiba inu and the Akita inu feature prominently.

An X-rated start to 2018 thanks to the Bearded Jizō (髭地蔵)

2018-01-03T16:54:00.000+09:00

I really didn't mean to start the year in an X-rated fashion, but what's a woman to do when the situation arises unexpectedly?

You may recall … Well. You probably don't. This was six years ago, before the long hiatus, when I went on a few walkpeditions to find Tokyo's remaining phallic stones. It amused me – still does – that here in the heart of the city of robots and bullet trains you can still find old gods and ancient beliefs, hidden behind neon lights and artisan coffee shops.

There's a phallic stone in the heart of Ueno Park, and nobody knows about it. Or rather, very few do, and certainly no tourists.

It stands on Shōtenjima (聖天島), a small island next to Benten-dō in Shinobazu Pond in Ueno Park. It's not easy to see it, though, because the island is fenced off and in a badly neglected state.

If you look at it from behind, it looks like this …

… but it's not what you think it is. It's actually a Jizō figure. That's clear from the other side, but of course you can never see the other side. I've tried to take photos from the opposite side of the pond, but I don't have a powerful enough zoom lens.

The statue is known as the Bearded Jizō (髭地蔵, Hige Jizō). It's not clear when it was made, but it was probably put on the island during the Edo era, when there were plenty of so-called deai chaya (出合茶屋) in the area. That was a tea house where men and women met to not drink tea.

I often walk past – this is my neighbourhood, after all – but the shrine is always behind a rusty, locked iron gate. I've taken photos while half-hanging over the gate, which you can see here, but I've never been able to go inside.

Until yesterday, when I walked to Yanaka and back, passed by the Benten-dō, and noticed … the gate was open! It's undoubtedly for the New Year's celebrations, because there was an offering of fresh kagami mochi and several bottles of sake on the shrine.

I walked in, squeezed myself between the gate and the wall, and could finally, finally!, six years later! get a decent shot of the statue's front.

So here we are. The neon lights and the coffee shops will all disappear, but the bearded Jizō will stand guard, gods, earthquakes and nuclear missiles willing.

My one cider is bigger than my other cider

2018-01-03T15:20:00.000+09:00

I'm going to hit both. Happy 2018. Remember to duck for missiles.

I was going to say we've reached peak moronickness, but we all know he's going to outdo himself. Soon.

We need more babies in infantry schools, damnit!

2017-12-23T16:08:00.000+09:00

A recent discussion class focused on the lack of nursery schools in Japan, which is often cited as a major reason for Japan's declining birthrate. One man -- a new father -- was particularly vocal about the issue, but he kept confusing infant with infantry.

"Japan's lack of infantry schools is making us weak!" he thundered forth.

I'm quite sure the prime minister agrees with him.

Leaf worship

2017-12-12T14:31:00.000+09:00

Today I fell in love with leaves at a shrine. I stole one and took it home ... and realized it has exactly the same colours as the Bedouin carpet I bought in Egypt seven lifetimes ago.

A whiter shade of pale

2017-12-08T10:48:00.000+09:00

I have become used to the confusion I cause in Japan, but this week delivered a new highlight.

Student: Where are you from?
Me: South Africa.
Student: Africa?
Me: Yes.
Student: Is your country very cold?
Me: Cold? No! Africa! Why?
Student: Because your skin is very pale.

Which is the roundaboutest way yet of asking but why aren’t you black if you’re from Africa?

Wait. It gets better. This specific student is a university lecturer. One would assume a certain level of knowledge about the world. One would be wrong.

Kusuo Yasuda House and Garden in Sendagi

2017-11-24T19:08:00.000+09:00

Not entirely sure I should write about this house, because I suspect the Lonely Planet hordes haven't discovered it yet, and if there's one thing we have enough of in Tokyo right now, it's tourists. Let me reiterate: I have nothing against solitary travelers [hello, self!] or small groups. I do loathe, with an exponentially growing intensity, tour buses vomiting forth one obnoxious group after the other.

God help the Former Kusuo Yasuda House and Garden, to give it its full English name, if those buses ever arrive.

The house is a Japan National Trust for Cultural and Natural Heritage Conservation property, and I'm going to plagiarize / summarize shamelessly from their brochure:

"Located in the quiet Sendagi residential district, the house survived both the 1923 Great Kanto Earthquake and the WWII air-raid bombings. The house was built in 1919 for Yoshisaburo Fujita, a connoisseur of traditional architecture. He sold the house in 1923 to Zenshiro Yasuda. When the latter's son, Kusuo, died in 1992, his widow could not afford the inheritance. She donated it to the National Trust instead."

The house has a zig-zag style which means the garden can be seen from every room. When I was there, the Japanese maples had just started turning red. It should also be particularly beautiful in spring, thanks to a massive weeping cherry tree in front of the second-story formal reception room. It's a gorgeous home. Well. Everything except the bathroom and the squat toilets. Western-style living room crammed full of western furniture, a fireplace, a piano and a movie camera, but no western toilet. When did …waitabit, I need to Google.

Western-style toilets and urinals started to appear in Japan at the beginning of the 20th century, but only after World War II did their use become more widespread, due to the influence of the American occupation… in 1977, the sale of Western-style toilets exceeded the sale of traditional squat toilets in Japan. Currently western toilets are installed in 81.2% of Japanese households.

OK, the Yasudas squatted, clearly.

I can anticipate your response: Yes, I'm aware of the fact that squatting has health benefits according to some studies. You're welcome to use Japan's squat toilets whenever nature calls. Good luck. I'll be over there in the western one being unhealthy.

I've also decided, and I apologize if this is heresy, that a traditional Japanese house is beautiful to look at, but -- to my savage uncultured unsophisticated self – damn uncomfortable to live in. Cozy it's not. I love the almost seamless integration between house and garden, the fact that you can see straight through the house, the sliding doors that enlarge open spaces … but given Tokyo's climate, you'd be able to leave those doors open maybe three months a year. The rest of the time you'll be freezing to death or swatting mosquitoes, cockroaches and who knows what else.

Quick summary of the rooms:

The western-style formal reception roomhas no books. Since the house was restored to its former glory, right down to the original Axminster carpet, I assume there were never any books.

The Japanese-style formal reception room(there was a lot of formalling and receptioning in the old days) has a massive tokonoma for the family's "treasured collection of splendid dolls". If I were you, I'd ignore that and focus on the glorious garden outside. It used to have a waterfall, now it's just rocks, but it's still painfully beautiful in autumn. (There's also a bomb shelter under this room. We weren't allowed in, but make a mental note for those North Korean missile strikes … )

The living-dining room next to the kitchen is small and dark, but it also has a beautiful view of the garden.

The kitchen is HUGE and "quite modern by Japanese standards of a century ago". It has a sky light and an island-style cluster of a massive sink and a cooking unit, as well as countertops that provide generous working surfaces (a rarity in Tokyo's tiny contemporary homes). The brochure says "cement, an expensive new material when the house was built, was generously used for the entire foundation contributing to the house's long life". It's very visible in parts of the kitchen and bathroom.

The bathroom has an old-fashioned hinoki (Japanese cypress) bathtub, but it looks cold and very, err, cement-y. I assume when it was in use, with towels and whatnot, it looked a bit friendlier.

The Japanese-style formal reception roomon the second floor is gorgeous. It just needs books. Lots and lots of books. I'm not entirely sure what you're supposed to do in this room. Be served tea, look at the garden and compose haiku. I think. Ah, ignore me, it's a lovely cold empty symmetrical room with a view. Quoth she with an evil grin, but it really needs books.

It also has the softest tatami mats I've ever walked on. According to the brochure, the straw padding underneath the plaited surface sheets is original work from 1919. "During the house's restoration, which involved replacing all the surface sheets of 156.5 tatami mats (why half?), workers discovered a signed pad in this area. The old tatami craftsman left his name, Tsuneshichi Shibazaki, 12 April 1919, on the pad's narrow wooden rims."

A few odd comments to end off with. With which to end off. With which to off end. With which to offend."This is the kind of pedantic nonsense up with which I will not put!"

National Trust

I never even knew there was such a trust until I discovered this house, but there you go, it's based on the National Trust of Britain. They have a very tiny English site and a very comprehensive Japanese site and a better English version … as a PDF. Why PDF? To print and fax?

Japan and rules, always rules and more rules

I had an awkward encounter with rules at this house. I'd read about the house before I went, and was mainly interested in taking photos. (Look, people, I'm *not* the guided tour type.) The guides at the house had other ideas. I wasn't allowed to go in by myself. I *had* to take a guided tour of 40 minutes (!) before I could go around again, by myself, taking photos. "There are many rules in this house. You must do a tour."

So I joined a small group led by a Japanese guide, but she largely let me do my own thing: fall behind, duck into corners, return to a room we'd already left, etc. I understand why they're careful. Visitors could damage tatami, fall through paper screens, steal small keepsakes, etc. As I've already mentioned, I hope for their sake the tour buses don't discover this place. I doubt it, though: nothing to buy.

Rules for the sake of rules? Necessary precautions?

The garden

The garden is usually closed to visitors, but I was lucky: purely by chance – I didn’t know this before I went – it was open on that specific day.

Highly recommended

Despite my usual snark, I highly recommend this house. It's beautiful, their brochure is one of the best I've seen (faultless English), and it's interesting or amusing, depending on your perspective, to see how wealthy people used to live. If you go, don't go at 10:30, when it opens. Everybody's waiting and everybody wants to start early. When I left at 12, there were zero guests. The afternoons might also be quieter.

I suspect private group tours are possible. I arrived early, in front of a closed gate, but once I was inside, there was a small German tour group who'd obviously already done half the house. I haven't researched this myself. Go forth and Google.

The tour is a bit of a schlep if guided tours aren't your thing, but the guide will open unexpected cupboards and storage spaces and sliding doors, so what the hell, go for it.

PS: This one's for my niece. Thanks for staying in touch and also loving Japan. :)

Permanent residency ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

2017-11-17T17:22:00.002+09:00

I’ve been granted permanent residency in Japan.

This morning – 10 years and 11 months after I arrived here with a work permit, and 5 months and 2 weeks after I'd applied for it – I collected my permanent residency card at Immigration in Shinagawa.

Epic journey halfway around our globe, this, and it's ... ironic? Freudian? immaterial? ... that my trip to Shinagawa included all my petty irritations about my new permanent home. Gobs of spit on the road to the station, a pool of vomit in front of a Korean restaurant, commuter train jam-packed with sniffing men (and I'd like to point out yet again that we're talking about uvula-rattling snot avalanches, not delicate sniffs into lace handkerchiefs). The guy who stopped in front of me at a red light had his finger halfway up his nose. What is it with gold-digging in this country?

I waited at the relevant counter at Immigration. There were about 100 people in line. Every hue of black and brown; only two of us melanin-deficient. Get a number, sit down to wait, observe Asia -- give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore -- and wonder petulantly why the numbers seem to be called more slowly than usual.

I'm used to being a minority, but I experienced it particularly intensely this morning.

And then, just as I was having an "OMG what am I doing here?" moment, I started receiving messages from friends overseas, vastly amused by this:

A rail company in Japan has apologised after one of its trains departed 20 seconds early. Management on the Tsukuba Express line say they "sincerely apologise for the inconvenience" caused.

If you're wondering why I want to stay here, that story explains it pretty well.

Everybody in Japan who knows I've received permanent residency has said I should celebrate. Party time. Yet I'm in a weird mood tonight. Sad for what I've lost, but filled with appreciation for what I've gained.

Ag, ignore my peevishness. Here I am, astonished and humbly grateful that Japan has allowed an older, single, child-free, not wealthy at all woman to stay. I'm not an asset, and once I retire, I will be a liability. Yet they've accepted me.

This does perhaps call for champagne. Or umeshu.

Thank you from the depth of my shallow being to my guarantor (I owe you!), my Japanese friend who helped me with my application letter, my blogger friend Dru for practical advice, another long-suffering blogger friend for accompanying me to the tax office, all my friends who provided moral support.

And here we are.

It’s you and me, Japan, to have and to hold, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health. Thank you for allowing me to stay. Just that. Thanks. You're the bee's knees, the cat's pyjamas, the dog's bollocks, all that and a ~~bag of chips~~ bowl of rice.

PS: If you're interested in the nuts and the bolts of the process, read Dru's article. I used that as a guideline. I think -- based on my own experience as a doddering obachan -- that Immigration is mainly looking for stability, consistency and reliability. Stable work, stable income, stable address, all taxes paid, obviously no criminal record, evidence of roots in or commitment to Japan.

I am an indescribable emotional peanut armed with anger

2017-11-03T15:48:00.000+09:00

You should never probe too deeply what Japan thinks of Africa. I recently made the mistake of searching for Africa-themed stamps on LINE, Japan's equivalent of WhatsApp. This is what I found.

"I am from South Africa of Algeria. I am an indescribable emotional peanut armed with anger." That's going to be my standard excuse for everything henceforthwith.

How to be a female role model in Japan

2017-11-03T15:47:00.000+09:00

Look pretty and dress nice. A quote from a New York Times article about Ivanka Trump's visit to Tokyo:

"She is a beautiful female leader," Rena Hayakawa, 21, a political science major at Meiji University in Tokyo, said before the speech. "Her fashion is great. She is a role model for women."

Meantime Japan has dropped to 114th in the World Economic Forum’s global gender equality rankings for 2017.

Happy birthday, Mum

2017-08-21T23:17:00.000+09:00

It's been several years, but I won't forget to share Tokyo's blossoms with you. I miss you.

Four years of flowers

2017-08-04T13:38:00.000+09:00

Two photos, same place, four years apart:

Shinobazu Pond, 5 August 2014

Shinobazu Pond, 28 July 2017

National Railway Museum, York

2017-08-04T13:34:00.000+09:00

Happy birthday, Tokyo! :)

2017-07-17T14:43:00.002+09:00

I saw this message on the Twitter feed of the Tokyo Metropolitan Government: Happy #TokyoDay! #OnThisDay in 1868, the city of Edo changed its name to Tokyo, opening a new chapter in the city’s history.

So, Tokyo was born on 17 July 1868. Which makes it a Cancer. Same as Benedict Cumberbatch, whose birthday is on the 19th. Yup, OK, I can live with that! :p Happy birthday, Tokyo!

Hōzuki Ichi (Chinese lantern plant market)

2017-07-16T17:54:00.000+09:00

I've written about this market before; this time I'm shamelessly copying an old post. The photos are new, though. ;)

Every year on 9 and 10 July a Chinese lantern market is held at Sensō-ji. "Chinese lantern" is a plant: scientific name Physalis alkekengi, Japanese name hōzuki. They have translucent orange pods that might remind you of Chinese lanterns, and they were used as a medicine for fever, gout and just about any ailment you can think of.

The temple's precinct is packed with 200 hōzuki vendors selling plants for ¥2000 to ¥2500, and wind chimes (fūrin). This year my visit was brief, because Sensō-ji has become a rather unpleasant experience. Too many tourists. Sigh.

London, city of horses

2017-07-15T15:58:00.000+09:00

Faith, hope, and the love of money

2017-07-15T15:06:00.001+09:00

Nihonbashi is Tokyo’s financial district: arguably the engine that keeps the biggest metropolis in the world going. It’s home to the Bank of Japan, the Tokyo Stock Exchange and several financial institutions’ head offices. Yet here, in the heart of capitalism, hides a shrine with a long history, Fukutoku Jinja (福徳神社). It’s believed to date back to the Jōgan era (859–876). The shrine was one of few authorized to conduct lotteries in the Edo era and is still visited by many Tokyoites who hope to win the takarakuji lotteries.

The shrine has been moved many times, but is currently located in a square behind Coredo Muromachi close to Mitsukoshimae Station. From the shrine’s website:

The second shogun Tokugawa Hidetada visited the shrine in January 1614. At that time, upon one of the sawtooth oak shrine gates made customarily with the bark still attached, he saw a new spring sprout emerging from it, so the shrine’s alternative name became Mebuki (the Japanese word for “sprouting”) Inari.

If you look at the kitsune (fox messengers of the god Inari) above, you’ll see that one holds the key to the granary in its mouth, and the other one has a so-called hoshi no tama, said to represent the kitsune’s soul. They both have dried ears of rice around their necks. Inari is, after all, the god of rice, agriculture, fertility, prosperity and worldly success. Fitting, then, that the shrine is located in Nihonbashi, Tokyo’s financial district. PS: The shrine has a Twitter account, if you're interested.